Transform FEAR into —
curiosity, love, kindness, humor, hope, joy, knowledge, focus, laughter, awareness, wonder, willpower, wings, experience, faith, fervor, challenge, gratitude, encouragement, enlightenment, goodwill, action, learning, beginnings, opportunity, aim, determination, adventure, character, smiles, hard work, independence,
My poems are love-drunk letters to the universe.
“When men grow wings, they will be worse thieves than ever.”
“Thank God, men cannot as yet fly, and lay waste the sky as well as the earth.”
Sliding down the banister of life is so much more fun than ambling down
Prayer to the middle-of-the-night gods:
please let me sleep —
thank you for the beautiful moon
and winter silence
but please let me fall back to sleep —
no offense.
Amen.
syl·la·bles in my life
i cannot utter anymore
with the grace of youth
i stutter with freedom
and slur in wild love
words that once made
sense now are blind
faith doesn’t see and
hope rarely speaks
i’ve never needed you
to spell it out for me
the echo of emptiness
calls out like the sea
ebbing flowing waving
crashing shoring up
a million tear drops
whisper gently into
the gossamer of years
winds blow away our
comforts of home in
a smoke of memories
lost childhood remains
both here and gone
audible and sadly silent
echoes of those poems
voice words that sound
exactly the same but mean
something entirely different
We all have those moments in our lives that transform us — something small or big happens and we’re never the same.
Sometimes we remember these moments in our personal histories as leaps, or falls — or just serendipitous wanderings — from one life segment to the next.
Or we mark them like stars on a map of self — constellations of life-changing moments. Some seem crazy small and wouldn’t even register as stars in others’ systems. But in our own they blaze bright.
Or maybe our days are raindrops and our lives rolling clouds and these moments are lightning strikes. Raindrop days, lightning-strike moments.
These maps and moments imprint our souls, our minds, our memorious hearts. Our stories of self are made from them.
He asked to meet
He wanted to talk
He tried to kiss me
He tried to grab
We parted ways
He was mad
That I wouldn’t
Give him anything
I was mad about
What he was
Trying to take
“A simple definition of life: The chance you’ve been waiting for.”
—Robert Brault, rbrault.blogspot.com
You know the Model of your Car.
You know just what its powers are.
You treat it with a deal of care,
Nor tax it more than it will bear.
But as to self — that’s different.
Your mechanism may be bent,
Your carburetor gone to grass,
Your engine just a rusty mass.
Your wheels may wobble and your cogs
Be handed over to the dogs,
And on you skip, and skid, and slide,
Without a thought of things inside.
What fools indeed we mortals are
To lavish care upon a Car,
With ne’er a bit of time to see
About our own machinery!
—John Kendrick Bangs (1862–1922), “Motors,” The Cheery Way: A Bit of Verse For Every Day, 1920
You need not think
It’s vanity that makes me prink,
And take much care
To keep myself both fit and fair.
‘Tis not false pride or vain conceit
That keeps me trying to be neat,
But just the plain and simple truth
That I have held to since my youth
That this old frame in which I dwell
Is nothing more than the hotel
In which my Soul and Hopes must stay
Until I’m called to move away,
And for their dwelling-place I plan
To give them quite the best I can,
And keep the place up spick and span.
—John Kendrick Bangs (1862–1922), “An Explanation,” The Cheery Way: A Bit of Verse For Every Day, 1920
Our passion and kisses were stumbling — but stumbling in sync.
cactus is not cruel
it is just so damn thirsty
you’d be prickly too