There are many paths to tread.


Pre-order my world debut album today and

Pre-order my world debut album today and help me support the Wounded Warrior Project!



I wrote this on a drive from Spokane to Seattle this last December. I like it, but don’t know where it’s going. Maybe I’ll add to it, maybe I won’t. It’s simple, and I don’t want to play with it too much.


The fog, in shades of amethyst and sapphire,
Be-gemmed the winter-naked skeletons
Known once as trees,
The nape of each drawn close around
With frosty shrubs in icy hues.


I often think

Far too little about what I am saying

Before I actually say it.


I often feel 

Far too much about what I am living

While I actually do it.


I often hear

Far too much of what I am singing

After I actually perform it.


I often see

Far too little of what I am creating

Until I actually make it.


Would someone please tell me

What I am doing before it is too late?

Of course not. There would be

No adventure in that.


When night shines its darkness

and storms verge on the glistening horizon,

then I know you are there.

Plunging me into thought and waking

dreams of realization and foundation.

Sometimes heights scare me,

but not when you’re around.


Sing me to actual sleep and keep me

there, so I may never waken to day’s 

crushing light.

Be my everything and circumstance.

Climb firmaments and buckled seas

till you can read my face once more.

Enlighten me, my heart, my ceremony.

Comfort a rotten jewel.


Nebulae of sins and creamy milk of sorrow

flood my lungs with air.

And I imagine your grace

and you are with me again.

Stay, for you know I am yours.

On a Winter’s Eve

Below freezing and yet so warm inside

Being here with you keeps me in the right frame of mind

and nothing can pull me out. 

Scary. Nothing can. Frightening. 



Here you are with me, God with us.

Christ penning the conversation we are having and keeping me

and you

in time together, tracking each other’s thoughts.

You never know how much you mean

to the me inside the me.

But there you go.

Happy new year, you.

Happy new year, me.

Happy yet another year, God.


Christ be with us.

Gone But Not Forgotten

If life could be summed up in a poem,

We would not have much for which to live.

That’s why I love life.

It hits you where it hurts

And leaves, laughing.

But I’m not – in fact I’m crying

Because I’m nowhere near where I wish

to be tonight.

Know that you are all here with me

In what I wish could be called

My memory, but what is really just my imagination.

You may be gone from my vicinity,

But you are far from being forgotten.

The Sprite’s Reprise

She wonders everyday
whether she might be allowed to say
what she’s thinking
as she looks out at the pallid green bay.
Its waves seem to withhold
information that might help the cold
within her troubled mind
no matter what she’s been told.
She holds in her hands her womb,
that rotten, crumbled, sealed-up tomb,
that once held her child
now wrapped in life’s gloom.
Salvation is not in order for her –
her pastor preaches to only the pure
of heart and body
but she could never be cured.
The waves call out above this thought
and around her ankles seem to be caught
so she gives in to them –
her soul by the sea was bought.