No More Death

As he readied himself to start his work
Death had a change of heart.
"I will not take any lives today." he said.
And so it was.
No human died,
not a single beast knew death
on that day.
He watched as life carried on
without any idea of what
he had just done.
At the end of that day
Death decided to let life
continued uninterrupted for
a second day in a row.
Once more, Death watched
from his perch in the heavens.
As the second day ended,
still, no one had noticed.
He wondered to himself
"How can no one have not realized
that death has come to no one?"
Death decided on the start of the third day
to do nothing until the mortal world
took notice of his absence.
Death began to watch more closely.
The sick and dying felt their agony
stretched past beyond that which is bearable,
coroners, morticians, and  undertakers
had no work. They began speaking
to one another and came to the same
conclusion: there had been no deaths
for days. They had no answers for why.
After a week had passed
stories began to trickle
onto various worldwide news outlets
about the seeming absence of death.
This triggered a rash of people
to test the boundaries
of this newfound knowledge.
Jumps from buildings, incomplete
immolations, non-fatal gunshots,
none could die.
Death finally relented and
returned to the mortal realm
to resume his work.
He approached an old man
dying at home, surrounded by those
he loved. The old man had heard
of the recent news
and was both surprised and pleased
to see Death arrive.
Death looked upon the man
and felt terrible for having neglected
him so. He said to the man,
"I am sorry for the long wait.
Will you come with me?"
The old man parted his lips
and said "Yes".
His eyes closed and his chest
ceased to rise and fall.
Those in the room began to mourn
but were relieved the suffering
was over. Were relieved
that Death had once more
returned to the world.

In the Heart of Winter

The heart of Winter
is a good time to remember
the comfort of warmth,

both literal and figurative.
The heart of Winter
is a good time to remember

those we have lost and the
memories of them we hold
within, to carry us forward.

The heart of Winter
is a good time to give thanks
for the simple act of being.

The heart of Winter
is a good time to cross the
distances of space

and think of those who
would be at our side
if they could.

The heart of Winter
is the reminder we need,
after the leaves have fallen

and the branches are bare,
that our lives remain in season.
The heart of Winter

leaves me breathless at
the journey so far and
the journey yet remaining.

In The Heart of Winter / The Summer of My Life

The winds have calmed
their anxious conversations
from last night. I listened
in as I fell asleep
and wondered what
they were upset about.

It is Christmas morning
and much has changed
since I was a child waking,
ready to rip apart presents
carefully placed under
our artificial tree.

I have grown to know
love cannot be measured
merely through gifts.
Love is far greater
than any physical object
that can be desired.

My youngest brother
is still young enough
to take part in the ritual
of gifts under the tree.
I am happy it is still
a part of his life.

I don't need much,
don't ask for much,
don't expect much.
I am content
to wake each morning
and see the sun.

Light shines through
my window
and lands upon
my desk.
A gentle, steady
reminder.

He Who Waits

Horatius Augustus was done.

He was done waiting

for others.

He was done 

placing high expectations

on anyone by himself.

He had been waiting

for almost two hours

and told himself

he would wait

only

five minutes more

and then

give up.

He cracked the knuckles

in his left hand 

with his right

and looked 

around

to see

if anyone 

was coming.

He looked at the 

ground between his

feet and brought 

his hands together 

as he breathed in deeply.

He looked up 

and his eyes

saw a figure moving

towards him

with a confident gait

that could not be impeded

by anything less

than death itself.

He breathed in

pulled his shoulders back

and cracked

the bones 

in his upper back.

His right hand reached

for the hard

bit of safety

resting against himself

a final assurance

in the case

of any eventuality.

these final moments

quick
don't even worry about
placing the words
into any sort of order
that would waste
precious moments
that neither of us have
don't fret
say what must be said
before the moment
has passed
that is
if we even live
to pass it by
but i do implore
make haste
and say
what must be said
before the footsteps
reach the door
before we must yield
to the forces
approaching from outside

if the mind can believe
then everything else
will follow.

without this

then nothing.

A Freewrite Disguised as a Poem (and vice versa)

Conversations between sea and sand

carry on in a language far older

than any cognizant creature

is capable of understanding.

The fear of rejection, the fear of failure,

the fear that we are misguided in intent.

Stumbling through light and dark

our elbows still strike nerves described

as bones that clearly have no concept

of humor or anatomy. 

I talk of dreams as though they were children

left at home with their Mother,

that perhaps, if I talk about them enough

will materialize. 

I have no problem dreaming

by day or night. I don't need to be asleep 

to let my mind untether itself from concern.

It seeks you out, or at the very least,

the memory of you, the ideal you

I remember. My mind can be a fool

but it can also see beyond it's impulsive

desires. There is that which holds meaning

beyond idealized memory. 

Memory is subject to revision

but what else can we call forgetfulness? 

I am a house not yet finished.

There are no panes of glass

in my unfinished eyes.

There is wind and sun

and night

pouring through my incomplete

body. There are blueprints

at the ready for when the crew comes back

and finishes the work that remains.

Forgive me 

for being less than what I wish to be.

I take that back.

No one should apologize 

for their being.

We are as beautiful and whole

as we were meant to be.

The waves of the sea

do not need to worry of the water

at the bottom of the world,

it will surge forth in time

and take it's turn upon the sand.

I look out beyond my eyes

and try to look past my limited view

of the horizon. Must the world

always be so terribly beautiful?

It must be terrible

and it must be beautiful

at all times

to everyone

for all time.

Morning Drive

The cool morning air 

necessitated your sweater.

You sat in the passenger seat of my car;

I looked at you and marveled 

at how much more beautiful you are

than my memories.

purify

If only the rain could

wash away more than

just our thirst.

Lens

We are part of the lens

through which nature

views Herself.

Living Among the Stars

So many names 

and faces scattered 

in my memory

I feel awed

by the constellations

in my galaxy

How lucky I am

to live among such stars

There is no choice that is not of consequence. 

fishing

stick the hook in my mouth

pierce a hole in my flesh

drag me up 

rip it out

bleeding and writhing 

bleeding and writhing

on the sand

Three Observations on Sunday, December 14th

Why must we waste love so carelessly?

The past is a strange beast if not treated properly.

How quickly the past moves behind us
and how it strains to be remembered.

For Anna

hold on tight
to this life

grasp for it
clutch it

hold it so tight
your knuckles

turn white
nothing else

comes close
to the precious

moments we
have been alloted

hold on
tight

12 13 14

It is a small thing
in fact
 it is a silly thing
to write a poem about
12 13 and 14

but that is fine
not all poems need to be
serious
or impart cosmic wisdom

The only reason these numbers
matter to me today
is that they compose
today's date

and those numbers will not
appear in sequence again
for another 100 years

I will have long been dead
buried and turned to ash

Everyone I know will be dead

12 13 and 14
thank you for the reminder
of my passing days

How beautiful you look
together in that way

12 13 14

It is a small thing
in fact
 it is a silly thing
to write a poem about
12 13 and 14

but that is fine
not all poems need to be
serious
or impart cosmic wisdom

The only reason these numbers
matter to me today
is that they compose
today's date

and those numbers will not
appear in sequence again
for another 100 years

I will have long been dead
buried and turned to ash

Everyone I know will be dead

12 13 and 14
thank you for the reminder
of my passing days

How beautiful you look
together in that way

Check the Apple

My hunger demanded to be sated

and all I could offer it was an apple.

It said it was an adequate offering 

for the time being.

Instead of bringing it to my lips

to have my teeth pierce it's skin

I opted to cut it's body into slices.

My hunger rolled it's eyes back

with delight as it savored 

each sweet bit.

I paused and looked at 

the half remaining on my plate

and saw one-third of a sticker

remaining on it. 

I felt sickened for a moment

and realized there was nothing 

I could do. So, I finished the rest

and hoped for the best.

Tenant of the Attic

My mind rattles in it's cage
and I grow alarmed

We get along beautifully
most days but

from time to time
it begins to worry

so I begin to worry
I tell it to

hold on
that this will pass

It always does
no matter what it is

Worries of one kind or
another always hang around

like the misfit in the back
corner of a classroom

Mind-
promise me

we'll always make up
after a fight

and forgive each other
for our shortcomings

Im/possible

I am impossible
but was made possible
by two people
who saw fit 
to bring me here.

I am impossible
but continue to be
on a daily basis
until impossibility
gives to inevitability.

I am impossible
but statistically speaking
I was bound to happen
because even the faintest
possibility is possible.

I am impossible
but I sometimes forget
how I defy the odds-
then I remember
and continue

to be possible.

4 briefs

If this is my voice
these are my words
If these are my words
these are my thoughts
____
Patient Mountain
____
Peace in a time of crisis.
____
leaves like wings
caught in the wind
fluttering without body

We were strangers when we fell in love.

We Will Cross These Distances Together.