The Hive Winery

What land of fruit and honey is complete
Without a place to make its treasured wine?
The Hive’s not just a place where wines are sweet
Their melomels and meads are both divine!

Divinity used water for the deed
Of making wine, a miracle, it’s true
And yet these vintners make their lucious mead
From honey and the fruit that grows here too!

When Deseret was founded, long ago
I wonder if the “saints” who planted trees
Suspected that the fruit that they would grow
Would mingle with the gold from honey bees

This land of fruit and honey is alive
With wine that’s made within this treasured Hive.

Cirque du Susanna

(SHE is Susanna Hope Ennis)

There’s no room for trapeze in utero
But liquid makes it easier to move
And so SHE jumps and twists, but doesn’t show
At least, not yet, SHE’s nothing yet to prove
A few more weeks of acrobatic feats
Until SHE joins the Ennis circus clan
A few more weeks in utero completes
Susanna Hope, according to our plan
But SHE still likes to push inside her mom
And turn to hide her face from ultrasound
At times SHE’s still, enraptured in the calm
Embrace of warmth inside where love is found
SHE’s welcome in our world and in our hearts
Where SHE will feel the thrill her life imparts!

Cafe Ville Bella

I found a little place to sit and write
A coffee shop across from Weber State
Their coffee is the best I’ve had, in spite
Of living in Seattle. Yes, it’s great!

Their cupcakes compliment their caffeine brew
Of course no coffee ever was complete
Without a cake-ly crumb to savor too
Their cake-ly crumbs make coffee taste so sweet!

But wait, don’t get me started on their soup
What, cupcakes served with coffee’s not enough?
When hunger strikes, I come here to regroup
Their kitchen’s filled with tons of tasty stuff!

If homework ever makes me want to roam
Then Cafe Ville Bella brings me home.

Your Kiss

Your kiss is more than simply lips to lips
Come kiss me with your heated breath and tongue
Your kiss goes far beyond the fingertips
I trace across your lips: a song unsung
Your mouth becomes a passage to your soul
This act becomes a breach of space and time
Like chaos losing ground to self control
Or poetry surrendering to rhyme
But when you slide your hands behind my neck
And let your hair fall all around your face
And when you know my will is held in check
Your kiss becomes my solitary grace
My world contracts to nothing less than this
Where nothing else exists except your kiss.

First published on: Jan 16, 2008 as Her Kiss

Promontory Cheese

This cheese is more than just a golden spike
And yet, they call it Promontory too
It’s made at Beehive Cheese; this cheese I like
A cheddar full of flavor pure and true

It’s won awards from sea to shining sea
It’s won awards around the world and back
This cheese is what a cheese was meant to be
This cheese deserves its own cross-country track!

I know they joined the tracks to bridge the land
I wonder if they knew this cheese would come
Or if this cheese was more than they had planned
It’s calling you and me; let’s go get some!

To both the brothers down at Beehive Cheese
Keep making Promontory Cheddar, please!

The Golden Cherub Sorok (cóрок) Prologue

A cóрок (Russian 40)

I chose to write this story in this format of 40 lines to honor the Russian cóрок (sorok.)
In Russian folklore, some Russians believe that ghosts of the dead linger near the site of their death for forty days.
I also composed this poem with the lines and stanzas written in the Pushkin Sonnet, or Onegin Stanza of tetrameter.
The rhyme scheme is also different from traditional sonnets:
Rather than just 3 quatrains followed by a couplet, I composed this poem with 3 sets of 3 quatrains followed by 2 sets of 2 couplets.

The story of the Golden Cherub

A golden cherub is saved by Natalya in St. Petersburg from being destroyed by the Germans during WWII.

She promises the golden cherub to the poet who can preserve it through his poetic medium.

3 poets attempt to preserve the golden cherub with their art.

Natalya gets ill and dies before she can bestow the gift.

Natalya’s ghost lingers in St. Petersburg for 40 days.

The poets argue over who won.

The golden cherub is returned to St. Petersburg* and displayed in the Hermitage.

Natalya’s ashes are scattered in the Neva.


She sought to make its beauty last
A baby angel, made of gold
At times time seemed to go too fast
It warmed her heart in winter’s cold

Their bombs destroyed her city’s pride
She kept it safe, and tried to hide
The baby angel, made of gold
That warmed her heart in winter’s cold

To make its gold forever shine
She sought a poet who would write
With words that always would be bright
His prize would be its gold, divine
Poet 1

When dangers come, will darkness last
Or disappear within your gold
Will winters we’ve endured, be past
And will your warmth replace our cold?
Poet 2

Don’t disappear; don’t even hide
We feel your beauty, deep inside
Angelic hands and heart of gold
Reveal the story we’ve foretold
Poet 3

Cherubic beauty, grace divine
Compel with gold, the words I write
Reflect my words with priceless light
Beyond my poem’s mere design
The siege was where disease was sewn
The fruit of illness fell as death
Before the winner’s name was known
Natalya gave her final breath

The cóрок saw Natalya’s ghost
Beside her grave, the Baltic coast
She sang within the winds of time
Without poetic words or rhyme

And on the shore the poets sat
And argued who had won the prize
They knew their words could not disguise
The fate their words could not combat

The Angel’s gold would never fade
Within the Hermitage displayed

Natalya’s ashes, with her fame
Enhance the river Neva’s name.