don't ask me what it means, it's late, you're all great

Why am I listening to Christmas music on Halloween?

Is it like when I eat oatmeal plain with cold milk?
Or is it like wearing a tide kick shirt?

Maybe it's like shanksing my loved ones?
Or is it the calming sound of living in a city of immigrants?

Am i a blue elephant who can't make up his mind?
Or am i the bright red leaf who doesn't dare fall?

And maybe i'm just like you
and you're just like me.

I want to
runrunrunrunbikebikebike
away
and
far
away.

leave my heart behind
in the dust of my body's sweat.

but I always come back to this--
my heart.

it cannot be left behind.

and, blessedly so, I suppose.
for it helps me in so many other ways.

I feel love from above,

love all around,

love on the ground.

in the mood for Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter - bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”

Shadows

I had to write a poem for my Creative Writing. Here is my offering.

I never saw a velvet sky until tonight—
Walking onto campus to take my science test.
While molecules of information,
Whirled in my mind like Brownian motion.

Students were dark shadowy figures creeping quietly.
Someone whistled briefly-then quickly stopped.
Apparently afraid to break the silence
Or that shadows would break into unsettled violence.

My own steps were tentative and scared,
Like each one was increasing the entropy of earth.
My own shadow swung onto my left side
While the girl’s ahead of me was on her right stride.

The trees limbs were spider legs on the ground,
Crawling slowly to the edges of my sneakers.
The testing center was painted dungeon black,
From the shadows of the other building’s backs.

Before I stepped into the gloomy dark,
I looked up and caught my breath.
Purple stars pressed against the dusky blue sky,
Their own shadows totally invisible.

you

you once drank the dregs of your former self.
they didn't taste as bitter as you thought they would.
of course, you didn't swallow with a smile,
but you weren't exactly choking them down either.
they settled inside your stomach
and didn't raise a roaring fight to come back up.

you once hated that you.
but you have always been you.
the you that has been is and will be.
you.

preserved

put me in a bottle
with lots of alcohol
then I'll be preserved
and you'll have killed me

A Very Badly Written Poem!

When the shadows depart,
Where are our hearts?
When insecurity dies,
Who are we inside?

Stronger,
Braver
No longer afraid
Of what people think.
Living life
To the fullest

Or

Weaker,
Cowardly
False bravado gone.
Quiet minds become
More aware
Of the hurt inside others.

So who are you,
Stripped of your false
Covers?
Naked to the world
Your true self shines
Or dims.

this i believe

I believe in new days, in climbing out of bed to know that a whole, new, clean day stretches before me.

I believe in family. In laughing, talking, eating, and playing with them.

I believe in holding babies. Their new hearts jumpstart mine into living more fully. I believe in looking deep into their eyes. I believe they're heaven-sent.

I believe in gardens. I believe in digging, sowing, weeding, watering, and harvesting. I believe squatting in the dirt and working makes me alive.


Just a few thoughts on this October morning. I love the "This I Believe" Series on NPR and here's a snippet from an 1950's essay by Hugo Haas. His dad and brother perished in Nazi gas chambers. He's Czech and escaped to the U.S.

I believe in friendship as something given by God to make our lives worthwhile, warm and less lonesome. And I believe in love with all the consequences of joy, sorrow and sacrifices. For love is the strongest element that in the final analysis fulfills our lives. It is the strongest impression left to the end of our days and all the dear faces connected to these feelings: father and mother, brothers and sisters, wife and children, stay with us in our memories to the very last moments of our consciousness.

Jackson Browne

You old man that my dad listens to.
How long have I been drifting
alone through the night?
But your soothing voice
brings a calm to my soul.
In the shape of a heart and
pages turning,
and the hope that one day,
to be like the
rebel Jesus.