A Gentle Breeze

The summers are hot and the winters are cold,

But during the interim seasons

I’ll brave the morning air on my porch,

To see if a gentle breeze calls for a jacket.


Mind you, spring breezes and autumn winds,

Are of no comparison,

Except that they signify the changing seasons,

Nothing more. A reminiscence upon these,

Fills my soul with emotions

From the seasons of my life, long since past.


The spring breeze…

How it brings warmth into the timber,

Patiently waiting behind my house,

Waking the vines in my vineyard.

Life finds pleasant surroundings again,

Where swift updrafts carry frisbees and footballs

Into the mouths of dogs or the arms of children,


This invisible current, ever so slightly

Shifts your hair out of place,

Just so I can fix it and be repaid,

With your never ending Love.


The autumn wind….

Chilling the air, telling the world,

Go to sleep, as it creeps. Lulling trees and vines

Into a gentle winter respite.

Death clings to the life summer has brought,

And the wind gently caresses tufts of fur

On deceased beasts and overpriced coats.

Seemingly out of respect,

This brisk zephyr, in a beautiful fashion,

Makes the flowers on my family’s graves dance,

As if my reverence overwhelms their spirits

And their souls flit in the wind.


I think I’ll bring my jacket today,

Just to be safe.



A Beating Heart

There are times

I feel as if I were your beating heart,

Constant, steady, but worn down.

And lately, it seems

Like you’ve slit your wrists,

Deep, with a blade of little consequence.

Blood, Life, pumps from me,

Traveling to your extremities

And is lost in this rhythmic continuation.

I give and I give,

With my efforts only securing

Our grim fate.

I falter, I fail,

And without knowing why,

We fade out of time,

And into oblivion.

The Cost

The love of my life
Has died this night
I; for now, for all time
Shall mourn.
Her beauty and grace
Still holding my gaze
She; whom cloths, not clothes,
White coated  nurses
Rushing with purpose
They; Both the old, and the wise-
I follow their slow pacing
Though my heart still races
We; trading looks, looks through
A crib and a baby
At the hands of this lady
He; So young, But not
My son and my wife
Did exchange that night
Life; the gift, the greatest

by Josh Glasson

Crying at 3 AM

Crying at 3 AM
Alone and in pain,
My heart falters.
I grip my chest,
Waiting for the moment to pass.

But it stays,
And I intently grasp
To find the exact spot,
As if knowing
Will somehow put my erratic mind at ease.

I just want it to end
And I feel my eyes well
And my extremities tingle
And all I can think is
“Oh, God, what have I done?”

My chair gives way
And I view the world askew,
Wondering if this is it.
Hoping these ragged breaths
Would somehow keep me alive some more.

A minute passes
And several more
And the pit in my heart weighs me down.

A tear falls
Without a splash.
It merely soaks into my frayed carpet.

I wake at 6 AM
And wipe my dry eyes.
I breath deeply
And place a hand
Over my still beating heart.

Thump. Thump.
It hurts no more.
But I know it will again.
A tear forms
And is shed for my future heartache.

Title courtesy of MaryJo Kolze

Drawn In

Drawn In

It was a momentary glance,
normally a fleeting whim,
but I briefly hesitated.
I don’t recall my particular reasons,
but I recall noticing you
and you took note.

After several months together,
we’d grown closer
and I felt a fullness in everyday.
As if once dull grey landscapes
were now vivid with color
and an imagined life.

After several months separate,
I found myself missing you
and hating you for it.
A needle finds my veins.
I pull the plunger back,
watching blood be drawn in.

After several moments,
my world loses its vividness
and you have no place in me.


Title courtesy of MaryJo Kolze

Ten Blocks Down



Ten Blocks Down
Alone and woeful,
I drive the city streets at night,
Too tired to walk them
and afraid to return home.
The faux sunlight beams,
crashing through my windows
yet leaving shadows everywhere.
There are nights I drive for hours.
This is how I escape the day to day
and it can be blissfully intoxicating.
Familiar buildings that gleam in the day,
gloom at night.  They reflect me
and my thoughts
and my emotions.
These companies’ company
puts me at ease.
For the world seems to share in my sorrow
when the streetlights come on at night.

A Family Drive

One thing I enjoy doing is telling stories with my poetry.  That seems to be my two standard methods is 1. Feeling and emotion conveyance and 2. Telling a story.
This was a poem I worked on while I was writing for a class, however I felt it may have been too sad to share in the classroom.  Read at your own risk.

A Family Drive
My little step-sister had a teddy bear,
as did we all. But my sister’s was lively.
He was born with personality. A real spunk.
And she called him, “Little Brother.”

Often, when our parents were busy,
they would play hide and seek.
He’d always let her win,
just like any other game they played.

They’d have iced tea together,
for hot tea would burn their mouths.
They’d enjoy cookies my sister burnt,
because mother was busy working.

“Little Brother! Little Brother!” She’d cry.
“Thank you for Loving me
and protecting me always.
For You, I thank the Lord everyday.”

The duo would accompany the parents
on errands and trips to stores
always being sure to use the “child lock”,
which should be more aptly named “death trap”.

On one trip to the store, our father swerved.
The car spun, and flipped, and rolled.
And when it stopped, my little step-sister didn’t cry,
she softly spoke to Little Brother next to her.

“Little Brother, Little Brother,
The car has stopped and I’m still spinning.
I’m hurt, and I’m weak, and I’m sore.
…I smell smoke, we need some help.”

The car on its side, bent around a tree.
A full tank of gas finds its way to her window.
A spark lights a fire, and the car goes up.
All that protects her, is a thin pane of glass.

Little brother’s eyes shine with panic and he falls
from his seat to hers with arms wide open
to console her in this tragic moment. The glass
shatters from the heat and my little step-sister cries.

Little Brother yelled for help to come
but his yells were mumbled behind surely sown lips.
Little Brother tried to blow the hot flames out
but his cotton lungs could not blow fast enough.

Little brother covered her head from the fire
He kept her safe for as long as he could.
A hand appeared and my little step-sister took it,
That hand was mine and all I could do was hold her.

Everything but this little girl burned in that crash,
And as I held her she gently cried,
She said she’d lost her only real family;
She said she’d lost her Little Brother.