Existential Poetry

This poem explores the ebb and flow of daily life—from sluggish mornings to the slow companionship of an aging dog, to the repetitive grind of work, and finally to moments of mindful pause and creative escape. It’s a candid reflection on how we wrestle with time, purpose, and presence in a busy world.

Alone in my room. A prickly sensation spurns my insides. I must move. Do something productive, constantly. Be around people, constantly....

I wish to go home... but, home isn’t there. I’m in the wrong time. The people aren’t there. Only ghosts. The building turned to ash. I...

How do I find myself under the layers of bodies laid inside me? Like the layers of the earth. My mother’s body pressed in prayer. My...

I’ve pulled myself out of the dirt, naked roots stripped by wind. I reached back for the familiar earth, but my arms became weak in that...

Why do I perform spoken word? Because… for ten minutes I have everyone’s attention. We all share this experience together, a temporary...

You won’t see me, unless I do enough. But, enough isn’t a solid accomplishment. It’s a moving goal post, stretching me father and farther...

I've been through hell several times. I have my passport, if I ever want to go back. Sometimes the familiarity of the flames and...

Crack me open like a coffin. Clean out cobwebs, exhume my skeletons. Skulls don’t speak, unless, presented wine when the clock strikes...

My heart is hollow. When the wind blows through my empty chambers, desert cockles, it shakes the effigies down the cracking valves...