the way things worked out,
i don’t see any better way;
i’m so happy to be with who
gives to me as much as i
give to her, whether barbs or
roses, we re-ci-pro-cate the way
only friends do; thank God
we’re lovers, too; my wife is
more than a part of my life, she
is my whole world’s sunny day.
musings & scribbles
“People look for depth in the most shallow of pools, and become enamored with their own reflections rather than see the chaotic dribble of the rain.”
To my buddy Ted, who dislikes people thinking those of an early demise are somehow deeper/better than they actually were.
If you ain’t fertilizing the earth, you’re just shit.
Repurposing a line from Wu-Tang’s, “Reunited”
About a million possibilities and I’m scared of each/
Holding my hand while you’re reaching to
Bring the world my presence, but am I ready, Lord?
Your love is a tickling of the soul I fail to stop/
“Best days ahead,” you say to keep my heart sane.
(written when feeling very stressed. I never was religious, not outwardly. I more personified a sense of logic and morality. but, I now am who He needs me to be. it’s funny. Spirituality is not a luxury, a benefit, a disease, it’s not a conversation with others; spirituality is the conversation within ourselves that we know someone greater is listening to.)
Like midnight
Falling on
A sunny day:
I may
Be slow moving,
But when I
Get there I
Will be wide awake.
She’s got that
Once in a lifetime
Smile, those eyes
That write as much
As read/She holds
A fire to the night.
And I can see,
In memory, how
Much I had to
Have her
In those
Minutes tricked by seconds
And the racing of the stars;
For no more lonely were us lovers
And no more vacant was my heart.
I just never know
Which way I am
To go when they
Turn me down.
So, I just hold on
Tight to the tem-
‘ples of a furrowed
Brow and pray to
He who gave me will
That ev’ry day is one
We will not regret.
We cannot forget
The lives here be-
‘fore we e’er step-
‘ped on this hos-
‘pitable land/A
Walk we of(f)’n
Forget was forged
Prior t’our stum-
‘bled pacings ’bout.
While doing what
Has been done, how
Often we look for-
‘ward to where we-
‘ve been, holding
On to what we see
Rather than the
Mountains we’ve
Yet climbed and
All those valleys
Within the crease.
Time. Time slips by as redundant tickings of the keys. A melody is made, though no great note is made. Of pools the eyes swim. In little jabs at this sensory bubble, we notice only that which has been made evident to us. All else is new discovery not brought up in our training. Words wander, thoughts throw themselves, and eyes endure. We know what has been taught to us. We remember the silly things to think they are unique to us. But, the bee remembers. The beetle knows I altered its path. My friend will remind me every now and again of that moment. The silky things are shared– for the most part, though I know our conversations remain bewildering to memory. I like it that way. You would tell me in whispers of a passing wind. I would listen. I, who listened only to himself and they who have a melodic beat. I would listen. You turned my head from tunneled site to branch of humanity. Humanity. That silly word which means what we are but describes few of us. Odd.
Just keep writing. None of it makes sense, but keep writing. Of all that you can do, forgetting how to write is not what you can afford to do. Ever.
When I was a young man,
I thought of myself and
Myself alone, without
You or He or others I
Now cherish.
So far from then,
I now stand to be
A husband, father,
Father’s son
Who knows
Now what
Each is
And has
Been
Meant
To be.