Nov 28

To All Those Who Wonder Why

There’s no such thing
as nothing.

It’s a comforting
in a world 
so empty 
sometimes I can’t even

Isn't it encouraging 
to know your 
not alone? 

...Sometimes toes
don’t like to be found.  

There’s no such thing 
as nothing 
because once you 
label it “blank space”...
it’s something.

But you know,
somethings really weren’t meant
to be comforting.

Nov 24

Reports From the Edge of the World

(tippy top of the freedom tower) 

I never knew I could fly, 
at least not that high.

I never knew that city lights 
could be so many colors at once,
a pulsing, swirling mess of life...
recognizable from thousands of miles away.

No doubt confusion, a simple fact. 

And then there’s the water,
smooth and so flat
that if you sneezed from up here
you could probably see the ripples.

The rushing thump, thump, thump 
of a heart rate 
so loud it’s a wonder 
can’t hear it
as the beginning show
of a city
so wide first meets my eyes...
the simple pleasures
of so many people
and so much in one place
inevitably spreads 
across my face
curling lips into smile. 

And that’s when we know for sure, 
(him and her) 
that the edge of the world
has never been this beautiful. 
Nov 19

The Sleepy Reality

It was one of those days
where I couldn’t 
reality from dream;
to tired to think,
yet to alert 
to sleep. 

Neither ghost nor human,
maybe somewhere 
between the two,
sleepily stumbling
through life.
Neither present nor happy. 

Today, was one of those days. 
Nov 18

Rainy Soul Sputtering

I wrote a poem, 
with that small red pen you gave me,
ink slipping across the page 
and onto unsuspecting fingertips.  
Just enough to cover 
the parts where 
ink met pen, met finger.

I wrote a poem 
on the bench 
outside of the train station,  
people bustling by: 
to busy to stop and look for a moment, 
honking cars 
and the slight 
smell of gasoline 
bubbling from the vents.

I wrote a poem 
on that brown scrap of paper 
I tore from my lunch bag, 
a sudden idea exploding 
onto the page with a force 
so strong 
I had to close my eyes 
and take a breath before 
I could add a period to that last sentence,
proclaming the finish.

It started to rain, 
thick sheets of water 
poured from the gutter 
and onto the pavement. 
I slipped my poem, 
that small unconscious spill of soul, 
into my pocket 
Nov 16

How Slowly

Me without you
is a misrepresentation
of myself. 

Slightly more broken,
slightly less confident 
and mostly overruled.

Purposely less oriented...

Running makes me think,
but not about the good things,
no, mostly about you...
and how slowly
you became that part of me
that never lets go. 

Nov 15
poem 2 comments challenge: I Am

The Way of the World

I am the one who holds back.
Lip bitten, tongue tied, and unforgettably quiet.

I am the one who loves.
Star struck, misty eyed, and slowly loosing air. 

I am the one who observes.
Pointedly watching, admiring your smile, 
and precariously perched. 

I am am the one who laughs.
Tear streaked, bleary eyed, and out of breath. 

I am the one who listens.
Meticulously present, silently secretive,
and naturally diligent. 

I am me. 
Genuinely happy, purposely elaborate,
and marked by my words.  

Somewhat savory and shallowly sparky. 
Nov 12

Hidden Lights

We all wanted
something new, 
something that was seceretly 
and silently perfect. 

Perhaps you suspected 
we knew something
you didn't. 

And we did,
we just didn't admit it. 

We learned 
to bloom 
without sunlight 
and smile without stars.

Sudden hapiness
was our specialty.

They didn't need that,
they just thought they did. 

Nov 09

Faucet Mouse

It stuck to the drain
sinking, falling but almost dead.
Not quite a monster,
not quite a mouse.
Almost, if you squinted,
a spindly tail in the rear.

You pulled it from the plug
slipping, slimy but always strong.
It didn’t bite, not yet a creature.

It clung and fell,
not even looking back.
It made sense, the deepest, darkest 
parts of the universe 
were never meant to be seen.