I’m feeling quite sick today, so I’m posting a poem that I wrote initially a while back, and am still working on.

Claremont, CA

Most thoughts of days outdoors start at Memorial Park,

where the plains of grass span between the seas of trees

waiting for picnickers to unpack their plates of cheese

in the evergreen sunlight of a perpetual spring day.


But this day seems better meant for a stroll

down the way to the village, where the bustle

of busy people breaks through the monotony

of an otherwise boring afternoon.


If you’re in a rush, you might take a short cut down Yale

where the light mess of greenery dodges around cozy homes,

or take a run along Harvard, if you’re feeling competitive.

Still, I prefer to take Indian Hill, the main road,


where you can peer down a corridor of ancient arbors

and see history unfold between the leaves,

like dancers telling the stories of each incumbent

through the wordless steps of wind-riddled branches.



Hello there!


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