Lately I’ve been sensing a strange, vibrational anomaly in the Cosmic Collective.

It seems as though the constant, low and comforting hum I have grown to love is intermittently pierced by this earthquake of noise. It only lasts for a millisecond or two, but it’s like a vinyl record skipping on an old turntable. The record still plays, but for every 360-degree revolution, there’s this small yet annoying bit that doesn’t belong there.

Is it just me? Or is anyone else feeling/sensing/hearing it? It’s probably just me, but it’s driving my brain to distracted madness, especially in those moments before I’m fully awake in the morning. You know, those first few minutes where you know you’re waking up but not quite ready to leave the dream state. Surely it’s just me right?


life happiness copy

I refuse to use this life I have been given to purposefully prevent the happiness of others. — GChristopher 2017

“Human kindness has never weakened the stamina or softened the fiber of a free people. A nation does not have to be cruel to be tough.” — Franklin D. Roosevelt

the air

the air copy

stagnant water, my friend
that’s what the air feels like today
the kind of air that, well,
makes you feel like you can almost smell
something rotting in the distance
but your keen senses
as sharp as they are
still can’t pin it down
it’s there
you can almost touch it
but air, dear friend
being what air is
eludes the physical realities
you can feel it
but you can’t
touch it

— GChristopher 2017

her mood

dark outside copy

it was dark outside
but the coffee?
that was much darker
not quite as dark as

her mood

no, not even close

her mood?

that was blacker than black
so thick, so empty
a void
almost dark enough to be


like sugar

like a moment of darkness
when there’s nothing more
when it’s dark outside
and her coffee is black

and she realizes

. . .

— GChristopher 2017

Happy Haiku Poetry Day

Here’s a few I wrote out real quick to celebrate the day…

It was dark outside
But the coffee was darker
As black as her mood


A bug on the floor
Came through the open back door
Now you are flat, bug

No war on our shores
But war is in their dark hearts
While I long for peace

Drop flowers on heads
Not angry bombs on their beds
Our world is of love