Landlocked, or Crossroad at Sun and Moon

Land surrounds the hill

It spills in waves of bluegrass

Midst rotation crops

Where rise stems and stalks

Aground, atmospheric fog


Saturates the faze of day

Preying on the Moon



A #freestylepoem @bykaileyann


: Every year was the grade I was in
until it wasn’t anymore;

it was easy for me to know
we’re special
because writing the date on my papers
turned my mind to what 
my daily achievements meant;

K-12 public school
’99 to ’12
‘The Last Class’
we called ourselves
how many of us?
and joked about counting 
down to the End of the World
and then we did Once
stop class –
I was in Prob & Stats –
and we seniors watched seconds go 
wholly tuned-in to the ticking
‘End of the World’
as we knew it Then;

And laughed
when the Bell rang ~


#HEDERAREADS #poetry #poem #poetrycommunity #writing #writingcommunity

No Shutdown

A poem containing thoughts and feelings @bykaileyann

Last time they Shutdown

My friends couldn’t pay their mortgages

Worse than that they couldn’t do their work

And our office was so vacant in the back

Without all the Rangers in there laughing

The best people I ever knew

Every one of them, I tell ya true

They take care of the land

And teach people what makes it special

Show them where to go to see


Their uniforms and badges

Were always second to their smiles

And talents

Botanists and Educators and Guides

Everyday was a surprise

They do nothing but good deeds

That’s their job

And never mind the paperwork

They all have to do it

But I learned from they way NPS works

Some sell hand-made fishing supplies on the side

And others write children’s books

Or help me host Kidditch on a perfect patch of grass

Preserved in a park they’re bound to protect

And better yet they love it

So Dear God don’t Shutdown

Because the consequences are fit to burst


If they can’t come to an agreement.


#freeverse #poetry

“Happy Reading”

A #streamofconsciousness poem ~

Why read if it doesn’t make you smile, at least once in a while, more oft than this Pink Moon we’re having, but maybe less oft than each added sliver of every waxing phase – enthusiasm wanes when I turn the page and frown, so pronounced is the melancholy sound of why must it all be like the end of days when I wake up seven a week in spite of the greenhouse haze which resembles fog at sunrise but lines the horizon brown by noon, too soon to tell but the swell seems only half-past the spine, may sound like I’m whining but promise I’m not ; it’s all just sleepless food for thought ~