For The Boys –
Tomorrow we grow another day older –
the Earth moves another turn around the sun
and this is life – one day at a time.
This is us, all day, every day.
We grow, we age, and, hopefully,
we live and we learn,
we laugh, and if we are lucky,
we get to love a little bit along the way.
Hopefully . . .
Waves move into sands,
which the shoreline inherits
but only after a long journey
This is not just a wave –
This is a wave that’s been years in the making.
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It is a decade past your years of vengeance and yet still,
you hold onto the lies and catastrophes
like a lifeline to your soul,
as if for some reason, if you let go –
you would cease to exist
or slip away into something else.
All too often,
We romanticize these crazy acts,
which stand before us like crazy shields
and desperate measures –
just to feel good.
And all too often,
we celebrate the villain
or glorify the bad guy
or the “tough guy”
This is a short poem that was written to set a few things free. This was written on a white screen that was blank in the beginning with a white glow shining on my face and reflection in my eyes.
This was begun before the sun or before the hours when my alarm clock songs; but more importantly, this was written with the intention to purge the soul.
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One pole south –
This is the low point and where the hole seems bottomless
or endless
and therefore the fear of falling is real
and relevant – or therefore,
the understanding of gravity pulls too much weight,
which makes it hard to stand some times
There was an old man who lived on a quiet block in a little town.
His house was one of the first to be built. Times were different then.
One morning, he came out and the moving truck pulled into his driveway.
His daughter and son in-law phoned saying they would be there soon and not to worry.
There it is, a great big world which is right outside of our door. This is alive and well, even if we don’t choose to see it.
I think, of course, and wonder of places such as certain cities, like say, places that I’ve only seen in pictures, like San Francisco or maybe Wyoming or even Alaska.
Or then again, my pilgrimage to anywhere could begin from anywhere; in which case, I have this urge to board a train and ride the railroads that span across our country. This way, I can see it all.
The morning was like a brief interlude after a night out with friends. As usual, I was up early because I’ve always had trouble sleeping on floors. Let alone, I never slept much anyway, least of all, as late as the rest of my friends who were sleeping it off the night before. No one else was awake in the small apartment, except for Pete. We were both sleeping on the floor because Steve already took the couch and the beds were all taken. Besides, this was not our apartment.
Continue readingSomeone talked about stigma the other day.
I shake my head when this comes up –
I remember someone telling me about my tattoos and how this brands me. I was told what this does to my appearance to which I said, at least you can see who I am.
You can’t always say this about the plain skinned or the people who hide in plain sight.
The Written Addiction 