Category Archives: poetry

Poetry: Maybe If


Romanticizing is for the birds
And I’m the air they fly through
There was so much I wanted to say, tonight,
But I was too afraid to.

Maybe if I didn’t think through it so much,
Maybe if I had gone ahead and bought the dress,
Maybe if I hadn’t been so nervous,
Maybe if you had given me some assurance.

A friend described you to me once,
And I decided I liked you instantly.
You became a place I went to in my mind
When life wouldn’t stop pushing me.

Maybe I’m overthinking this when you haven’t given me a thought,
Maybe life hasn’t yet given me lessons I need to be taught,
Maybe I’m simply not good enough or not ready yet
Maybe love is rain and you’re not ready to get wet.

I wish you would’ve held my hand,
And put to death my anixety,
You could’ve even said you weren’t interested,
I trust you not to lie to me.

Maybe we had too much in common, but not enough to talk about,
Maybe I built you up too high in my mind, left so much room to doubt,
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and realize you were just a dream,
Maybe it’ll hit me that you were never meant for me.

By the end of the cup that had been my tea,
There was no clarity on what could produce
Between you and me. But to your credit,
You couldn’t have known I needed any.

Maybe I went crazy and loved someone I’ve never met
Because I knew at least in my head, I couldn’t be hurt, yet
I never really wanted to hang out with you, and that’s the truth.
I just wanted to admire you from afar, to keep you this obtuse.

But I’m just some girl and you’re that guy in the band
With the handsome face and the holdable hands.
The worst part is, you weren’t too good to be true,
You were obviously real, just not really that into
Me.

Maybe I’m too much of this and not enough of that,
Maybe you’re too exciting or maybe I’m too fat,
Maybe in another life or on a different day,
Maybe if I had had something impressive to say…

Poem: Selfish Vantage Points


Child blowing

 

Beeping, tapping, leaning
On the gray, nebulous box
Spits out paper, curled and fancy,
Looks like fun, or so I thought.

Spinning, shaking, sweating,
On the tall, angry structure,
Her soul looks brighter here
With friends, no fear, no rupture.

Hallowed voices, countless chores
The context argues, scary or peaceful?
She comes in and she’s nervous again,
Cut off, closed in by all God’s people.

Counting white lines and yellow lights,
The green signs glow in the seas of night
I don’t trust the flame that burns the white,
Yet she guides us home with faith, not sight.

The walls could use more color,
The room could use more toys,
But she’s at her best here,
Far beyond stress, events, the noise.

Poetry: A Mountain with its Eyes Closed


Awaken, sleeping traveler.
Cast aside inertia, enjoy the ricochet
Breathe the world through your eyes,
Admire the way it gives, and God takes away.

What scares you only gets uglier in death.
Which death, you ask, to silent rests,
The spindle’s clouding the seed of reason;
Fears cascading the windows of your soul,

The voice grips you to the overwhelm,
Sound waves slowly inching you off the bed
But you are lying still as a mountain with its eyes closed,
No one sees the blood on the floor or the knives in your head.

The present is the future presupposed
Erasing the grace and retain of old-time religion,
It reminds you of journey and purpose,
All things need to be maintained.

Banish fear, move inside inspired emotion
Scream out loud or just announce your devotion
Be obscene and lack the advised discretion,
Spill out your shame, expose your obsession.

Just move.

Poetry: The Truth and Personal Destiny in Never Settling for Less


Societal standards, set for success
We set our stories properly, but
Is there life in artifical happiness?

If life is turning chaos to tranquility,
What, as a whole, have we perfected?
Was it anything more than the astounding ability
To be miserable and get paid for it?

When we conform our dreams to man’s image,
Do we miss out on God’s perfect story?
Are they always at war or a playful scrimmage?
To know, do we have to wait til we’re forty?

I’m not a monk, nor a psychic or Shaman,
I don’t know if truth or personal destiny
Has a road or an open forum,
All I can suppose is that no one who knows
Follows formulas from those left before them.

Poetry: A Shared Vision Between Friends (For Kayla)


A snow-covered hill,
Fat mugs of hot, sweet tea,
Warm faces, full hearts,
Nothing between you and me…

Cold feet and freezing fingers,
Slow walking or a mindless trot,
A journey, so didactic,
We’ll never reach the top.

The conversation lingers between
quick wits and bold haze
Admittedly, we’re dilettantes
of the machine, and all its ways.

Time seems more like space
When you are by my side,
I don’t notice its passing,
I don’t recall life’s diatribe.

We were cut from the same stained cloth,
It’s all the same, we’re the esoteric,
The original never-looked-for,
but the I’m-never-lost.

Living in opposite corners of the same brain, freed
We frolic in snow past the tall, white trees,
Remaining through trials and seasons,
The very best dichotomies.

Poetry: Caskets change everything


We were falling
Past space and other places
The worn-out identities of
everywhere we’d been

Burnt out on bars and bathrooms
Faulty lighting, hallways of never-end.

We got to spend our youth
Racing through the motions
As if things would stop, pause
or slow us

down.

Sometimes the realization of being alive
Hit like clocks clapping together
But we never saw how time and weather
made any difference at all

Life was like a movie,
We lived like we were dying
Until we saw you, dead.

Caskets change everything.
And death really messes with your head.

700-01464590

Poetry: Separation


Separation

It gives me time to think
Forces me to stop
The horses look up from their stables
To watch me dead in my tracks

Dying from the inside,
Wandering on the outside
Skirts of God’s mind

Did I put these cuffs on my wrists?
Did you ever take them off of me?
Did I put them back on again?
Play it back, rewind it like a movie.

I don’t want to be the only star
I don’t want to be alone on the cast
I choose you as my director,
On the only gig that lasts

Pay me for my selfishness,
Pay me for my pride,
Give me blessings in place of honor,
Give me peace in what resides.

I’ve made a mess of things,
But you came to save, not judge,
I’ve never known a man
with such capacity in love.

I blame it on inertia
When I try to trust and fail
I know you wrote me lots of letters,
So every day, I wait for mail

Will you still love me above the highest ceilings?
And will you love me on my floor?
You said you’d never leave me
And I can’t take the separation anymore.