This poem was written after I scribbled a thought down in the notepad in the middle of the night about how pages of books are like doors that we open to take us to different worlds through our imagination. I took that thought and elaborated on it, which led to this poem, “Tavern of Torn Pages”

What is real? A recent poem from a question that has continually popped into my mind ever since I was a child. I have always felt that the reality we see and know is a fractured mirror reflecting the lines between what we feel and what we’ve been told. Do you ever question your reality? I personally think it is something we should do often. Feel free to comment.

Three poems selected randomly from my second book of poetry, ‘A Pilgrimage to My Soul”… “Aware Through Necessity/A Soul Simply Smiling/The Memory of the Moon’s Tears”. Enjoy.

Gerrit Dou was Rembrandt’s first student in the mid to late 1600’s. He is someone I always wished I had been, and when I first discovered him as a young art student studying art history, I had a tremendous amount of envy towards Gerrit, who got to learn from the master Rembrandt … it was but a dream, but a dream I had many, many, many times and still feeling achy those subtle twinges of envy even now. So this poem is sort of a tribute to Rembrandt, Garrit Dou and the dreams one has as a young artist yearning to connect to art history and learn from the genius Rembrandt in person and not merely through books and the paintings and art work he left behind.

A poem about love … on Valentines Day. The kind of love that’s more than love. A poem reflecting the love and deep connection of two souls in a way that transcends reality and time and lifts you to a higher realm of beauty, harmony and happiness.

A quote from Albert Camus … “There is no love of life, without despair of life” led me on a deep contemplation about the meaning of life and how we come to find out our meaning for being here.

A very recent poem about a deep connection you carry until your last breath and beyond.

A poem that almost escaped by hiding under my bed. I was fortunate to recover it with a broom while sweeping… it must have fallen from the stack of written poems on my nightstand one evening and took refuse among the dust … “Beneath Solitude”

This poem came to me after remembering a quote by Ernest Hemingway… “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Most people see the end, product of creativity, a painting, a song, a book, a poem, but they are unaware of how much toil and turmoil goes in to lifelong creativity. This poem touches on just how difficult it is to create and what the cost is for following your creative passions.

Two poems that I recently wrote are being read here in episode 147 … “No Longer Dreaming” and “Shining Beautiful Stones”. Enjoy.