A man stood on the shore with his feet in the shallow water. He flipped the spool over on his fishing reel, tagged the line to the upper butt of his fishing rod with his pointer finger, and then the man tossed his line outward to bounce in the ripples of the bay.
The sun beat down across his salt and pepper hair. His skin was tanned and the sun glistened against his chest. The sunlight glimmered against the shine of his gold wedding ring, and overhead, seagulls turned in the light blue sky.
To the man’s left, a young boy stood Continue reading
there is a difference . . .
The difference between the right to die and suicide is the same as the difference between dignity and sadness. The right to die is a decision based upon terminal illness, as well as the body’s failure, and torment of inevitable pain.
The decision also considers the suffering, not only of the sick, but of their loved ones.
However, suicide is much different than this . . .
In the afternoon heat of a mid-August day, I stormed out of a group counseling session. I passed the other concerned patients in the live-in drug treatment facility. I passed my primary counselor that waved me over to inform me of our one-on-one session, and I stormed up the steps to the room where I slept.
The facility was Continue reading
jailhouse
When I hear the sound of heavy heels
clapping against a hard tiled floor,
I connect it with the sound of jingling keys
and barred doors that won’t open
from the inside.
I think of the 3 a.m. drunken disorderly
and how they howl about their rights
after vomiting in a stainless steel toilet.
I Think about the small cell and the hard wooden bench
I think of the youngsters, or the first Continue reading
written for a girl I never knew
The other day belonged to a woman named Brittany Maynard.
Brittany passed at the age of 29, but she chose to pass on her own terms after being diagnosed with terminal cancer, which sparked the debate over right-to-die issues.
Brittany chose November 1st so her husband could have Continue reading
The Blue Collar and Luke
I start my day by looking at a blank page on a computer screen. Often times, I sit in the dark with nothing else but the dull light from my monitor to brighten the room. My day begins like this; my day begins with an empty page and I wonder what I might fill it with when it ends.
I work in an industry where if you ask, nearly everyone says they are the best at what they do. If they are not the best, then most say they are very good.
But fingers point and the blame rolls downhill. I work in a place where Continue reading
An older short poem
She smiles sometimes and I believe this defies you.
To you, this is the worst kind of smile
because it proves you’ve lost what you once stole,
and that makes you angry,
doesn’t it?.
She smiles, and I wonder if you believe her smiles are real,
because after all; how could she smile if you are not around,
am I right?
But I was wondering . . .
Do you think you would regret the things you did
if she never walked away?
Or would your lies somehow turn clean
and the past would be the past.
You could go on being you
and she could go on being exactly what you need her to be
. . . . by any means necessary Continue reading
a speaking experience
Daybreak comes . . .
. . . and suddenly
the early sunlight filters through the trees,
which have been growing for generations,
and constantly changing from one season to the next.
(Just like us)
You know, it’s not too much to ask for. . . . if you think about it
Each morning, a new day comes
to settle the affairs of yesterday’s mishaps,
which eventually return if we fail to change our steps
(Or learn from our history)
I suppose we all have our own seasons that change us.
We all have our own private daybreaks and sunsets.
And it makes sense . . . . if you think about it
One is a chance to end another chapter,
and the other is a chance to start something new –
The bus picked us up in Queens and took us onto the island. I passed through a series Continue reading
matchbox cars and the sad notes
And it starts off with something simple . . .
The first time is usually the roughest. This is when the conscience speaks.
This is when the voice of better judgment steps in—but greed responds to silence them both.
The first time I ever took something that wasn’t mine was Continue reading
Still going . . .
I never sat on a balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
But I’ve dreamed about it.
I’ve dreamt of palm trees blowing in the wind, the sound of California’s streets moving below me, and the West Coast sun falling into a sea I have only seen in my thoughts.
The world is filled with critics and criticism.
There will always be someone looking to Continue reading
Where I Belong: Something from the Tattooed Minister
“I came home late last night and the stars were the brightest I’ve seen in a long time.
Usually, the city glare brightens the sky too much to notice them.
But it was late, and most of that brightness had gone to sleep.
I stood in front of my house and looked up;
I tried to find the biggest star and see if I could recognize any of the constellations.
I looked for Orion’s Belt and The Big Dipper.
I noticed strips of clouds hidden in the deep-night sky
and watched a plane fly overhead with its blinking lights.
I grew up here. In this town I mean.
I moved away for a while, but I came back.
The way life moves in circles and reconnects us is pretty amazing, if you think about it.
Someday, this will all make for an amazing story . . .”
October has changed the face of my neighborhood. Aside from the branches of emptying trees, or the color-changing leaves that Continue reading
The Written Addiction 