you could grab on to some shrubbery
during your fall and attempt
to brace yourself from something
alternatively you could turn around
before you reach the edge of the cliff
and avoid the fall altogether and thus
the need to brace yourself.
but lets be honest that you’re not
reading this while still running towards
the cliff, you’re on your way down and
want a way out.
so grab some shrubbery. hope for a trampoline
at the bottom of the valley. or just simply
brace for impact. for sometimes the inevitable
is just that, and acting like it isn’t coming
isn’t going to make the splat any less painful.
Sometimes someone comes and knocks, something like two or some three times.
And then sometimes you have you kick out that someone, or do something like punch that someone once or sometimes twice, somewhere like in the face.
But usually it’s not a problem and you can just sit on your couch and continue eating your onion rings without worrying about it.
i string your toes together on elastic
like penne on a string brought
home by a child.
but these have been severed post-mortem
due to the crudeness of my new
moral values eroded by a slow
loss of respect for anything
your finger’s i’ll leave in the bowl
on the counter and wish i wasn’t so
disgusted by the cruelty (although
it’s not like you felt it).
and your feet i’ll make in to keychains
and sell them in a market. i’ll call
them good luck charms. and we’ll
miss, or so we’ll say. but we might
actually find we rather enjoy the excess
of carrots and lettuce all of a sudden
available to us for meals and juicing
since you’ve been gone.
tonight i will give it all i have
and with focused effort
i choose to defy earthly
to uphold my right to fly
to ignore, reject, outlive,
oppose, the farce of gravity
there are times and places
and people and things,
but this is none of those
and i find it highly suspect
that you’re still trying
to stuff it in your pocket
when the jar, the bag, and
your heart, failed to hold
it. but the misunderstandings
you’re perpetuating make
me believe there is also
little reason in attempting
to explaining it to you.
i like the way your shell
blows in the wind as you
wind your way down the path
though the park
the slime you leave behind
is different than the others
and pulls me in, if only
i could catch up
i like the way demonstrate
your skill at wall climbing
and hiding in the bushes
venturing out in the rain
and one day while lying in bed
and reading a clive staples commentary
on third or fifth-rate poetry,
it occurs to me that i’ve never written
a love poem. as in a poem about genuine
love and not the mushy gushy feeling
of pursuit and excitement. of the chase
so fleeting, wonderful yes, but no more love than avacado is ice cream though it shares a consistency.
and now married 8 years to the horribly imperfect, i think myself prepared
for a love poem. about dishes, fights, diapers, and choices again and again to be better than i think she deserves because i know undoubtably she’s being better than she thinks i deserve.
for though she sometimes
thinks knows me to be an ass
she delights in my imperfection and offers patience with my foolishness.
finding that, in a way, we
live thrive together somehow stronger with the constant struggle of maintaining one another;
stronger than we would be void of one another.
the choice so easy when weighed with the alternative.
so often left unweighed.
because to love is the choice.
the choice is to love.
there is a mind numbing misery
inherent in the midst of the joy.
numbness as a part as of rearing
teaching joy in the mundane an
there will be times soon
filled with fear i suppose
and i’ll attempt to combat
those times with poetry
but it wont work because
the poetry will lack poetic
nature much too much to
exhume what is bottled up
for these times we
need to argue
the facts when the
truth is blurred
like blue mixes
with green to make
a blue-ish green.
you know, it doesn’t
really mix. the two
colors seem always
in a strange it’s
obvious but not
entirely kind of
way which apparently
poetry is unable
at least mine.
there are potatoes in a sack in the back of your dust-infested room growing mold next to your bong which has lately only been used to smoke legal substances which due to law changes really isn’t a change at all, but the more potent blends have done nothing to sharpen your mind to the dangers of crystallized fungus or whatever happens when things mold (i never took even basic chemistry after all).
and i just can’t help but continue to wonder at the state of disarray that is your outward appearance and the calm which defines your inner being, and the way it contrasts with my own life.
and i will rest in the house of my
lord, forever in thanks over what i
imagine is some pretty fantastic
tobacco, beer, burritos, and did
i mention the company? pretty sure
that ain’t gonna be too shabby either.
forever giving thanks
giving thanks forever
over a life well done.
a twinge of relief
followed by a sudden
sense that this win
will be long lived
but only enjoyed
shortly as the sore
ness in back and neck
give way to fever and
then throat pain
in a way Tylenol just
but a win is still a
win in casablanca
i don’t care what the recipe
called for my dear.
i heard you just fine
and i am thrilled with what
we’ve added to the cookies
where terror turns to terroir
and wind and waves to
calm, peaceful, fishing with a beer
and a good virginia tobacco
in your pipe.
there. right after the change,
i’m flying high as the smoke thereof
as space opens in the recesses of my mind
my back decides it’s time to give my ass
a rest. releases the muscles. relaxes.
i can bend and flex in new and interesting
thinking of things i haven’t pondered in years.
holy ethiopian palm sunday.
it’s…. finally…. over.
praise the Lord.
Blessed be the LORD,
for he has wondrously shown his
steadfast love to me
The difference between agony and suffering is the subject of the pain.
Suffering is when you’re the one in pain.
Agony is when the one you love is suffering before your eyes
and you’re helpless to intervene.
it keeps me up at night.
mixed with excitement
and joy coupled
my health is going
in the waiting.
and now one brother
has been released and
the other remains under
devils thumb. and we wait
some more for an endless
coming, for our God who
doesn’t experience time
in the same way we do
(or so we’re told), for our
God who experiences agony
in much the same way we do
and we beat against the air
in a (hopefully) winning-but-
as i wait helplessly by for my
sons. to embrace and finally
not have to let go.