a cork board

Day 11 / Poem 11 – NaPoWriMo
AMpSat, 14 Apr 2012 00:10:52 -040010Saturday 1, 2010, 12:10 am
Filed under: poems, the ether | Tags: , , ,

I wanted to start today’s Poem of the Day by implicitly stating that this video inspired this poem out of me. I know I am probably a little late in watching this video, but I finally did. If you haven’t seen it, then watch it before reading. It is amazing and left me feeling very inspired. It reminded me of so many things that I tend to forget sometimes that I felt the need to make an attempt to capture with words.

He’s In There



in that haggard body,

there is a man who was

filled with dreams

that are now fulfilled.



inside of that throat,

within those eyes,

there is a woman

who look by the hand

and never let go.


We lose sight of

who they are sometimes.

We forget that

they were once

where we now stand,

where even our children stand.


The cycle of life is a

continuous, ever-churning wheel.

Every ending brings about

a new beginning and

so on and so forth.

This is how generations are made.


As the years of our lives

peel away like layers of skin,

we are left with a movie

that looks more like

time-lapse photography.

Complete with twitching heads,

manic hands and missing moments

with no way to ever fill in the gaps.


Every moment is a

memory that we cherish.

That makes us who we are.


They pour into us the way

water swells into the potted

home of a tree, engorging the soil

and nourishing the roots

for a time to come.


It helps us soak in the light.

It helps us grow strong

and learn to adapt to survive.


And when enough time has passed,

the soil dries like deserted riverbeds.

The roots are left longing and thirsty

and tomorrow cannot come soon enough.


We are left in our present state,

which does not come close

to showing the glory

of our past lives.


When I look at

an elderly man or woman,

I don’t see who they are right away.


I have to pause

in order to see their hands

taking their son or daughter

for their first walk.

To see their eyes

beholding love for the first time.

To see their minds

experiencing the same things

that I have done,

and my children will too.


All we have in this world

are our memories.

Our crazy experiences

that no one would ever believe.

And our children,

we have them too.


And we can teach them

to slow down and take notice

of the things that don’t

jump out at you.

We can teach them that

inside of that frail body.

Behind those tired eyes

that look like they are itching

to tell you a story.

Underneath that head of

whispy, white hair.

There is a person filled with

amazing stories and enthralling wisdom.


There is an entire universe

of time-lapse photography,

complete with manic hands

and missing moments.

And if you just take a moment,

the universe will speak you.

You will find some truth,

if you listen.

Day 10/Poem 10 – NaPoWriMo
PMpThu, 12 Apr 2012 23:25:20 -040025Thursday 1, 2010, 11:25 pm
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , , , , , ,

It’s the end of the day and I hadn’t written a thing. I had no idea what to write about and just want to go to bed. So, I wrote about what I just watched on TV….the Chicago Bulls beating the Miami Heat in OT. I don’t even know what to make of this one. I have NEVER attempted a sports poem, so I don’t know if this is any good. Once again, feedback is welcome 🙂


One For The Books


It wasn’t for the championship.

It wasn’t for any title.

It was simply for a win.


To maintain the best record

in the entire league.

And it was a thriller to watch.


A coach not afraid

to bench his star players

when the momentum was not right.

A team of role players

against a parade of all-stars

all but guaranteed a title.


Against the same team

that celebrated their championship

before winning it.

Because apparently they were

never taught not to count

your chickens before they hatch.


I don’t have it in me

to root for the Miami Heat

because I hate it when

a team stacks the deck.

I didn’t root for the

Boston Celtics’ big three.

I can’t root for Miami and

I won’t root for New York.


Sorry, but I just can’t

root for the Justice League

or the Avengers.

Give me real basketball.


Give me teamwork.

Show me player who know their role

and play to it.


It wasn’t for the championship.

It wasn’t for any title.

It was simply for a win.

It was another mark in

a new school rivalry for the books.


Watching the Miami Heat

come up short against

the Chicago Bulls in OT

thanks to some amazing

baskets by the bench,

was a thrill to witness.


Go Bulls.

Day 9/Poem 9 – NaPoWriMo
PMpWed, 11 Apr 2012 23:39:17 -040039Wednesday 1, 2010, 11:39 pm
Filed under: poems, the mirror | Tags: , ,

Sleep, My Dear Friend


Sleep has always

come to me with ease.

I have always been able to

close by eyes and

put an end to the day

whenever I needed to.


Like an orange sun

succumbing to

the tidal waters

of the ocean.


There are very seldom

instances where I

find myself restless.

Where sleep eludes me

the way the enslaved

long to taste freedom.


What awakens me,

those things that leave me

stationary and laying on my pillow

are always one of two things.

My mind wandering,

or my heart longing.


Like that time she was

gone for 3months.

I avoided my mattress

like it was a torture chamber,

often waking up twisted and

aching on the living room sofa.

Not having slept nearly enough.


I would avoid

my house all together.

Asking the last remaining

stragglers at poetry slams

what they were up to.

I don’t wanna go home,

my house is too empty,

I would say.


So I would find myself

in Chinatown at 1am.

Jaywalking the city at 2am.

Driving to the lake at 3am

to stare at the water until 4am.

Anything to avoid those sleepless nights.

Those sleepless walls. Sleepless.


When my mind wanders

I’m nervous in anticipation.

I will stare at the ceiling

making constellation paintings

with the spackle on the ceiling.


It is on nights that

preceded or tail-ended

a potentially life-changing event.

I would turn from side to side

picking apart the pieces

of what was to come

or what had passed.


Like the time I knew

I was picking her up

from the airport the next day

after not having seen her

for 3months, but years earlier.


I would go to Wal-Mart

and play Playstation 2 on

the demo machine to pass time.

Just so I could avoid

that sleepless sofa bed.

Sleepless kitchen.



Sleep has always

come to me with ease.

I have always been able to

close by eyes and

put an end to the day

whenever I needed to.


Like an orange sun

succumbing to

the tidal waters

of the ocean.


Sleepless is not

something I see often.

But I know it like

a little brother knows

the mannerisms of his big brother.


So when I do find myself sleepless,

I feel like nothing ever changed.

Been there, done that.

I’d rather be dreaming,

but I wake myself

into a sleepless, dream-like state

in exchange for the real thing.


Day 8/Poem 8 – NaPoWriMo
PMpTue, 10 Apr 2012 23:49:32 -040049Tuesday 1, 2010, 11:49 pm
Filed under: poems, the ether | Tags: , , ,

Break the Spell


If I could cast a spell

on the entire world,

I would have everyone believe

that we are all equal.

No matter the age,

race, social status or sex.


The less we think

we have in common,

the more problems

we create amongst ourselves.


We are all stuck

in this hamster wheel.

We spin and we spin.

Some days are

harder than others.

Some days I would

love to collapse on my

bed of hay in defeat.


But I have to push harder

and stay focused.

We’re all trying

to get by in the same way,

one way or another.


If I could cast a spell

on the entire world,

I wouldn’t cast a spell at all.

I would break have to a spell

because we are all equal.


It’s the spell that we are under

that has us thinking

we are better than or

worse than one another.


We are all born naked.

We all shit ourselves when we die.

What happens in-between

is another step in the karmic ladder

towards nirvana.


So why must we hinder

the path of another

with judgment?

We have been hypnotized

to believe that we

are not the same.


I say it’s time

we break the spell,

fall out of the trance

and wake up to realize

that I am you,

as much as you are me.


Like blood vessels

connected to the same heart,

we beat for the same cause.

Day 7/Poem 7 NaPoWriMo
PMpMon, 09 Apr 2012 23:10:25 -040010Monday 1, 2010, 11:10 pm
Filed under: poems, the ether | Tags: , , ,

Into The Wind



when it’s windy outside,

I like to hold my arms

over my head and

close my eyes and

imagine that I’m weightless.


Not that I’m flying,

just weightless.

It is elevating and freeing

and if you settle into it

for just long enough

you feel as if the wind

will whisk you away

like a feather fallen

from a shedding bird.


But that never happens,

it’s always back to earth.

Giving thanks for the escape.

Day 6/Poem 6 NaPoWriMo
PMpSun, 08 Apr 2012 22:38:33 -040038Sunday 1, 2010, 10:38 pm
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , , , , , ,

Well, it’s day 6 for my National Poetry Month 30/30 challenge and, I gotta say, it is a lot harder to write poems during the weekend. I have been using some daily prompts that my poet pal Cathy Petch has been putting out there on days when I need a boost. But it looks like she didn’t post a prompt today. So I decided to write a small set of haikus about what I did today. Well, I did more than gardening, but I did spend a few hours with my hands in the dirt today. So here are a few haikus for my 6/30 contribution. I haven’t written a haiku in atleast 10years, so I hope they don’t suck too bad 🙂 Feedback would be welcome…


The soil on my hands.

The earth between my fingers.

Garden Is solace.


I pull out the roots

and nurture the living things,

make room for new life.


Hostas and hucras,

Marigolds, mums and top soil.

Plant me a garden.


Two handfuls of dirt.

He throws it into the street,

says with glee “dirt ROAD!”



Day 5/Poem 5 – NaPoWriMo
AMpSun, 08 Apr 2012 00:52:05 -040052Sunday 1, 2010, 12:52 am
Filed under: poems, the sweetst thing | Tags: , , ,

We Danced


It was raining.

We were without care.

The day was winding

without a particular direction.

We stood in the doorway

nd you looked at me and asked

if I wanted to go for a walk.


I stated the obvious,

but it’s raining.

With your carefree smile

you spoke without words,

So, we’ll only get wet.


So we ran into raindrops

the size of grapes.

Your hand in mine.

Our clothes sticking to our skin

and a thousand sentiments

of untold love.


We spun, we ran and

we laughed until our bodies

warmed with mirth.

We did anything but walk.

We danced on the inside.

Pirouettes and cha-chas

and The Waltz.


In the most rudimentary of steps.

We were young and in love,

and we danced.

Day 4/Poem 4 – NaPoWriMo
PMpFri, 06 Apr 2012 20:34:09 -040034Friday 1, 2010, 8:34 pm
Filed under: poems, the ether | Tags: , , ,



I was once told,

you have to believe

in things you cannot see

in order to survive

in this world.


That sometimes

you have to know

that falling will not

break you.


You have to believe

in someone, in something.


I was at a seminar once.

They had me stand on a chair

and envision myself on

the edge of the grand canyon.

The sun blazing hot.

The wind whipping at my face.

Not a single cloud in the sky.


My classmates were

standing behind me.

With my eyes closed,

he told me to imagine

I had become as light

as a piece of paper.


So the wind would

carry me away.

To let myself fall backwards.

To believe they

would catch me.

To have faith.


So I tipped over

like a timbering tree

slowly making the plunge

towards earth.

Everything felt like slow motion.

The breeze captured my hair

and caressed my ears.

My feet lost contact with the chair.


I felt sixteen hands

catch me in mid air.

I gave them my complete trust,

I had faith in the moment.


Not everyone was

able to complete that exercise.

Not everyone was able to have faith.

I chose to let go of the fear and surrender.

It was exhilarating.


Sometimes, life can be

the exact same way.

The journey may have a broken road

and you have to fall

in order to continue.

You have to know that

there is solid ground to catch you.


Having faith in something

will carry you home.

It does not have to be

a holy figure.

It does not have to be

about religion.

Have faith in your family,

in your friends.

Most importantly

have faith in yourself.


That you will be able to

overcome anything.

Just have a little faith.

Day 3/Poem 3 – NaPoWriMo
PMpThu, 05 Apr 2012 21:07:42 -040007Thursday 1, 2010, 9:07 pm
Filed under: poems, the mirror | Tags: , , , ,

Let Me In


Grant me entry into the Fortress of Solitude.

My blood will tell you that I

have something more to offer

than punching clocks and keyboards.

My body can show you that

I was made for this.


I’ve never been one to

hang my hat on superheroes.

But I can believe in the impossible

just like the nation of dreamers out there.

The nation of sleepers waiting for a savior.


I watch people shuffle like ants

shouldering their burdens

like boulders of dirt

and I feel askew.


In the mornings, I rise.

When I sit at the edge of my bed,

eyes half closed, body still warm,

I feel like there is a light

inside of my chest.

I feel like I am not from this world.

An outside presence blending in so well

you never noticed me.

I feel like I was destined for greatness.


So grant me passage

into the Fortress of Solitude.

There is a savior in my skin

waiting for someone to call upon.

There is a Mighty Mouse

between my collar bones

waiting to carry the weight of the world.


I can do all of these things

if only I allowed myself

a single moment of grandeur.

If I didn’t enjoy relishing

in the placid, acrid and putrid

waters of self-loathing,

of second best,

of thinking that I

don’t deserve what

every searching soul needs.



I’ve been trying to find

a way out of this cycle,

and I can save myself

if you let me in, I promise.

The rest of the planet is next,

I swear to you.

I have it in me to be selfless.


I will not neglect the ones in need.

I will not get lost while chasing Lois.

I will not forget who I am.

I will always be Clark,

humble and soft-spoken.

I will never let the Metropolis

wash away the values of Smallville.


Let me in. It’s where I belong.

I was meant for more than this daily grind.

The world needs a savior

and the moment I rescue myself

I know I have it in me.


So let me in before I kick in the door

and tear down the walls.

The crystals may shatter

and shear my veins but that is okay.

They will purify my blood and

you can see that I was made for this.

That my heart is a fist

and my spirit is a beacon.


The moment I believe in myself.

In all of these things,

they will instantly ring true.

And you will not have to let me in,

I will not have to break any walls.

The doorway to that fortress

In that blissful solitude will

open itself for the one

who was destined to be within it.

I will walk in and I will be home,

you will see.

Day 2/Poem 2 – NaPoWriMo
PMpWed, 04 Apr 2012 22:19:57 -040019Wednesday 1, 2010, 10:19 pm
Filed under: poems, the mirror | Tags: , , , , ,

The Way of Wanting


I tried resisting.

It only becomes stronger.

Such is the way of wanting.

You push and you push

against the indifference

until your fingers fall numb to the wrist.


Until you find a means to

simply circumvent the very faces

mocking with their temptation.

Or even worse, you give in.


I stayed away for so long.

There was no need to

push them away because,

for me, they did not exist.


But they always come knocking,

don’t they? Waking you from

the warmest of sleeps

with the coldest of embraces.


They come knocking

like Jehovah’s witnesses.

Selling me something I do not need,

do not want and do not believe in.

When you open the door,

you show yourself.


Their kind, manipulative words penetrate.

They turn from your door

leaving you with a pamphlet in your hand

and a question mark inside of you.


I don’t even remember

what brought them back.

Was it wanting to belong?

Not wanting to feel alone

standing in the cold at the

intermission of a poetry slam?

Jus to pass the time?


These I cannot say.

I only remember how it felt

when I pursed my lips onto the end

of the freshly lit cigarette.

The embers swelled in radiance

as they crackled and

my lungs filled with a longing

I no longer knew existed.

The inhale felt like home.


With the exhale came

the shame. The guilt.

Every time after that first, second time

came the question

What the fuck am I doing?


When Old Smokey pays me a visit

I barely see him.

He steps into my periphery,

he does not speak.

He leers at me from across the room

with smoke emanating from his pores.

With lit cherries for pupils

and crumbling tobacco for fingers.


I can’t look him in the eye.

I try to push, I try to resist.

I try to think about my wife.

About my son.


See, for years

I thought I would die young.

A tragic end to a starving artist

who was always misunderstood.

The novelty of genius.


But now,

I have so much to live for.

I have so much more to lose.

Temptation finds me and

tries to offer a comfort

I do not need, do not want

and do not believe in.

I try to envision his smile,

her touch.


But I cannot see far enough

to envision lung, mouth or throat cancer

stealing me away from them like a thief in the night.

I cannot envision a simple vice destroying me.


So my attempts at nobility,

at responsibility, at capability

transcend into fragility.

They become futile because

I get trapped in the now and

ignite the very fire that

threatens to destroy everything I have built

with my hands, my mind and my heart.


I know I can shake him again.

It’s not about resisting.

It’s about knowing, about truth.

It’s not about fighting.

It’s about overcoming by eliminating.


Such is the way of wanting.

You are no meant to push.

You are meant to embrace,

and bid farewell.