A Poem for Cris and Mike

Like a feather falling in a storm, love has its own currents

These currents have no mind, no choices, no set path

We know not when we will be swept into the tempest

Taken on an unexpected journey to a destination brighter than the last

But when that feather settles itself, when it finally connects with the world

We call that home

 

Disclaimer: This poem was written on the day of, and for, the wedding of my friends Cris and Mike.

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Humility

That which is divine

Humility is a shelter against the storm of egos

A bulwark from which superiority has no strength

Those who gain it, never know it

Those who seek it, find themselves at self-odds

It’s recognized by all, but found in few

The freest of us hold it in plenitude

It requires nothing but pure thoughts,

and escapes the forgotten

Gnomic Father Pt. 2

Time to clean up now,

go grab the broom

A tidy house this allows,

you’ll understand real soon

 

Nice and even strokes,

no reason to hurry

The idea this evokes,

of feeling clean and not dirty

 

Slide the dustpan along,

grabbing the weekslong remains

No reason to live wrong,

breathing our own pains

Now the easy part, throwing it all away

Slide our parts to the trash, preparing for new days

 

 

American Stoic

Stoic is as stoic does not

The straight line with no dividing pathways,

eating your feelings and experiences

A glutton of unprecise needs and unending appetite

But there is another way

There’s a way to find a middle

It doesn’t break the self,

it only breaks the routine

Call upon your average angels

Live within the grey screens

Logic can exist without emotion,

emotion can exist without logic

But life is most harsh without thought,

and who wants to live in a world of broken smiles

The oldest saying is plan for the worst, hope for the best

Yet a stoic doesn’t hope, merely plans

Fill your head with your heart, find a stranger path

 

Bravery

Bravery isn’t earned, nor taught
It cannot be forced upon, the strongest of the lot
It comes in waves of crises, demanding of its fellows
The bravest of us sometimes fall, filling up the deepest gallows
For “courage isn’t the absence of fear”, a wise man is quoted as saying
It calls upon the best of us, those who can’t stand waiting
It strikes some when least expected, but always when needed most
It fills us up with brighter reflections, one’s who no longer boast
So if you feel when braveries near, you need have no reason to fear
It’s only your soul approaching it’s best, while, also forgetting the toll.

 

Gnomic Father Pt. 1

Teach a boy to shave,

teach a son

Begin by washing away,

the day’s last run

 

Go along with the cream,

you’ll want to shine

Spread and miss no seams,

everything will be fine

 

Take the sharp blade to your cheek,

miss not a single hair

Shave until your face feels sleek,

cuts are easy to repair

Stand in the mirror, look for any misses

Everything becomes much clearer, we’ll see how it glistens.

 

Up

If and when we start again

I hope I’ll be kinder

I hope I’ll be a better friend

Though I may need reminders

 

I wonder what will happen

When we recall the past

Will it darken and blacken

Or will it really last

 

Simple truths abound beyond,

Demanding their sad say

Do they know of whom I’m fond

or what I wish of this day

I tell myself, just stay strong but,

I only hope that you’ll stay

The Door

Beyond the walk there lies a door

Past the door are many more

It stretches beyond what we can see

Until we find eternity

 

The door has paint for many eyes

The colors blend and sometimes blind

They make up shapes and symbols for all

Creating fate and making thralls

 

There are those who focus on the door,

and others on where lies the floor

It matters not how you turn the handle,

nor whether you were quite the vandal

But what you do when that circles turned,

who you were and what you learned.

 

 

Envy

Envy, the creature often confused for possessive jealousy

It slithers into the heart when least expected,

Driving others to madness, wishing they could have or be another

It’s the killer of the already loved, the slayer of contentment

It’s the champion of what’s yours is mine

Its enemy is tranquility, its oldest friend is hatred

There is no cure for Envy without growth, no settlement without upheaval

There is envy within all who decide they are not what they want to be, but none can be found within the poor who gives

My Song

If and when I danced, I danced to their tune

Their pied piper play, took my worries away

I found a new appeal, a new way to see, a new way to breathe

I moved to their wavelengths, saw my own escapes

 

It all changed when another came along

He flitted and flew, sang his own song

I tried to change, make them see my range

But among all other things, they found me strange

 

I escaped the music, at last, finding a tune not quite so crass

Moving along my musical road, I listened to my song and never slowed

It slipped a leap deep within, let others see me spin and grin

It found me, this strange escape, found a much more fluid shape

I hear my own chords now and then, hear it in others who almost find their zen

But I don’t try to change for them, I’ll never allow my song to change again