Category: Journal
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7 Aug: Grief Is the Hook
Grief Is the Hook On this pew, I sit.Wood remembersmy child-bones, my grandmother’s norse-tongue,the holy hushshe split like kindling. Walls are whitewashed. Salt in the mortar.Elder gods’ runes live in this God’s house. In the door’s header, in the walls and floor.ᛉ Algiz (life),ᚷ Gebo (love),ᚦ Thurisaz (lightning’s fork). Old views. Rippled glass.Bubbled panes lick…
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6 Aug: Gravity Is Its Own Language
This poem remembers a bicycle ride this week beneath Nordic sun, and the moment I left my grandmother’s ring in the creek beside her old house. I wore it on my thumb one heedless summer as a child. It was time to release and return it. Gravity is its own language — and the land…
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27 July: of Leather & Weather
a journal 27 July — Somewhere Between Tunnels and Bells 05: somethingWoke before the alarm.Some nib in my sleeping mindwas writing thank-you notes:You fill my heart, thank you.You are my heat, thank you. Then the alarm rang —a clumsy editor. If I weren’t driving to France,I might’ve stayed in bed,writing gratitude like love letters to…
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26 July: of Leather & Weather
a journal 26 July — The Road Trip Prelude 04:somethingThe sun arrived first,prying open the day with gold-tipped fingers.I gathered dew from the garden — tiny pearls of morning —then let sleep pull me back like a tide reclaiming shells. 07:30Bamboo.Not a sentence — just a word.A baptism by syllable.It struck the silence like a…
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25 July: of Leather & Weather
a journal 10:33Ode to the Repairman Who Mistook ‘Noon’ for ‘Never’You said “morning” —which, in the dialect of hammers,must translate to:I’ll arrive when the moon divorces the tides. 11:14He arrived three hours late,bearing the holy wrench of redemption.Fixed the Quooker with a prophet’s calm,then drank three cups of tea,as if each sip was a sacramentto…
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25 July: Journal of Thoughts
Where the Heart Goes Then, without warning, the sky splits its seams,dumping light like stolen jewels,and we gulp the calm,foolish as sailorskissing the shorethat will betray them again. Happiness is a spider’s bridge,spun between gunshots. And still the heart—ever the fugitive—steals into the next verse,into the next stranger’s mouth,into the next wardisguised as lullaby. It…
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22 July: Journal of Thoughts
A Chip, We Cried The French cried “Mais non! We made pommes frites!” But history winced and called them twits.For Belgium fried the golden wand,In oil so deep, so rich, so fond. They claimed the name, those saucy Gauls,While Britons munched in seaside stalls.“A chip,” we cried, “not frites, you fool!”Then wrapped them hot in…
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15 July: Journal of Thoughts
The Wind that Carries Him She gave him roots.She gave him wings.Gave her bones quietto rememberhow much growing costs. Forget-me-nots, bright as sky —be in my heart.Bluebells for your kindness,lavender for your calm,hydrangea to returnwhat love never asks back. She gave her tears permission—not to break,but to blessthe wind that carries him. Some artwork is…
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14 July: Journal of Thoughts
The Leaving All the signs are there.Shoes on.Backpack zipped and closed. Bottle of water chilling in the freezer. But this isn’t Monday.This is Friday.He’s meeting a friend in London. For dinner.A beer or three.A steak maybe. Says he’ll be back before midnight —Can you pick me up at the station?And of course I will. But…
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27 June: Calder’s Circus of Air
A choreography of shadow and balance. These poems trace the kinetic hush of Alexander Calder’s mobiles: laughter forged in wire, physics caught mid-lilt, and the unseen air that puppeteers grace from stillness. Best read with music that understands whimsy and weightlessness. Hit play, then read. Calder’s Circus of Air Imagine the shape of laughtercast in…
It's Still Life 