My name is Travis Morgan.

Welcome to my online portfolio. Here you will find a variety of my works including art, music, and poetry.
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A Philosophers Favorite Color

When asked, “what is your favorite color?” My response could be no less than…

I do not have a favorite color per say, I value them equally. It is their differences and contrast to each other that allows their color to be differentiated from any other color, and thus these differences allow one color to compliment or distinguish another. It is in this sense that they are dependent on each other to be recognized and discriminated against for one being more beautiful then another. Which I cannot allow myself to do since I recognize the importance of them all and how their relationship to each other determines each colors unique beauty.

And if you must absolutely insist that i discriminate one color over the next, I currently would lean toward the tones of a café brown espresso accented by hints of creamy latte swirls below dashes of cinnamon spice.

Funny how people say as a matter of fact that there is no matter of fact.

Gone with the Wind

Summer day,
leaves, green and vibrant,
the morning dew drips off
serving the thirst of wild geraniums below.

Autumn comes,
and the leaves begin to wither and die,
spectators gather
to admire the beautiful colors.

Winter, the trees are barren,
the leaves have all fallen off,
and have been mulched
to fertilize the now frozen grass for next year.

Spring arrives,
the grass is green and healthy again,
and on fresh new leaves
the morning dew drips off
serving the thirst of wild geraniums below.

The cycle repeats.

We are transient like the leaves,
blowing in the wind,
and some day will fall
to allow another to have the chance to live.


The death-like frigid air
sharpens its blades upon your sputtering lungs
having burrowed its way through twin nasal cavities
it crystallizes your breaths from the inside out.
Suffocating your zephyr with its own,
upon exhale, your life visibly evaporates before you.

And so it was with us that in defense of this nipping assault
with hands split and fractured like dried up ravines
we struggled to even adjust our wooly scarves
over each others chapped flaking lips.
The same lips we normally long for in the spring
we were now blinded to with eyes glaciated wide shut
And like a pair of blue frozen corpses
our limbs were stiffened,
yet somehow, we still managed to tremble together
as though it were our furnaces last attempts
to throw sparks at each other
in what could be our final days
of jointly sharing lifes’ bitter bleakness.