poetry

Melody

Melody


Music. Swirling, twirling. A floating note, floating higher higher. Gone. 

There are some unlike anything else. There are some swinging singing running faster and faster. These are some unlike anything else.  

Exciting flying dipping lower going under and around such sound of going and going and going faster. Notes. Blowing flutes beating drums running until we are flying and flying over and over. This is something unlike anything else. 

Voices floating glowing high and low below over and under. Hundreds. Loud proud and singing music. These are some unlike any other. 

Sound abounds and love and hate and life and violins and love, and dying crying escaping weight and hatred. Notes laughing dancing chanting curling and unfurling. The music is here and here and here but not there. But hear. 

It is something unlike anything else. 

Photo by Vlah Dumitru

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poetry, Publications, Writing Portfolio

Joy

Joy


All the straight and crooked lines blend together with different colors. A blue canyon, a pink sun, and a red moon. A smile on someone else’s face that’s contagious because her nose is wrinkled and her eyes squeeze shut so tightly that little tear droplets leak out the corners. Laughter bubbles up in the throat so strongly that air cannot get to the lungs. 

A soft fuzzy feeling in your chest like a two-year-old petting a bunny like it’s made of porcelain instead of flesh and fluff. It spreads like liquid sunlight, warming the blood and turning the rivers to gold. You close your eyes but can still see light through the cracks. 

It’s not a frown or a smile, but the everlasting laughter of a soul. A blanket of mountains, stars, children, and God folding around your shoulders like your lover’s arms, and you can lay down to sleep with an empty mind full of light. 

We breathe in, we breathe out. It overwhelms us. The spirit, the soul, the body, the eyes full of emotions, the mind full of heart, the blood vessels moving like jets through the clouds, the bones that grow in the tiny life inside your stomach, the rivers that end and begin from nothing, the ocean surface rippled like thoughts, the endless sky of imagination, and the stars that are too many to number. We breath in, we breath out. We smile. 

I sleep. I wake up, and there’s a bounding in my chest because of the light, because of my lover beside me, because of my God inside of me, because of life. 


Photo by Fuu J 
Published in The Iris Review, Spring 2018

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poetry, Scribbles

Love is like art

Love is like art


Love is like art. 

Pictures of unexplainable emotions swirling together to create colors that have no name because they have never been seen before. 

Sometimes there are many failed attempts before the masterpiece is created. A masterpiece that utters strange and wonderful words to each soul who looks upon it. 

Sculptures of moments frozen in time. Images of memories that still play through the mind. All of these are attempts at depicting what each heart longs for. 

Sometimes love is beautiful, emotional, and patient, with tiny phrases and looks that make the heart run madly. 

Sometimes love is dark and twisted with madness, when excitement blends with fear to form wild imaginations. 

But all art has in common the passion of the artist. 

And it is this passion that we crave. 

Love is like art. 

No two are alike. 

But who could depict love with mere colors and images? Who could depict all of the souls and dreams of mankind on a canvas? 

Love is not art. Love is like art. 

Though men try to depict love, their love may not be seen as art at all to another. 

But to that man, 

His love is a masterpiece. 


Photo by brooklyn 

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