ajulea

The rain, like a stampede of migrating wildebeest on the Seregeti, was clamorous all week. I captured some of it in the dry ink lined barrel of the green fountain pen that carved me into a poet. I’ll write with rainwater; confessions can…

They don’t tell you that the line between love and war is only a line segment, beyond which they spill over and merge into one. We are bullet holes in the clouds through which the sky bleeds azure into the midsummer outlines of a monochromat…

I first saw dawn from the other side of the night through a blotted ink drop in my dark brown curtains. It was five a.m. and I stubbed my toe trying to push the violet filter away from the window. The aquamarine strains of a magpie robi…

Summer munched on popcorn clouds leaving the sky blue and exposed to the June wind that hummed a slow rendition of songs which had drowned in the fall of two thousand and thirteen. Our silhouettes played on the roof like magenta paper fl…

home clung to me like loose clothes and hung in clouds that followed me up the stairs and hovered over my bed like mercurial sighs while I melted into the night. home was a shortness of breath and a puddle of guilt– stale corn flakes and s…

I am a figment of your imagination– a timeless whisper of truth and fantasy that slipped through ancient cages of all that I shouldn’t be. I have the scars to prove to none I am all that you cannot see….

Town bells knolled in tall towers– a countdown to the last hours. The sound, like cragged lines in rugged planes, stuck out like veins of earth reaching for the skies, almost at the finish line. We were pink leaves, fresh as dawn, captur…

I tried to write a basic poem of the subtle languages of us, but the words were sawdust on my tongue. (I took a Covid test just in case) I’m sorry if this is fragmented, I lost the puzzle pieces at sea. My throat is a slate marble fountain…

The sirens don’t stop wailing in harmony with humans as fatigue flames down the streets, red and raw and indigo; an inferno where faces I know are now folks I knew, even though we were strangers. Ten long years ago I held a dying magpie ro…

The shadows dance and scream as black ink dribbles down bruised skies while the maroon sunset lures me into a game of tag. Sundown is an old friend who is amused when I complain about clockwork routine and how my day’s been as long as winter…