5:42 A.M. – July 2nd, 1999 Moses Rochester wakes up with sleep crusted cross his eyes. It takes three tries for him to heave himself out of bed, releasing an audible “oomph!”. Once vertical, he lays his hands clumsily on his knees, resembling some antique ape. Sighing, he stares at the chipped paint on his… Continue reading The Goldfinch (A Short Story)
*This poem was inspired by a poem of Percy Shelley’s in a letter to Maria Gisborne concerning the Engish Romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
*Written November 22nd, 2019. I haven’t done much writing recently, at least not for enjoyment or improvement purposes. I’ve noticed that my personal reading, writing, and thinking rekindle my passion for study, and most importantly, for living. They enliven me, bring hope, and sometimes, a touch of joy. Like the cool drops of water gliding… Continue reading These Waxy Leaves (Again) [Poem & Reflection]
*Written on March 18th, 2019. A Preface Just a few days ago, I experienced it. It occurred when I was sitting in a coffee shop, in a moment of switching from task to task, from thought to thought. When suddenly, a feeling washed over me. It was embodied as a weightless breeze, cool and calming.… Continue reading The Singularity: An Exercise in Phenomenology
*Written on February 6th, 2019. I wrote this poem in one sitting, as I do most of my poems. For some reason, I have an aversion to editing poems after the first draft. This isn’t an excuse for bad poetry; it’s just me protecting my Romantic tendencies I guess. I’ve discovered that poetry allows my… Continue reading Spring Air
*This was written on December, 2nd 2018. Having recently read James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (which I would highly recommend), I decided to capture the effect it had on me in an extemporaneous poem. Joyce’s language in the work is rich and piercing. It would be difficult for one not to… Continue reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
*This was written on May, 20th 2018. I stumble through the dark hallwayminding the slight ache in my headto find the coffee unmade. What with usual ease is done laboriously. I sit down on the cold couchminding the assortment of misplaced pillows to find my mind clear.What was done laboriously now with easeand clarity.