History is an unforgiving beast,
claiming the identities of all.
Stealing away those who have lived
and locking them in her vault.
For when a man dies - as surely man does -
it becomes only a matter of time
and numerous generations past
before not a soul knows them true.
A name surely lives on,
feats and deeds, too.
But who they truly were?
Not anyone can say.
Fret not about your life, then,
lest you be remembered as a 'fretter'.
For in time all men die,
whisked away by History.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
The Loving Whore
Lying on her back
while a stranger,
heavy, sweaty,
pumps away.
He thinks hard
of macabre images,
trying to stay
his sad 3-incher.
She thinks, too,
of home, a son,
food he must eat,
clothes he must wear.
She is many things,
a whore, a mother,
a working woman,
an AIDS carrier.
What, then, is right?
Adoption? Foster home?
If she loves her child,
should she roll over and die?
while a stranger,
heavy, sweaty,
pumps away.
He thinks hard
of macabre images,
trying to stay
his sad 3-incher.
She thinks, too,
of home, a son,
food he must eat,
clothes he must wear.
She is many things,
a whore, a mother,
a working woman,
an AIDS carrier.
What, then, is right?
Adoption? Foster home?
If she loves her child,
should she roll over and die?
You know those people that are just "born to do something"? That in their younger years find a passion or talent for something and go with it until the day they die?
How about those who always have things go their way? They meet someone they love at a young age, marry them, have jobs that make good money and raise their own kids?
Some people start something and never finish it until it's done. No matter how many years it takes. No matter the struggle and hardships.
Others live lives of excitement. They never stop for anything in particular, whether it be a person they love or a job opportunity they'd have to be crazy to pass up. They have to keep moving because it makes them feel alive.
You know those types of people?
I'm not one of them.
And I guess most people aren't, but I still envy them.
I am a floater, drifting through space, waiting for something to crash in to me. I'd like to think it's long overdue.
How about those who always have things go their way? They meet someone they love at a young age, marry them, have jobs that make good money and raise their own kids?
Some people start something and never finish it until it's done. No matter how many years it takes. No matter the struggle and hardships.
Others live lives of excitement. They never stop for anything in particular, whether it be a person they love or a job opportunity they'd have to be crazy to pass up. They have to keep moving because it makes them feel alive.
You know those types of people?
I'm not one of them.
And I guess most people aren't, but I still envy them.
I am a floater, drifting through space, waiting for something to crash in to me. I'd like to think it's long overdue.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Monday, August 03, 2009
If you think of your life as in stages, what stage are you in now? What stage did you currently abandon, and what does the future have in store?
To know where you're going and get where you want to go, you have to know where you are now. You wouldn't look at a map to find where you're going if you couldn't locate where you currently were, so why expect to get anywhere in life without first knowing where you stand in the present?
The only way to know where you are now is to know who you are. And that is to know who you have been and also who you want to be. What changes are required of you to change from who you were, in to who you want to be?
Don't worry so much on who you are right now. There's little we can do about that. You are who you are because of an infinitely complex string of events and actions. To change who you are now would be to go back and change them, which is fruitless.
Instead, look where you want to be. What will it take to get there? How will you have to act? What will you need to sacrifice? It isn't a question of whether or not you are capable, but whether or not you are willing. And if you are - your future is yours to decide.
To know where you're going and get where you want to go, you have to know where you are now. You wouldn't look at a map to find where you're going if you couldn't locate where you currently were, so why expect to get anywhere in life without first knowing where you stand in the present?
The only way to know where you are now is to know who you are. And that is to know who you have been and also who you want to be. What changes are required of you to change from who you were, in to who you want to be?
Don't worry so much on who you are right now. There's little we can do about that. You are who you are because of an infinitely complex string of events and actions. To change who you are now would be to go back and change them, which is fruitless.
Instead, look where you want to be. What will it take to get there? How will you have to act? What will you need to sacrifice? It isn't a question of whether or not you are capable, but whether or not you are willing. And if you are - your future is yours to decide.
love is like a ride,
but not for its twists
nor its turns or
upside down loops.
love is like a ride,
but not for its thrills,
chills, screams,
or the exhilaration.
love is like a ride,
because even if
it intimidates you
or makes you want to puke,
it's always there,
should you want to try it again.
but not for its twists
nor its turns or
upside down loops.
love is like a ride,
but not for its thrills,
chills, screams,
or the exhilaration.
love is like a ride,
because even if
it intimidates you
or makes you want to puke,
it's always there,
should you want to try it again.
a lily pad floats slowly
across a stagnant pond.
equilibrium attained,
peace achieved.
a frog jumps,
shattering the delicate state.
it jumps again,
leaving the lily pad to drown.
across a stagnant pond.
equilibrium attained,
peace achieved.
a frog jumps,
shattering the delicate state.
it jumps again,
leaving the lily pad to drown.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
lost
lost like a swimmer
in the english channel,
freezing cold
and soaking wet.
the greatest tragedy?
i've watched all my goals
get shot down
into pitiful mounds of dust.
now if you ask me,
what i want the most,
i can only offer
a sorrow-filled silence.
in the english channel,
freezing cold
and soaking wet.
the greatest tragedy?
i've watched all my goals
get shot down
into pitiful mounds of dust.
now if you ask me,
what i want the most,
i can only offer
a sorrow-filled silence.
Eulogy Poem
I wrote this for my Grandad's funeral several weeks ago. Many have requested a copy of it, so I thought I'd also put it here for safe "digital" keeping.
Gathered here today,
We remember a special man.
When it seems like only yesterday,
Our time with him began.
He always spread love and joy,
In addition to his pride.
I can think of no calmer place,
Than being by his side.
He's given us many good memories,
One too many to recall.
Only now instead of living next to us,
He lives on within us all.
Gathered here today,
We remember a special man.
When it seems like only yesterday,
Our time with him began.
He always spread love and joy,
In addition to his pride.
I can think of no calmer place,
Than being by his side.
He's given us many good memories,
One too many to recall.
Only now instead of living next to us,
He lives on within us all.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Alarm
It's nothing at all like the movies, where people just fall down and die.
I was taking a shower. Just early enough to guess whether I should eat breakfast or lunch. I get out, walk to my room - naked - and then I hear it.
Real gunshots don't sound like they do in the movies. In real life they reverberate inside your head and hold implications you can't even begin to fathom from the comfort of a cushioned movie theater seat.
Then I heard it: "Oh God, Oh God. Oh God, Oh God." I don't know how many times she said it. Just that sometimes late at night I still hear it.
Bullets in real life aren't like the magic ones in movies that cause people to collapse on the spot and stop living. Not just one, anyway. I could hear footsteps. A man pacing around downstairs, constantly asking, "Who else is here?" I sometimes hear that at night, too.
My heartbeat replaced the sound of the gunshot inside my head, beating so loud it paralyzed me. The door to our room doesn't lock, so I race into the one next to it, my crashing footsteps alerting the intruder downstairs to my presence.
My wet hands fumble with locking the door. I scramble under the bed and crawl as near the head frame as I can get, pressing my wet, nude body against the wall. I hear a rattle as the man tries to open the door. Banging as he rams his shoulder into it. I stop breathing. I hear more echoes of "Oh God, Oh God, No."
He eventually kicks the door down. Two blacks boots are all I see, and all I hear are police sirens washing out the sound of my wife dying on the kitchen floor.
No director could capture that kind of fear and anguish. No one in the world could know how you could possibly feel. How easy it can be for someone to kill - to take revenge - on another human being.
Preach and pray all you want. It can never bring back the ones you love.
I was taking a shower. Just early enough to guess whether I should eat breakfast or lunch. I get out, walk to my room - naked - and then I hear it.
Real gunshots don't sound like they do in the movies. In real life they reverberate inside your head and hold implications you can't even begin to fathom from the comfort of a cushioned movie theater seat.
Then I heard it: "Oh God, Oh God. Oh God, Oh God." I don't know how many times she said it. Just that sometimes late at night I still hear it.
Bullets in real life aren't like the magic ones in movies that cause people to collapse on the spot and stop living. Not just one, anyway. I could hear footsteps. A man pacing around downstairs, constantly asking, "Who else is here?" I sometimes hear that at night, too.
My heartbeat replaced the sound of the gunshot inside my head, beating so loud it paralyzed me. The door to our room doesn't lock, so I race into the one next to it, my crashing footsteps alerting the intruder downstairs to my presence.
My wet hands fumble with locking the door. I scramble under the bed and crawl as near the head frame as I can get, pressing my wet, nude body against the wall. I hear a rattle as the man tries to open the door. Banging as he rams his shoulder into it. I stop breathing. I hear more echoes of "Oh God, Oh God, No."
He eventually kicks the door down. Two blacks boots are all I see, and all I hear are police sirens washing out the sound of my wife dying on the kitchen floor.
No director could capture that kind of fear and anguish. No one in the world could know how you could possibly feel. How easy it can be for someone to kill - to take revenge - on another human being.
Preach and pray all you want. It can never bring back the ones you love.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Morning Glory
alone, an old horse waits,
inside a holding pen,
before its final race
officially begins.
its greatest achievement,
is a perfect losing record,
but it still runs hard
every race - until the end.
this race will be its last,
even if it wins,
because horses don't retire
and lead simple lives.
two hundred to one odds,
will anyone cheer for it?
or say "job well done"?
who will bet on its last race?
inside a holding pen,
before its final race
officially begins.
its greatest achievement,
is a perfect losing record,
but it still runs hard
every race - until the end.
this race will be its last,
even if it wins,
because horses don't retire
and lead simple lives.
two hundred to one odds,
will anyone cheer for it?
or say "job well done"?
who will bet on its last race?
Saturday, March 14, 2009
to the orphanage
one empty suitcase,
and a room full of memories.
a couple of minutes to pack,
and leave my life behind.
split-second judgments
on the value of toys
and the importance
of things like clothes.
everything is a memento,
birthday presents,
fading faces in frames,
my chair, my window, my bed.
the last things i pack,
are the few last tears that drop
on top of a picture of my parents,
whom i'll never see again.
and a room full of memories.
a couple of minutes to pack,
and leave my life behind.
split-second judgments
on the value of toys
and the importance
of things like clothes.
everything is a memento,
birthday presents,
fading faces in frames,
my chair, my window, my bed.
the last things i pack,
are the few last tears that drop
on top of a picture of my parents,
whom i'll never see again.
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