Poems, Old & New
September 2025
precious
that which is rare
may be sumptuous to wear
but the world’s perfumes, silk, jewels
could never compare
to the richness and care
when a loving heart is shared
fields
if every closeted romantic
laid their heart bare
imagine the blooming
On Poetry
I’ve found writing poetry to be a very relaxing, often therapeutic practice. As someone who has spent years writing large academic essays, it is less intimidating and much more liberating with fewer words to put into place. Truthfully, most of what I’ve written to date has been inspired by the unexplored frontiers of my own emotional landscape. It is the process of trying to convey how I’m feeling, to ask the reader to perhaps lean into feeling it too, but to do so without telling them directly. It’s a gentle encouragement to go one step deeper, to take a peer around the corner, and see if there is anything worthwhile or new on the other side.
Above, you will find two poems I wrote earlier this year as part of an ongoing “anthology of words” I’ve been working on titled: lost & found. They are very short and sweet, but with that, get to take up space with the language’s imagery. While ‘precious’ utilizes rich, indulgent language to convey said effect, ‘fields’ is a more about capturing potential and hope through a wide angle lens. (I think a critic once called Luca Guadagnino’s filmmaking style ‘indulgent’... I think it’s one of the best adjectives). While, both poems attempt at some profoundness, they’re much more about optimism and reclaiming a belief in the goodness of things, rather than making a sharp statement.
(More and more, I have found myself to confronting my inner optimist, as both a way to remain upright in a challenging world, and because it’s become a surprising byproduct of learning to stand on my own two feet. It asks of me, and of whoever reads it: what could happen if we all allowed ourselves to share our loves, dreams, romances more? What would the world look like?)
And as a newer experiment, I’ve also had some fun experimenting with something you could call more ‘lyrical’ in style (though I don’t think this is proper terminology). Inspired by the intriguing ability for frankness to cut through complicated or cloudy emotional landscapes, these ones always start with one cheeky line that plays lightly within an otherwise messy space. And, I adopt a punctuated rhythm and rhyme scheme in an attempt to add in even more structure around the mess.
The poem below describes feelings left in the air when a disjointed relationship finally breaks down. And, more specifically, how, in its wake, you may go about trying to rid yourself of all of your flaws, as if to intellectualize the disjointedness. I have it in two variations, variation A, which is, in many ways the aspirational version. It is the superficial ‘success’ of demonstrating you weren’t a part of the problem at all. It is cutting and clean. Variation B, evokes a more complex (and in my opinion, more emotional apt) portrait of the circumstance. Enjoy.
sorry A
i cut my hair,
and purged all my vices.
scattered daisies,
at your doorstep.
conquered my soul,
with the mind’s devices.
i threw a blanket
over age old shatters.
that pierce sharp as glass.
smoothing, polishing, sweetening.
all so one day,
i could say:
“look i’ve changed,
that was all the past.”
but
i’m still not a breakfast person.
for this i can’t find blame
i prefer to take my coffee,
strong,
and without a hint of shame.
sorry B
i cut my hair,
and tried to purge my vices.
scattered daisies,
at your doorstep.
clamped down my soul,
with the mind’s devices.
i slung a blanket
over age old shatters.
still, they pierced right though,
sharp as glass.
all hope of
smoothing, polishing, sweetening,
disappeared.
i guess i can’t say:
“look i’ve changed,
or
“that was all the past.”
i may not be a breakfast person.
i seek shelter when it rains.
i drown my coffee in full fat milk,
and do feel sorry,
even when I’m not to blame.