Poem 78: New Year's Eve

It's all a question

as to what

the coming year will bring.

But now, I'm waiting

for something still

so unknown to me.

Unknown future

bring me nearer

to life unseen.

and leave behind

a past remembered

to be sweet

and kind

and free

of things 

I'd rather not have seen

again by you or me.

Rewind

Delete

And conquer

Time to be

Poem 77: Zzzleep

Sleep
...is perpetuated rest
...is going away
...is time unpursued
...is life renewed
Sleep
...holds relaxation
...brings rejuvination
...causes waking
...heals what's breaking
Sleep
...is the sound that
...captures our silence
...helps our blindness and
...colors our wakened moments bright
Sleep
...is a moment
...is a lifetime
...is a free mind
Sleep
...is attracting me to
Zzzleep

Poem 76: Stand-up OR Stand Aside

I called before

just to see 
if the answer would be 'yes' or 'no.'

It turns out it was neither

for when I called it was 'no'

and when we arrived
it had changed
to 'yes'

so

Now, frustrated,
I allow opportunity for mistake correction

but my partner beside

denies me this fact

and pushes me aside

so that I am left
stuck

in angry panic.

Denied a promise

and denied my chance to stand up for myself

Instead, excused politely 

and asked to leave the other free

to dance her dance innocently

If you don't want to fight for me

step aside

and I will fight my own battle 'lone

But don't, under any circumstances

overtake my fight

and push me down 

to allow another to climb up high.

Stand aside

I will conquer on my own.

Poem 75: Rain-Shoeing

Fearing the trail

We pave mental way

Psyching up minds 

For a rainy day

Scared to be cold

Yet rearing to go

We drive up mountain

And enter the snow.

Fastened with snowshoes

And covered in gear

In two-by-two pairs

We hike unaware

Suddenly someone

Has timely recall

Exchanging our run

For mountain-side crawl

Away from the road 

And up to the trail

Scott carrying a load

Of back-breaking scale

GPS leading

We soon did arrive

Rain-proof unaiding

The sky soaked our jive

Poem 74: Amongst the Storm

Winds, floods and blizzards shake the world 'round

They throw, spin, cover up, and knock men down

I sit and watch these strong kings fall,

while sheltered by the God of all

My heart breaks as my eyes take in their pain

Can I have peace, when they don't have the same?

But peace is near me, like a storm

It heals my heartbreak as it forms

How can I sit in peace when storms surround?

"My child, with this gift, let love abound"

So love inside of pain I give

Amongst the storm, in peace I live.

Poem 73: Dance

Spinning in the air
Life becomes a melody
I'm floating away

Poem 72: Christmas Day

Christmas Day in my house is strange

there are flying pigs

paper fights

funny games

and happy thoughts.

Christmas Day in my house is odd

there are snacks galore

chocolate

olive cans

and much much more

Christmas Day means family

and strange oddities

Christmas means

(at times)

pipes, wrenches and chains

to challenge

pressure cooker brains.

Poem 10: Belated

I did not mean to look past you
or miss you
or forget you

Its not that I don't love you
or want you
or need you

Rather, I simply misplaced you
overlooked you
mistook you

So, now, my numbered friend,
Don't focus on past unsaid
rather, be glad you are ahead.

Poem 71: Throwing Blame

I feel it already

Pushing hard against me

Like a tornado or volcano

Exploding

...blame

You throw it against me

And I soak it in

Absorbing it as a sponge

Absorbs the rain

...blame

Full of it now

I wring out my heart

To find a dry hiding place

And it rains again

...blame

Give me space to heal

Give me breathe to resurface

Give me one moment

Or even a second

...blame

But, you uncease the throw

To let everybody know

...blame

Heart exhausted

"I will take the blame."

Poem 70: Understanding

Understanding

is not to feel anger or spite

or hardship

or happiness

or delight.

Understanding

is not to carry heavy loads

or run up-hill

on unpaved,

muddy roads.

Understanding

isn't being able to feel the same

but a realization

of another's

incomparable pain.

Understanding

does not require an "I know."

or "I remember when"

or "It probably shows."

Understanding

is a gentle hand,

a kind word

or a smile

of not really understanding the hurt

but being willing to hear it out,

relate to it

and feel it as one's own.

Understanding

is simply the act

of taking in

and silently

ever silently

gently

giving back.

Poem 69: Bent Steel

It would be lying to not tell the depth of this deformation of heart

But, shape is lost in pain.

Thought brings cruel truths of depth to full complexity, breaking wholes in parts 

Thus, dark'ning truth's domain.

We rely on words to describe this immense disproportion of live art

Where bent memories stain.

Now, life is living in existence which has once been called, and twice will thwart

But, steel will remain.

Strength will hide the tears behind until they seep through hard cracks of broken heart

With steel bending pain.

Poem 68: Shrimp with Spice

As I was making shrimp with spice
I told myself, "well this is nice"
To make a meal meant for two
Instead of just a lonely brew.

So in went sage, a bit of thyme
Two spurts of Oil, one splash of wine
And then when all was stired and hot
We ate together from the pot

As we were eating shrimp with spice
I told myself, "well this is nice
To eat meal meant for two
Instead of just a lonely brew

(written by AJ and Heather)

Poem 67: S-N-O-W

Soft
Nimbus
Overhangs
Weep

Poem 66: The Foreigner

I wrote this poem during my time living in Korea, and wanted to share it with you today.  Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You look at me so strange

leaning forward from your seat to look around the girl beside me.

It's not my beauty that you seem to see.

I am so odd in such a place

and seem to be okay to be put on display and openly stared at.

 I'm an illustrious museum artifact

drilled through with blazing eyes

The stares don't cease when I hide or turn my back on faces.

Rather, they burn through my shielding back.

The world is a haze

and I am the only clarity walking through it with a light.

So, keep on staring, I'm your guide.

 Its strange, cause its seems so clear.

I feel as if I blend in height and hair and all things including soul

but really, I am alone.

The eyes don't cease still.

They are ever looking even when met with my own questioning gaze;

 I'm a monkey in a cage.

Maybe if I make a face things 'll change?

Still the gaze remains, unbroken and fixed upon the one who's strange.

Is it not-ok?  Look on, but don't say a thing.

With speech you'll end up in defeat.

Words are unpronounceable, but thoughts are uncontainable: so stare

"I think I'll get off the subway here."

 Goodbye, and hello stare.

Poem 65: Brother

Brother dear,
I fear
that I am loosing you to her.
But, really
I am reassured
cause with her happiness ignites.

Brother bear,
please share
what stories you played out tonight
For surely,
there is much to say
about the train and all the sights.

Brother sweet,
take care
do not just give your heart away.
Remember
time is just a game
but only love turns on the lights.

Poem 64: Grandma

Grandma, I can picture you stirring the kitchen like a spoon

with movements that no one could map, and onlookers barely knew.

You captured the day in minutes sure to complete your list of

'things to do' without ever complaining. but serving in love.

Grandma, I remember your homemade toast in the morning time

and the way you encouraged the weary soul and troubled mind.

How you always gave with words and offered your hands to serve

and never, in my memory, echoed a bitter word.

Grandma, I can think of you now sitting by grandpa's stool

your apple crisp in the oven makes full bellies crave more food

Us three kids decorate your kitchen table in human lumps

You are crocheting or drawing with us for the hiding stump.

Grandma, I pray for you now, out of reach.

I know God is watching you and will keep

you safe in His plans and strong embrace.

Remembering your love brings me strength.

Poem 63: Dry Rain

Rain makes puddles, then soaks into the ground.
Earth, acting like sponge, draws it in through the straw of its depth.
I want to see proof that rain's fallen, so I enter the world,
but in surprise I'm blinded to the residual effects
that show the cooling, feeding, prodding hand of rain.

Rain quenches thirst, but I am still waiting for this quenching.
I stand with head tilted back, mouth open: waiting. 
I am a net which catches stray feathers, houses bugs
and witnesses hummingbirds relaxing, perched to rest from long flights.
Yet, in all hospitality, I remain: empty.

Poem 62: No More Time (Haikus)

There is no more time.
In creating more of it
I borrow from sleep.
---
The mind's fading fast,
But, caffeine bars open eyes.
In jail I'll 'wake.
---
Morning's on its way
I smell it come like failure
blowing in the wind.

Poem 61: Suzie Grew

"I learned something new today,"
said little Suzie in her way.
With new knowledge up she grew
and pretty soon a flower bloomed.

"I am so tall I look like new
perhaps I am now one in few!"
But all around her sure as light
she spotted others with like height.

Bobby, Christy, Brett, and Jo
all near beside her chose to grow
petals raised their new leaves sprout.
and, Suzie sighed with one long pout.

"Can't I grow all on my own?
Can't others leave me here alone?"
Suzie turned her face away
and focused then on other things.

But suddenly she saw anew
she turned around where others grew
and called to them her knowing now
that growing 'lone would shrink her down.

To gather all the light she could
she needed others each who would
be willing to bend just a smidge
to let her food through light's passage.

Her in humble heart drew close
embracing friends that once were foes
and thanking God for change of heart
which begged her learn from others' smarts.

"I learned something new today,"
said little Suzie in her way.
She was so proud with her friends
in this good place the story ends.

Poem 60: Sunday

Sunday, you brought life to me

and wakened me from long-time sleep

then skewered me with mind's hard beat

of cold and fast reality.

Sunday, you sought me in depth,

and captured me before I leapt

from towers steep and high enough

to break this guarded path abrupt.

Sunday, friend, movie and mind,

with beer that cast the current rhyme

and brought together in a dream

unknown, complex and broken seams. 

Sunday, now, lost to the whole;

this triple focus carry-o'er;

some deep'ning thought, with more untold:

truth's deep in this complex barred soul.

Sunday, sun and day combined,

you'd think your path be clear to find,

but, in dark, I can't see your lines:

this failed attempt to lead the blind.

Sunday, take me as a whole,

deliver me with sleep retold;

lead me again to restful lull,

which dreams who once awakened stole.

Poem 59: Foggy Roads

Its true, what they say, about fog:

rolling within it, blind, unsure

down the road to wherever you must go

will seem to wind you more t'ward cold unknowns.

The fog, they say, traps you in its light

which disperses truth and hides words and thought

behind its ragged, tough design.

And fog, they swear, is what brings about

those years of pain and sorrow

and unsought after t'morrows.

It's fog, they warn, which captures and tears the torn.

But, when I look around I know: its fog which makes life go.

For later, when skies are clear, and fogs not there

I'll step out the door, and appreciate the sunlight more.

Poem 58: The Squeaky Grape

Dear Grape,
There is something about
that squeaky noise you make
that breaks my heart in two.
Please stop.

If not,
then here is my response: 
If you can't cease this taunt 
I'll have the cow's eat you.
moo-oo.

I win.

Poem 57: Thanks, my Friend

Thanks for understanding my inhibitions, frustrations, and crazy looks.
Thanks for even loving my strangeties and oddities and weird quirks.
Thanks for listening when I keep talking
and walking longer when I need detoxing
and nodding your head even though I'm being a jerk.

Thanks for being you, my friend.
You are a true friend through and through.
Just in case I haven't said this enough,
may I reiterate the truth:
I surely, and dearly
love you for being you.

Poem 56: Stranger in The Night

It wasn't the dark that sent the boys running
nor was it the girls following close behind with frightened minds.

It wasn't the shadows or the spooky walls
whose groans echoed in the halls as they creaked in the windy night.

It wasn't stories being told that made them run,
their peers, or even the winds who roared like newly fired guns.

It wasn't a spider, or snake, or monster.
It wasn't a sound, or a being, or a thing thought to be seen.

You see, we looked past the crowd fleeing in fear
and you'll never guess what we saw there.

Down the tiny hall, poised, and standing tall
was a large and grinning child's doll.

Poem 55: Words To Silence

It seems easy for me to put my foot in my mouth
and carry it around, while dancing my point
up and down the streets of argumentative debate.

Its unfortunate that these strong words flow
like melted jello, easily over tongue and through teeth,
when cruelty is not the point I want to mean.

There is no simple empathy in unpracticed speech.
But, if thought is not brought into words, then no longer
can it hang frozen in air or run hurtfully free.

Thus, in rhythmic silence I sit: mind repressing tongue,
reflecting for this moment on what I've done, and
with growing prudence, place restraint on spoken freedom.

Poem 54: Mr. Palomar

This morning, Mr. Palomar reminded me 

to see the world through the eyes of humility,

delving deep from my mind's security 

and moving towards the realm of possibility.

Predicting, relating and justifying, now pushed aside, 

open a magnifying window of the observing kind

and show, with detail, an ethnographic find

 (once eyes have loosed their defensive bind, 

which adjusts the chronic fever of surety 

to fresh perspective and resounding humility).

Thus begins the enlightenment of mind. 

Poem 53: Cinnamon

Cinnamon sticks, gum and pine cones:

I will stuff you in my nostrils

just to smell the wonderful scents 

others leave to oblivion.

Poem 52: Merry-Go-Round

From here the world spins and stops.
I try to move, but centripetal force pins me down
plastering me against bars along the edge
keeping me from flying off this surface I've claimed for my own.

Trees swirl around me when I look up.
The movement slowly fades, but I still feel dizzy.
My head starts to spin, and then the speed picks up again,
reeling me once more against the bars that hold fast.

"More!" I yell into the blur of objects swirling in my sight.
Somewhere, there is a person there pushing on the bars
that I hold tight; making me laugh and throw my head back with joy
while I dizzily cry for more.

In the distance swings bend and metal bars sway and curl
as I watch from my position traveling round in circles.
The world slowly fades to a blur of paint thrown upon a canvas
with objects visible only once their disguise has been unveiled.

But, I refuse to avow the objects with their true form
declaring upon them the mess that dizziness has preformed
by making them a state of beauty in my eyes
which see hilarity in things others would want glasses for.

As the metal earth spins benieth me I relish in the surety
that although my world is in this moment chaos
when the objects around me stop spinning,
I will be able to see and predict what is before me. 

However, for now, the world is unknown,
so sacrificing clear sight, I look out and explore.

Poem 51: Windshine

This morning I awoke as you were streaming on my face.
You shook my room ferociously, then spoke with, oh, such grace.
"Wake up, my child, come play in these streams of light I make.
Arise, my sweet, and bask in glory of my wind's strong quake."

But, tired from a storm last night, I hid beneath my sheet.
I covered my head, plugged my ears, and curled up my feet.
"Don't bother me with sunbeams now, or winds that I can't keep
Its Holiday, no time to play, my body needs more sleep."

But the wind it kept howling and the sun still lit my room
Wind rattled all my windows, and the sun warmed like high noon.
"Awake your bones, and lift your head, for time is fading fast.
If you lay in bed all day, surely life will go right past"

"Don't waste your day, my child, instead get-up and dance around!
Climb up the trees, play in the leaves, and run upon the ground.
Put on your shoes, and sweater and remember childhood."
Get-up!" the windshine shouted, thinking that I understood.

But, my ears cannot hear languages of sun nor of wind
Instead my body felt its heat and felt what sounds it dinned
Annoyed, and brought to anger, I threw back my sheets and sighed
then glared at sun, and cursed at wind as I stared outside.

But, as my eyes refocused on the landscape I beheld
My heart begun to flutter and my past feelings were quelled.
For out amongst the landscape, I now saw the dancing light
like sun and wind together had just won a long, hard fight.

I fast threw on my sweater, and my shoes, and scarf and coat
and I joined their dance in harmony, still baffled by their gloat.
It seemed as I ran out the door, song sailed through the air'
If I heard right, it sung "We've won!" the wind and sun in pair.

Poem 50: Over the Hill

Fifty is merely a number,
but it represents going quite far.
Now I've met fifty, and that is quite nifty,
but it still does not meet the bar.

I'll make it to 365;
to the end of the year, like I goaled.
However, the path is not just simple math,
so I hope it'll never get old.

Poem 49: Dreary Day

Today is a dreary day;
I coat my soul in fake.
I smile at things I dislike
and laugh at what I hate.

Today is a dreary day;
the rain continues on.
When little pleasure may be found
my heart I'll choose to con.

Today is a dreary day;
darkness does prevail.
I'll gather all the stregth I've left
and hide from coming gale.

Today is a dreary day;
I've got little else to say.
There's hope, I'm sure, for tomorrow
but, today is still today.