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 


Where are you, Love?

Where are you, Love?

Red as the summer rose, 
My heart bleeds 
Crimson petals in the snow. 

As a cut flower in the heat, 
My soul pants 
For desert streams. 

As fragile leaves downward sent, 
My spirit quakes 
Against the wind. 

Where are you, Love? 

Vast as the starry sky, 
Love transcends 
Above the beacons in the night. 

As the deepest depths in the sea, 
Love conceals 
Every dark and strange mystery. 

As the heat of summer sun descends, 
Love is felt 
Warming hearts, minds, and limbs. 

Where are you, Love? 

Paper blackened by the ink, 
Love’s letters and words 
Choke out pride and deceit. 

Downcast eyes and lowered head, 
Love hears 
Words not understood or said. 

Brothers and sisters gathered round, 
Love is present 
With every heart, mind, and hand bound. 

Where are you, Love? 

As a steady beating drum, 
My heart’s door hears 
The melodious thumps. 

As a match suddenly lit, 
My heart ignites 
With emotions far too powerful to comprehend. 

As morning dew on a fragile rose, 
My heart settles 
Never again to be alone. 

There you are, Love. 

Photo by Jamie Street


Published in 50 Haikus, Volume 1 Issue 14
Photo by T. Q.

poetry, Publications


poetry, Publications, Writing Portfolio



O alegría, preciosa alegría. There was a window. Rosado. Outside were brown and red bricks. The lady with dark hair sang.   

Oh mi oh mi, mi vida es, mi vida es. We ate ice cream. Vanilla con fresas. Red and pink and white, and purple skies. Azul! Azul! The children shouted. No, morado! I would yell.   

Tengo tiempotodo el tiempo en el mundo. The world was young then. I had dark brown eyes. But his eyes were blue and green like sea water crashing on the shore. The ocean sings. But not like our brown lady.  

Hermosa, they whispered. Hermosa, tan hermosa. I mixed the flour and sugar, but it always burnt. The clothes danced in the wind. Where? Outside. ¿Dónde? He shook his head. His laugh sounded like Christmas.   

Quiero amorquiero amor. We stopped to listen. The trees bent, and the flowers hushed. The clothes became still. We ran to the window. There. There! His eyes swam in the sky and captured the stars, while his laugh danced.   

Quiero un hombre, quiero un hombre. She twirled until the orange and pink blended into a mango. The statues made me sad, but we watched. God listened. The window turned white and foggy under my nose and mouth. I held my breath. He held his. Mi madre, I whispered. Someday, he whispered back. 

Published in The Iris Review, Spring 2018
Winner of Lora A. Printz Poetry Prize
Photo by sydney Rae