August 8, 2026

leave it to a thunderstorm
rumbling in my bones
as my eyes watch the trees
sway and toss and turn in the intense breeze
to actually get my brain and body and heart to acknowledge
a love for being alive
on this Earth

it feels too emotional
too sincere
to share in any way but poetry
but even the words of poetry feel too simple
for the intensity of the feeling
or too flowery to really embody
the groundedness of the feeling
[though flowers are grounded too, in their growing, are they not?]

how can i explain the feeling of ‘home’
that is this living within all Earth has to offer?
i love her i love her i love her
and maybe that’s the heightened emotions talking
and maybe that’s my experience with many personifications happening
and maybe there’s a distance and a pushing that comes from
writing this hours and hours and after the experience
but my heart feels to bursting with love of this planet
and yet, i know my heart will not explode,
for everything has worked itself out over billions of years
for hearts to not literally engorge with emotion,
but the feelings align with physical signs
my heart seems to fill, to push up at my throat
as that signals to my eyes to fill with tears
just as they did last night
during the thunder and lighting and rain and realization
that i actually
at that moment
and this
love being
alive

and i have the Earth to thank

July 6, 2026

it’s seven o’clock
and i’m writing
and the wind is blowing
and my wrist has not yet started hurting [as much as it was yesterday]
and the birds are screaming
and the dog is observing
and the cat is nowhere to be seen

the tea is hot
the coffee is ice cold
and the water is the temperature of our old house’s old pipes
[so, in the summer, not quite as cool as we’d like]
[and in the winter far too cold]
but it’s a summer day
a summer morning
and the window is open
and the rain will be falling all day today
and i hope it feels like the planet is healing
so we, as a species, can maybe follow suit.

May 24, 2026

i cannot tell if these rumbles
are planes
or trucks
or general new york sounds
or maybe
just maybe
the actual call of
thunder
through this rainstorm

i want it so desperately to be thunder
but i cannot
cannot
cannot get my hopes up
without
solid
evidence

August 1, 2025

i often forget
that the sounds of the birds
can be my morning page music
and the crickets and wind and rain
can replace my podcasts

i no longer use perpetual sound
to block out my own inner voice

[that sounds like some kind of growth]

but i think i have now found myself using any auditory distractions
as literal distractions
from boredom

and i do wish i was more on board
being bored
for creativity’s sake

April 11, 2025

grey skies and
drip drops on window panes and
the perfect day to nap your stress away
and
the perfect evening to be lulled into deep deep sleep

~~~

evening pages
much much later than normal poetry time
[am i just doing this
to say that i did it?]

[isn’t that all life is anyway?]

~~~

i think
three
poems is enough poems
for such a late late night
poem-writing-time

April 3, 2025

birds
swooping down in
the rain

puppies
pawing at the floor
for attention

and the outside
and the inside
always have some parallels

but it’s the liminal spaces in-between
where i find my own comfort

July 6, 2024

Three Musings on Summer Thunderstorms:

the sky darkens to post-sunset dusky grey
and a lightning bolt passes by my window
the rumble of thunder
the stream of rain
and this summer storm is at it again

[i love this weather]

~~~

thunderstorms make me smile
interrupting the daily toil
of sunrise and shine and set and night
darkening a summer morning
or lightning-flash-brightening
midnight pitch black,
sounds escaping our atmosphere —
booms and cracks and the smacks of hard raindrops
cleansing the air
feeding the ground
offering greener hues when the showers subside
and summertime just isn’t summer
without

~~~

drench me in rain
fill my ears with thunderclaps
and my eyes with bright bolts of lightning

let me taste a summer storm
and offer my nose the delightful scent
of petrichor

as the pressure changes
and my heart grows
and i know
i’m present and whole.