to write is to savor life twice, first in the moment and again in reflection. for that reason, those who choose not to write are losers... stinky, dummy-head losers.

quite adept, to a crowd of seagulls at local parking lot, July 1, 2022

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

the manifold mask

doubts, and dialogue,
obscured behind
the manifold mask

it conceals you,
yet none could ever
feel you, but with
a stranglehold, passed.

in its anonymity
others basked;
but you craved the cold
of the manifold mask.

added 2024/06/03

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -


it was born from the dust of the earth
and it drew the water from the deep
to feed the grasses and the trees
and from its breath came the wind
it bestowed warmth from its heart
and within its eyes created light
which allowed all things to see
and it gave us hands
but told us nothing of how to use them...

so we grew and grew and grew
and became much more than it
and our minds became busy
which produced a murmuring drone
that grew and grew and grew
until our minds were lost
to the torturous murmuring thoughts
that it preceded us
and we forgot that it gave us hands...

added 2024/05/27

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

wip lyrics 2024-05-18

you need me to see
you need me to
see, you need me to see
you need me too

you need me to say
you need me to
say you need me to say
you need me too

added 2024/05/18

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

haiku 2024-04-12

I lost you to this.
I remember you burning.
I am your ashes.

added 2024/04/12

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -


I miss you every day;
But that's no longer true,
For a day has gone by
Without thinking of you.

Is that good? Is that bad?
I don't know how to feel.
For the missing of you
Makes the lack of you real.

Should a day without missing
Bring a day full of guilt?
Does missing one missing
Mar the missing I've built?

But I'm missing you now
And I wish you were here,
But will I be missing you
By this time next year?

The big thing I'm missing
When thinking of you
Is hearing you say
"I love you too."

added 2024/04/12

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

The Neighborhood Ball

When I see emergency vehicles
Outside a suburban home,
I think back to the day
The old lady across the street died.
This was some time ago.

It was nice outside.
I think I was playing soccer with my sister.
We liked basketball more, but the backboard had fallen off our basketball goal at some point.
I don’t remember when or how.
But this will be important to the story later.

So came the sirens and we stopped kicking the ball
To watch the firetruck pass.
Then came an ambulance,
And then another, and then a second, smaller firetruck.
They stopped at the house across the street and two houses over.

This was the house of an old lady;
An old lady that we didn’t like.
I didn’t understand why we didn’t like her,
But I didn’t question it, because I was a child and I didn’t see the need to.
But this will be important to the story later.

Our Dad came out to see what was going on.
His Dad instincts told him to assess the situation silently.
And so he did, motionlessly, for a minute.
Then he looked at us and said,
“I’m going to fix that backboard.”

And so he did, meticulously, for several minutes.
And he made sure to position himself in such a way
That he was always facing the developing scene
Across the street and two houses over.
A clever Dad maneuver.

So as we watched Dad fix the backboard,
He kept an eagle eye on the paramedics
Going in and out of the house.
They rushed at first; hurried in and out,
And then they moved more slowly, taking their time.

After a while, they mostly just stood outside.
And the firetrucks left, and a police car arrived.
And I didn’t know what any of that meant.
But Dad knew, and he also finished
Fixing the backboard.

“You two want to test it out?”
He asked us, trying to distract us.
“No, not really.”
We replied and began coloring a rainbow with sidewalk chalk instead.
And so Dad went to the garage and grabbed the basketball himself.

By now, the whole neighborhood was out
On their patios and driveways,
Surveying the situation at the old lady’s house.
And soon they began gathering and gossiping and making conclusions.
And one neighbor eventually came up to our house.

Which brings us to the pivotal scene
I wanted to paint for you, dear reader.
A scene in which a concerned neighbor
Approaches our family to discuss a difficult topic,
While Dad is absolutely draining buckets in the driveway.

Yeah, he played ball in college.
And even after two knee surgeries,
He never dropped his love for the game.
We're talking successive, uninterrupted, fadeaway threes from beyond the mailbox,
While our neighbor waits to inform him that they think Mrs. Kinston died.

And though Dad eventually took a break
And chatted with the neighbors,
They likely thought he was being disrespectful
In his decision to casually
Post-up and pump fake invisible defenders in a time of pre-mourning.

Years later I learned that he intended every bit of disrespect
When I brought up the event
And asked him how he remembered it.
Unbeknownst to me and my siblings,
For a time, that old lady was his sworn enemy.

Apparently she and her husband used to call the police
On me and my siblings for
“Playing too loudly”
And even after Dad told us to stifle our joyous screams, and we played quietly,
We were still too “loud” for this old couple.

And our Dad, in his Dad ways,
Tried to explain to them,
That we were just kids, and kids play,
So please try and resolve any issues respectfully,
By calling our landline instead of Emergency Services.

But according to him,
This old couple was relentless, ruthless,
And downright tyrannical in their perceived position
As the irrefutable upholders of neighborhood peace and righteousness.
At least until the husband died.

After that, the old lady stopped harassing the neighborhood kids.
But Dad still held a grudge.
Enough of a grudge that when her time came too,
He decided to remind the neighborhood
That anybody, at any time, can play as “loud” as they want.

added 2024/04/11

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

Stained Glass Leaves

In the dream I see a tree
With stained glass leaves.
The wood is wood, as it should be,
But the leaves are as different as they could be.
Colorful. Intricate. Fragile. Clear.
When I dream this tree appears.
It's stained glass leaves provide no shade,
But a swirling colorful light cascade
Dances down from the branches,
And overlays my skin in the most mesmerizing way.
Oh, and the sound of these leaves in the wind;
Glass chimes reverberate and descend,
Echo, and whisper in my ear.
How I'd love to spend a day here.
I'd love to stay here
And listen to these glass leaves clatter.
But when I linger, as I tend to,
The leaves begin to fall and shatter.
So I must go now,
And visit only when I truly need to;
When there is a feeling I must heed to.
But until then, I am resigned
To leave these leaves behind
And hold them closely, dear,
With quiet fondness,
In the back of my mind.

added 2023/12/21

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

There's a Moth in the Bathroom

There's a moth on the wall in the bathroom.
Oh shit.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck!
Oh shit!
Oh wait,
It's fine...
He's nice.
He's kind...
He'll probably leave when he's ready.
I'm fine.
I'll pee,
Then leave.
He'll leave,
In time...
Hi, moth.
Bye, moth.
I'm fine...
He can linger in the corner of the room.
He can linger in the corner of my mind.

added 2023/09/22

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

The Light From the Window Curtain

Light flows into the room
With permission from the window curtain;
Left a bit open the night before
A late decision made uncertain.

Half awake, yet fully asleep,
Body stiff with a tightness;
Soft red glow through the eyelid
From morning's calm brightness.

Lingering on a dream, she rests
Eager to sleep a few minutes more
But her peace is disturbed
As he opens the door.

It screeches and creaks
With the gentlest motion;
Betraying his intentions,
Disobeying his devotion.

Slowly, with adoration,
He walks over to the bed;
If only to place a soft kiss
On her head.

The light from the window retreats
As a sympathetic cloud suggests:
Lay together, just for a while,
Be alone together; rest.

Then lay here,
Delay the day here.
Two embracing, beautiful souls
Ah, but the light returns and floods the room
And he remembers,
"Wake the fuck up babe, I'm making cinnamon rolls."

added 2023/09/22

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

It Is So Late

It is so late.
So late, it's early.
It's a quarter past forever.
And a quarter to never.

Every minute an hour.
Every minute detailed.
Second to none any second now.
You are our hour.

I am A.M.

Oh, clock...
Do you have time on your hands?
When time draws near,
I am next to no time.

Time is still.
But there is still time.
Only a moment.
And many moments more.

When will it be soon?
I need time sooner,
Rather than later.
It is so late.

added 2023/08/10

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

Even When the Earth was Still

It was like wind,
A howling in my ear,
A roaring, booming, sweeping sound
That only I could hear.

Even when the Earth was still,
I heard its gusty wail.
Each night I ached to fall asleep
Surrounded in a gale.

I fought to set the sound aside,
As those around me were at peace.
This struggle inside my ear
I dearly begged and begged to cease.

I found myself in hospital bed
Unable to find rest
As fruitless tests and trials:
Carried out and assessed

And as they explored
For the source of this roar,
A discovery...
There were more.

Those of all ages
And color of skin
Each heard the mysterious,
Tempestuous din.

Soon thousands afflicted;
This auditory curse,
Spread across the world,
And from there it got worse.

What was first a breeze
Was now more extreme.
It was no howling wind,
But a shriek; a scream.

Soon millions languished
In this perpetual screech,
Whose volume seemed to multiply
With every ear it reached.

This great inner cacophony;
The longer it occurred,
Desperate few clung to hope,
Fewer still endured.

I teetered on the edge, myself,
Ready to give in.
I could stand this noise not one minute more...
And then...

No sound...
No roar...
But a silence
From within...

That terrifying din.
The last thing man would ever hear.
The few of us left, that is,
With no use for either ear.

The silence does not scare me.
I hope it never will.
But there's something odd about the wind...
I can feel it, brush upon my skin...

Even when the Earth is still.

published 2023/03/01

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

An eternal being has watched over mankind for millennia without interference, until one day...

"You have to be joking." Azra'ir paced anxiously in the reflection hall of the sanctum. He was stunned with disbelief as to what he had just witnessed. For a moment he wondered if the vision pool had shown him a false vision, but he withdrew the thought after carefully reviewing the vision once more. "Unbelievable," he bellowed in a booming and ancient voice.

It had been 3,874 years since his last contact with man, but he had been diligently watching over them ever since. During this time, he had seen many worrying visions and debated—on more than one occasion—whether to intervene in man's squabbles and conflicts. Up until this moment, he had always yielded fate to mortal man to figure out himself. But this time... this was just unacceptable.

Azra'ir doused the Fires of Atonement in the Hall of Fate and grabbed his Robe of Arbitration in preparation for his short trip to the world of man. "I can't believe I have to do this," he told himself, "but I just can't let this happen. I must try to persuade them." After grabbing enough warp powder for the journey—ensuring that there would be enough for the return trip as well—Azra'ir left the temple and headed for his destination.

It was much louder in person. Azra'ir thought for a moment that he was in the wrong location, but after recognizing a few key faces, he was assured that he had warped to the right place. He stayed out of the way as the event began to unfold, making sure to not affect the lives of others in the crowd. When the time came, he would know what to do. As the men and women of the crowd stirred, and the key players took their positions, Azra'ir watched intently. In his mind, he hoped once more that the event he saw in the vision pool would not come to be; but there was nothing to be done. Everything went exactly as he had seen before. The faces of disbelief, the opposition in the crowd, and the echoing roar of disgust and vitriol. It was even more unbelievable to witness it in person. He knew he had to intervene.

"Enough!" Azra'ir boomed; his ancient voice silencing all around him. All eyes turned to this immortal being as he stepped forward from the crowd and made his way toward one man in particular. A frail man, but certainly the cause of this mass uproar. Azra'ir came face to face with the man, and stared him down in silence. The crowd was still.

"You sir, have made a huge mistake." Azra'ir boasted, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I-I..." muttered the man. His voice could be heard through the stadium's sound system via microphone.

"I came a long distance for this, and I want you to listen good." exclaimed Azra'ir, the crowd still silent and the frail man visibly shaken. Azra'ir boasted again, "Do you wear glasses, good sir?"

"I-n-no, I don't-" stammered the frail man.

"Because you must be blind as a bat," Azra'ir boasted, "Could you not see that number 9 was offside?"

written 2017/04/12

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

Sleeping Habits of the Inebriate

Woke up in the morning
On the wrong side of the bed.
The room was dark and blurry
And a pain ran to my head.

I tried to move my body
But I found that it was numb.
I couldn’t feel my toes
But I wiggled both my thumbs.

My head was turned all sideways
And it twisted up my neck.
I felt so much force on me
That I thought “What the Heck?”

“I’m as flat as a pancake
And I’m under something thick.
This pressure’s gonna kill me
I should think of something quick.”

I tried to lift it off me
And it took all of my might.
It moved up a few inches
Then I could see the light.

My eyes began adjusting
As I pushed it up some more.
It was then that I realized
That I was on the floor.

I rolled out from under it
And it crashed down with a boom.
“According to the ceiling fan,
I must be in my room.”

I looked at what was next to me
And in relief I said,
“That’s the last time I try to sleep
On the wrong side of the bed.”

written circa 2009

                                  - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — – – – – – – – – - - - - - - - -

more soon...