maybe we'll understand better when we are

Maybe we'll understand better when we are
older than those who have come before us
have given mind to, or when
we've decided that
ends and means were never justified
but for what lies between them

doesn't impact any less than the
two on either end of it.
Moments of clarity like the
silence between the white noise
crackles were nothing but
nothing echoes off itself

or maybe we never will.

what if...

I'd carve you an ocean.
Through the middle of the country, from the
Gulf of Mexico straight up to Tulsa, a trench
as wide as your need for the coast, to carry up
salt secrets from the bottom of the Atlantic to
your back porch.

I'd build you a porch.
The finest pine hardwood colored by deep
mahogany stain and treated against the
weathering from your new Midwest salt air.
Every morning you could sit here;
Read British lit and sip from mugs of tea or
coffee with a splash of Eire. There would be
tables. And benches. And shelves for your books.
I would build it all with these two hands.

I'd take your hand.
We could walk along our ocean, skip rocks
along the surf and reminisce. Our hands
could grow wrinkled together; our palms would
share wrinkles as we walked. Our faces, weathered
by the wind and waves of our ocean, would stand out
in Midwest crowds. People would stare confused at
our wrinkles and sunspots and we'd  just smile.

You make me smile.
Even a passing thought of you throughout the day is
visible on my face as a fleeting grin; and while no one
else may know exactly what or who is crossing my mind,
the expression tells them that it's pleasant...and uplifting...
and genuine.

But what it doesn't tell them is that away from their momentary
and unintentional company, that fleeting grin will never materialize
into something more, never be translated into words, never be
shared with your eyes.

You are my "what if?"
My "who knows?"
My "I wonder what..."
You are the one question to remain unanswered.
I'll never know what you smell like after a shower;
the touch of my fingertips against the skin along your
spine; whether or not we would fit like puzzle pieces
for the night, my knees in the backs of yours, fingers
laced, breathing synced. You're my "what if?"
What if we hadn't had so much distance for so many years?
What if I hadn't taken no for an answer?
Would fighting for you have brought you closer or
driven you further away?

My answer is no...to the questions you think but never ask
because even if the answer was yes, we could never find out
where those yeses would lead us so don't even ask them.
As the sky grows ashen and the sun sets on our ocean,
"what if" will remain and that's just fine with me, because
it is these "what if's" that inspire poetry so you're my inspiration.
And without that, I have nothing.
So remain unanswered and I'll remain inspired, and together we'll
write out our story while being free to live out our own lives.

This is just to say -

* I was looking through old papers from high school English classes and I stumbled upon this poem from sophomore year, along with a short essay on how I wasn't really into poetry and didn't see how it would ever affect my life. HA!



This is just to say -

I have broken
the strings
that are on
your guitar

and which you
probably needed
for your next
performance

Forgive me
It was so tempting
to try and play
like you

Beautiful Death

The red of her lipstick hid the blue of her mouth
Rouged cheeks disguised the pallid gray of her skin
Elongated eyelashes and dark shadows of painted silver
Drew attention away from the absence of breath

She was a beautiful death
She was waiting for me
I was not ready to go
This was alright with her
She is a patient wraith of a woman

Self-Portrait

Grey-blue portals to lite-brite thoughts lay
Nestled between ever-moving brows and slightly
Native-influenced cheekbones.
Centered is a nose from my mother,
Origin betrayed by the slight rise at the bridge.

A smile made crooked at birth;
Fresh greater-than symbol framed by a
Beard that cannot seem to make up its mind
Between the blonde of my youth and
Dark brown of my father.

A body that to me shows whisperings of
Athleticism finally peeking through
Years of college dietary choices too often liquid
Supports a head covered with a preemptive strike of
Salt and pepper seasoning my scalp a few seasons too early
But at least I have my father to look like.

why i write

I write because
Too many people won't talk anymore
Too many problems too quickly ignored
Too many detriments the same as before
And sure, I'm only one man with pen in hand
But words are how the world began
With words, life was formed;
Calmed was the storm;
And if sticks and stones
May break my bones but
Words will never hurt me,
Then how can the tongue be
A two-edged sword?
And they say a pen is
Mightier than the sword anyway,
So I write.

I write because there are those who cannot
And the proverbial fight must still be fought.
What fight is that, I don't always know but
Someone has to fight it.
And so I'll write it.

Language unites and language divides;
Words build up and destroy in the same sentence.
This power rips from my insides, in hopes that
One can somehow provide penance for another.
I've shattered and I've put back together.
It doesn't matter whether or not the intention
Is pure or wicked; that two-edged sword will
Sever in either direction. And the repetitive arguments
For justice and peace are making no headway
And becoming trite.
So I write.

I write because white sheets with empty blue lines
Make me anxious. Blank pages for verbal sages,
And I ache to add a few lines from my couple decades
Of wisdom to the ages. Language unites and language
Divides but words from the soul bridge any gap.
And gaps are getting too wide, spreading like a
Cadaver's chest, revealing insides left by the wayside.
Rescue is pertinent or catastrophe is imminent.
So ink on paper, thoughts exhibited on parchment
Previously unscathed by the two-edged
Sword is what I crave.
So I write.

nameless

These hands have clasped with death.
Palms display a lifeline not mine, yet I live it.
Brain holds memories inaccessible to me
Heart pumps blood I do not own
Knows a love I have not known
And yet here I am.
Separate parts forming one being
Nameless
Sans identity
Plans for me cut short by a realization
Of fantasy.

My father, my father
Why have you forsaken me?
Frankenstein, my creator
Have you mistake me, your creation seed, for a creature?
Did you know you were playing God when you brought me forth?
Born from a storm yet never birthed...lightning flashes
Life from God's fingers as they stretched
Across the sky like ever-fleeting cracks in the
Windshield of the universe.

And now I stand, forever cursed to wander
This earth a spiritless being, never seeing
An end to this torment. You forwent reason
When you made me, save to satisfy your own
Perverse curiosity. It's heretical hypocrisy
By which you've begotten me; giving life without
That which sustains it.
So here I am, nameless.
Wanting only to please you, appease you;
Show you that my soul could come through.
I just needed a teacher. Someone to reach in
And jump-start the heart beating without purpose
In my cavernous cadaverous chest.

But all you showed me was disappointment and
Terror. How dare you reject me.
If you cannot respect me, you will fear me.
My purpose - pain. The only emotion you have
Taught me to understand all too well in this
Gangrenous prison cell shall become you
Terrestrial hell, encompassing you in
Sleeping and waking. You will feel the
Aching in my heart, doctor. Father.
It is time I find the life I was denied by
Your pride.

My life is not over; it is just beginning.
My life is not over; it is just beginning.
My life is not...
It is just...
My life is not just...
It just is...

And through this,
I shall be
Named.

foliage fall

Limbs on limbs
      Reaching higher as the footholds
            Lose their strength
      Keep on climbing anyway until
Slowly cracking
      Limbs turn into wings turn into
            Helplessness
      Rude awakening fast approaching
Back meets earth
      Like a thunder clap. Breath leaves
            Body like an escaped
      Convict; Doesn’t want to return ‘til
Warden Respiration
      Hauls him back in; pain settles but
            With temporary residence
      Not sure how it happened.
Won’t attempt that ascent
      ‘Til youth permits forgetfulness