Posted in Poetry on July 27th, 2021 by D'jaevle

the unwinding of clocks
reminds me that momentum
is relentless
unless you have

in the grip

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on June 24th, 2021 by D'jaevle

you are one breath away from being in the grip of my hunger.

just one.

one breathe is forever.

it’s long enough to feel fear.






one breath is long enough to meet my eyes

and after that

you have no time at all.


Posted in Poetry on May 30th, 2021 by D'jaevle

it is a mercy
and memory

a dream
sparked in the passing of hubris
and the sweetness of light.



Posted in Poetry on March 22nd, 2021 by D'jaevle

in the shadow of a minotaur

I came across a supposition:

    that the difference between a maze and a labyrinth

    is a matter of the heart.

you can get lost in a maze.

    but in a labyrinth

 so long as you go forward,

          you will find the center

if we agree with this supposition

then we must follow the red threaded question it holds

is your heart a maze

   holding captive 

      poor adventurers

incapable of solving it’s mystery


a labyrinth

  home to just


who put their hand to the wall

   closed their eyes

       and walked


Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on March 18th, 2021 by D'jaevle

joy is
fading light
a sliver of moonshine
caught between
finger tips

my joy
is akin to hunger
the wolf of me
knows no distinction.

it chases the moon.

irrelevant of occurrence

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on February 14th, 2021 by D'jaevle

i name them.





speaking in tongues

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on January 14th, 2021 by D'jaevle

I offer you silence
not as an absence
but as a gateway
to a moment
I can

it is not so strange
that I speak their language:
your demons know
my demons
so very

let me count the things you are not

Posted in Poetry on December 13th, 2020 by D'jaevle

you are not a rose.
not pricked
in thorns
or cannibalized
for love

you are not a summer day.
if your eyes hold
a sunset
you keep it
well hidden

you are not a gift.
or encapsulated
by any singular

do not fit neatly
into metaphor
(or my poet’s heart)

you are simply

bruised knuckles and broken toys (revised)

Posted in Poetry on December 9th, 2020 by D'jaevle

we trade making a scene
for quiet today
is the cessation of dreams
the price we must pay?

hold onto these words, less we forget
that a lifetime of almosts
is one of regret

the longer I live
the more that I find
the things I miss most
are the dreams left behind

not callous, not simple, not shallow or clothed
but bared and complex, deep and exposed

not careful, not silent, not restrained or delayed
but reckless and furied, freed and remade

not counting the rings in the circles I’ve walked
but remembering the falls and the chances I’ve stalked

you can promise the peace of a path well traveled and tested
and I’ll show you my scars where the best have been bested

now tell me you’re listening
and I’ll tell you this:
a life that’s worth living
is too easily missed


Posted in Poetry on November 24th, 2020 by D'jaevle

even though it’s closed
there must be another side
to this door

I’ve never seen it open.
but I know you went through it

I think –
you lean against it
for my voice

even though its closed
there must be another side
to your story.