True Love (Excerpt from Journeys in Love)

These are the last few stanzas of the first poem in my chapbook, Journeys in Love.

True Love


Love isn’t pushing someone out of the way of sorrow and pain

but standing by their side and sharing their woes and

the multiple injuries they endure,

tending to their wounds and helping them heal.


Love never involves retaliation but understanding;

a soft word, gentle and true.

Love is being approachable in every situation,

it is a patient and listening ear

eager to hear.


Love is irreplaceable,

feelings come along with love, but love, not a feeling itself.

But what it is, a commitment

a vow to never neglect,

to always be present, despite the aches, disagreements,

degrees of turmoil and despair life bring.


True love lasts forever

and will never fail.


Poem of the Week #6: Fun Heals

The oceans waves, rippling when it hits the shore

seagulls cry, flying high in the orange sky,

the breeze, bringing little refreshment to those who are weary.


Behind the smiles and glasses is pain

some of which will be known someday,

some, unfortunately, will be hidden and

taken along to the grave.


Two friends, running barefoot

the sand from in between their toes

are washed away as they run

into the cool ocean

splashing each other

and laughing, causing others to smile

gently lifting the cares of heavy hearts, enlightening cynical minds,

healing broken spirits, and bringing light into the dark corners of souls.


These friends may never know what they have done

They changed and even saved lives;

their display reassured happiness exists

and that it’s okay to let loose

and have childish fun.



Creativity:The Painter’s Goal

via Daily Prompt: Paint
For those of you who are not familiar with, users (usually people who pay for membership) can create poetry contests. The prizes usually consist of points and ribbons. Last week I entered a contest. The theme was “Creativity.” At first, I wanted to write a poem about a carver and his thought process. The only problem was, I have no idea how to carve anything, let alone the thought process, so I scrapped that idea. I later thought of a painter and what would go through a painter’s mind. I knew I had to create a picture in the readers’ mind; never have I used such detail in my writing so it was a bit nerve-wracking. Anyway, I ended up getting a bronze ribbon! Here is my “award winning” poem, “The Painter’s Goal.”


The Painter’s Goal


“It has to be perfect!” he says to himself
as he looks down at the paints and paintbrush in his hands.

He carefully strokes the blank canvas, not a drop wasted as he paints the
orange dots with black middles
on top of the green swirls
that compliment the deep and vibrant blue
occupying the middle of the canvas.

A soothing lavender abiding the top and bottom, engraved with white petals
with rich, gold tips traveling like vines, connecting to one another.
The cozy jade encloses the sides with vigilant zigzags.

She walks in unexpectedly as he wipes the sweat off his brow and dips his paintbrush once more.

“It’s beautiful,” she says unconsciously, her young mind wrapped in wonder.

He puts down the brush and takes off his apron.
“Perfect,” he whispers to the painting.


Trying Not to be Cliche

This is one of the poems from my chapbook, Journeys in Love.

Trying Not to be Cliché…


Roses are red…

My love burns for you like…

You’re as bright as a…

You’re unique…

You’re one in a million, no, a billion…


Let me start over.


Roses are red like the fire

that burns deep in my heart,

bright like your uniqueness

that makes you one in a billion.

Poem #5: Hopeful Hopeless Romantics

Hopeful Hopeless Romantics


She would see a man who caught her eye

and immediately dive into daydreaming

bright, flowery, innocent fantasies of the future

marriage, kids, making each other’s dreams come true…


She wrote poems, gave gifts, and said how she felt

through her eyes, she was a keeper, which is true,

she has such a beautiful soul,

but no one wanted to keep her.


Despite her efforts, none of the men she declared her love to felt nearly the same way

they would scoff at her anticipations, leaving her broken inside.

She didn’t understand what she was doing wrong

Was she too forward? Revealed her feelings too soon?

Alas, she would never know.



He would reserve tables at places he couldn’t afford,

Work extra hours just to be able to buy a rose,

He’d drive on empty for miles and miles

but he would never tell a soul.


Alas, always unappreciated.

He could never keep a woman in his arms for long.

If they knew the sacrifices he made

they would have given him a second thought.


His heart, sunken lower than his soles,

His soul in turmoil and agony

His spirit dimmed and doubtful

of finding the woman he would hold forever.


He walks along through the park

hoping to forget his sorrow,

his pockets, empty, head hung low

He notices her, sitting on a bench, crying.

He sits next to her and asks if she’s alright.


She shakes her head and wipes her eyes,

she points to a man, a man she once proposed to,

was on his knee, proposing to someone else.


He holds her tight, knowing her

heart was ripped from her

along with a piece of her soul.

She cries in his shoulder, unashamed

for she knew he wasn’t judging.


She runs out of tears, she pulls back

He looks deep into her eyes, seeing her pain

She notices and becomes entranced,

never has she witnessed such compassion.


He offers to walk through the park with her

She hesitantly accepts.

He tells a bunch a bad jokes,

but she laughs anyway, each laugh healing her a bit each time.


She shares the memories she had in this park,

how she saw a deer, and skinned her knee from running away.

He hangs on every word, never losing interest.


The sun sets, she says she has to go.

She hugs him, hoping she’ll see him again soon.

He hugs back and suggests they exchange numbers.

She smiles and nervously recites the digits as he

inputs them into his phone.

He says he’ll call her later and farewell.


He exits the park, his spirit repaired,

thinking of new jokes to tell and

what other parks she may like the visit.


She exits the park, her heart no longer broken,

has a smile no one can turn into a frown

she forgets all the pain she endured before,

all the poems, the gifts, and the heartbreaking scoffs.


These hopeless romantics aren’t so hopeless.

In fact, they never were.

They just looked for love in the wrong places,

places that never truly accepted them, that

failed to see the beauty in their hearts,

their selfless ways, their gracious souls.

These places, never deserved such love,

failing to embrace it while they had the chance.

This love, now in a place where it belongs,

where it will grow nothing but stronger and last forever.