June 18, 2014 § Leave a comment
like a train
north to south
south to north
May 25, 2014 § 2 Comments
It’s so difficult to count
everything and all of it
the best of it, the worst of it
I can’t fathom the thought
of forgetting any of it, the rest of it
so I write it down
to live it again and again
the joy of it, the end of it,
the all of it
May 4, 2014 § 1 Comment
Does anyone else ever wonder
what time really means?
And what if everything in this life
is just a figment of our dreams?
If there was nothing, anywhere,
then what would even be?
And why is it that our life story
is just one incredible mystery?
March 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
Do you ever tire of moving?
While you speed past our eyes
in colorful streaks
like the blur of a train
across a country side
do you ever wish you could pause,
just for a second?
February 22, 2014 § Leave a comment
I had this old notebook when I was young
with pages and pages of tales I’d spun.
I wrote endless stories and once upon a times,
with mystical characters made up in my mind.
I found that old notebook in my closet one day
and thumbed through the pages of my fiction bouquet.
It revealed past wishes and childhood dreams,
but every story contained one consistent theme.
While their plots all evolved in different times and worlds,
something happened just when the stories began to unfurl.
A sentence, a period, and then nothing more,
my narrative would end, not a summation to implore.
The pattern existed in each and every tale,
as if I searched for inspiration, but to no avail.
But perhaps my endless stories spoke a message of hope
that the end of one’s journey can always change scope,
and that life is astounding because no one truly knows
what wondrous endings our stories may bestow.
They lay ready and waiting, just out of our sight,
they are free and they’re ours, should we dare to write.
February 22, 2014 § Leave a comment
the day leaves softly
closed eyes and an open mind
drifting to tomorrow
February 18, 2014 § 1 Comment
to illustrate time
resting between me and you
we’d need a decade,
February 14, 2014 § 2 Comments
if the world still spins
among an expanse of unknowns
and our blood still flows
through an amazing maze
and gravity still heaves
burying sandy beaches
then why must we remain
January 30, 2014 § Leave a comment
did it start at Genesis
at the ABC
or at the very beginning
of the end
on the right foot
stepping from number one
or a countdown
from ten did it start
or slow and steady wins
and second is the best
when the good guys
finish last or was it
the chicken or the egg
a Big Bang that cut
at the line
signaling a small start
with a sunrise
in a new chapter
breaking the ground
of a page turn
at the omniscient alpha
just before the fresh tomorrow
like there isn’t one
was that exactly and precisely
where it started
it all began
January 25, 2014 § 2 Comments
Our decade is floating upward
toward a precipitous cloud
encouraging the worship of wisdom
spilling from the fingers of intangible spectators,
who, again and again,
proclaim that the expanse of time
before death, before thirty
even, should be filled with experiences
from a shiny checklist, floating
on a flashing screen
guaranteed to render you more fulfilled
and sculpt your life journey to match
expectations of apathetic crowds,
those digital souls with hands ready to lend
affirmative praise to each picture posted
that fulfills the pre-defined checklist
of necessary accomplishments
and stringent guidelines of precisely
what it takes
to live a perfect life.
Seven stamps in your passport, at least,
before you become real, and old, and settled.
Skydiving naked, is a must
in order to truly live
you must break all the rules, as well
and simultaneously become
successful, noteworthy, wealthy.
New York on New Years, gambling in Vegas
skiing in the Rockies, sailing on the Gulf Coast
must all be done within the next five years,
at least, to ensure no regrets.
Don’t you want to be happy?
Expectations from an anonymous author
behind the guise of a piece of glass
becomes the Bible for the 20-something
dreamer, wishing to see, and hope, and do,
but what happened
to that dog-eared piece of lined paper
scrawled when you were seventeen
in a blue notebook, amongst science notes
and doodles of clouds, the cumulus kind,
a list that was carefully composed
before the world became enamored
with digital scripts of how best to live
when you were able to dream, entirely
in your own mind
of all the wonderful things you would do
someday, that would give you
your own version,
of a perfect life.