The Golden Edge

The Standard on which Glory Rests

Behind the edge, was a Test

Grit, Toil, and great Unrest

We rendered our Best

Seeking a Victor’s Quest

May the gifts we give be Luminesced



Shakespearean Tech

To tech, or not to tech, that is the question:

Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind of the receiver

to be the holder of a letter written by hand.

Or perhaps by email, IM, or text?

Bad penmanship, missing words, and corrupt sentences

Could mean a Sea of troubles.

But so to the callousness of an artificial intelligence

with added Smileys and other silly picturesqueness.

For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of life

The Oppressor’s wrong

The pang of despised love

Better in Facebook, LinkedIn, or Twitter?

Thus Conscience does make cowards of us all.

However the undiscovered Country

No Traveler could describe better

with Google Earth and a Blogging letter.

To grunt and sweat under a weary life

In YouTube, Periscope, and Snapchat

So as to not lose the Action.

But then the dread of something we all know of

that forever makes us bear the ills we have.

Be all our sins remembered.


At Last 

Growing up I always had to fight to get people to listen to me.

I lived under dirty labels and negative assumptions.

If I wanted to succeed, I couldn’t wait for the world to give it to me.

I spent my entire life pushing against the weight of those presumptions.

I had to be a warrior, I had to battle to be free.

I had to be the rocket fuel that got me off the ground.

I had to have enough artillery to go the final round.


I like

to read

every poem

as if

it’s an

Epic Battle

from Lord

of the


And I

Always Dare

to fight

and Win.



Hidden from knowledge

the thoughts lay asleep

slumbering unencumbered, in the deep.

Bound by pursuit

of worldly gain,

the hard, jaded world did reign.

Out of the darkness

a wish was whispered.

The thoughts stirred

as they heard their name.

Awaken Hope! Arise Justice!

The jaded world began to tremble.

Love as wide as dragon’s wings

Freedom and Equality began to sing

The earth blossoms in their wake.


Hand-Drawn Cup

His hand-drawn cup

held his mother’s heart.

The rounded rim

filled to the brim

with love for him.

The soft curved handle,

to hold and guide.

Emotions averted

on the shaded side.

The long gentle strokes

Green, the color of growth.

In the kitchen of every home

this art piece has a place of its own.

He held his mother’s heart

in his hand-drawn cup.


Something That Cannot Be Seen

Love, said the priest,

Involves things unseen.

Trust is required

Or this ceremony

Is all for nothing.

Don’t put your heart on the line

Or pledge allegiance

In front of the assembly

If you have No Faith

In Things Unseen.