The Corpus Of Jane Doe – A Poem

Content Warning: This poem may not be suitable for all audiences and may contain information that some could find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.
A statue of St. Francis of Assisi - the patron saint against dying alone

The Corpus Of Jane Doe

A mountain of paperwork
Encumbers my day
In the mortuary she waits-
Chalk-white and purple
Coagulated blood at the points
We knew to be the lowest
Where she laid waiting to be found

She is your typical body-
No tattoos or piercings
Barely more information than:
Hair, Eyes, Skin, Size

What is the immutable?

She had an identity with a past:
Information trapped behind
Unmoving lips and rigor mortis
Lost to the depths of an unseen mind

Someone loved this woman:
Her vibrant smile I never see
How her cheeks flushed
At compliments or with tears

We gather information
-what we objectively know-
To approximate backward
Into a time before death
When parents held a baby
And gave her a name


Thank you so much for reading my poem today! If you found its words meaningful, please consider liking, commenting, and/or sharing it with others. Truly, I am grateful for the time you spent reading my work.

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A Moment Aflame – A Poem

Here’s a poem I wrote in 2016. Some poems age into themselves and their meanings change to readers over time based on current events. I won’t attempt to provide explanation or analysis. I do hope it resonates with you though.

As usual, the poem is mostly unrelated to the image

A Moment Aflame

at tables cleaned and polished by our own hands we sit
attempting personal renaissance:
a moment in time caught fire.
we sit, write, talk, eat, drink, breathe in-
to creation
the desperation
for a life out-
side of this very existence
controlled by desire to satiate the disease of purpose
symptoms driven deep into young minds by
careless words;
unanswered questions:
unfulfilled dreams pushed onto another generation
as lost grown children wander with empty eyes and imploding hearts.

they told us we were equal,
instead,
we are searching for explanations –
why this world has treated our existences like matches:
struck aflame
burned out
thrown away

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this poem today. If it speaks to you and you find connection, please let me know by liking, commenting, or sharing this post. This helps me know which posts my readers like best.

Remember, without you these words would serve no one other than myself and the company getting paid to host the data.

My Soul Is A Kite – A Poem

Photo taken as part of the dark sky photography trip this past weekend

As I compile my past work into poetry collections that may or may not be shared, I have decided to break a couple out. You can expect these to be shared over the next few weeks. Written in 2008 (and edited before posting), here is “My Soul Is A Kite”:

My Soul Is A Kite

it crawled up on me
like snow falling on satin
this unshakable feeling
that I must go

the wind blows
and my soul is a kite
billowed and caught
by this invisible clout

though here I am loved
if I stay I will die
as any flower withers
beneath too much sun

so release all the twine
and let me fly away
I will wave eagerly
as the zephyr laps
and I will join the waves
that crash into the sky

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this poem, please share it with a friend and/or like and comment below. I appreciate every person that reads this – without you these words would carry no meaning beyond my own mind.

To: Route 17 – A Poem

I wish you could know him
He’s everything you wanted

He dances with no music
And laughs at my jokes

And I would bring him home
Beneath the big Live Oak

There’s something so sick
About how I finally fit in

How you think you won
How you saved me from sin

“That’s not how this works”
I wish I could scream

But that’s not Southern charm
That’s not peaches and cream

So instead I battle with myself to be pristine
Debating what it means to be seen

Is it possible the land of my birth could change?
Can I assume anything stayed the same?

Imagining sandbars shimmering; seagull echoes
Restless feet in water with curious skates nibbling toes

I hunger for home and slowly die of starvation
But the wound is deeper than my severe deprivation

Yet, how grateful I am to have chosen family
Voices of the Richmond vortex’s gravity

Perhaps one day I will return
With so many stories we have yet to learn