welcome.
As a child, my brothers and I
Would play beneath an apple tree.
It stood tall in our garden
its fruit was sweet as heaven.
One day, I cursed the tree
in a fit of rage.
I cried out, wishing it bore happiness
instead of a fruit.
The tree did not like my demands.
Today, I found my father
laying beneath the tree.
Atop an apple tree so high
A foolish devil did there fly
With beating wings, he stood, forlorn
Battered, beaten, hurt and worn
He cried out, "Please, will one of you
Spare me just a moment, two
I am wounded, in much pain-
The cost of having my enemy slain."
A woman there heard devil's cry,
Saw the painful way he flys,
She said, "Poor devil, far from home,
To you, my kindness, I will loan
"But at a cost! Not free, oh no,
I will heal you, let you go,
Though only if you pay my fee,
You must take a kiss from me."
"A kiss?" the demon asked, in shock
Ne'r in life had someone thought
To ask this devil for his love
A kiss from this human upon his glove.
And so she placed a kiss atop
The devil's hand, but then, he stopped,
and asked, "Mere human, why do you
ask for love from devils?" He flew
Back up to his perch so high,
Branches close to touching sky,
The human looked up, smiled, said,
"I've always wanted love, not dread.
Upon setting eyes on your horned face,
I could only see a halo, grace
Those wings with feathers, flying high
You look an angel to my eye."
waves crash upon
this empty beach
i am waiting for my lover
on the shore;
he is late today.
every thought crosses my mind
as i wait for him;
what if he is sick?
what if he is hurt?
what if he is dead...?
i shake my head; get rid of the thoughts.
he is strong. i have faith.
the stars are beautiful and bright above me.
constellations he told me the names of
shine bright in patterns all around.
the moon is among them;
it reflects into the sea
i wonder if he can see it from the depths?
I spy an eye, a clock, a fire
A pair of dice, a wand, a tire
A set of scales, a key, a book
An arrow pointing to a tiny nook
A lost ID, a rope, some rocks
A sleeping cat on a pile of socks
I spy a mess on my bedroom floor
If only it was clean like it was before!
i do not think my poems are fantastic.
but they are poems, nonetheless.
what is a poem?
a group of words, poured out onto a page like paint;
smeared over paper and walls with joy and sorrow.
it might be beautiful. it might be ugly,
not in a poetic way.
but a poem is words spilled onto a page
with meaning,
and an ugly poem with feelings
is a thousand times more beautiful
than beauty with no significance.
oh, deep blue
i'm so scared of you
secrets held in open waves
why did you leave me on that day?
i don't know what i did to you
i don't think you know, either
did it hurt you? it hurt me
you change your names
you change your games
my fear will stay the same
deep blue,
you remind me of times best left forgotten
do i remind you of that too?
i was always trying to please you
i was always scared of you
i looked up to you
i wanted your love
i wanted your acceptance
i wanted you to like me
i watched what i said around you
i watched what i did around you
you never noticed me
we were never friends
i don't remember what happened
i wish i did
why did you leave me alone?
did you not trust me?
i don't know if i trusted you
you once told me the reason for my poor memory
i think i will always remember
i will always remember it was you who told me
how you knew more about me than i knew about you
every time i talked, i thought
"will you like this? will you hate this?"
even when i wasn't talking to you.
i'd read a book.
would deep blue like this?
i'd watch a film.
would deep blue like this?
i don't know if you would.
you still scare me.
i don't know what to tell you.
i miss you.
i never want to talk to you again.
i wish i died rather than you cutting me off.
i wih i remembered more of our time together.
i wish i could forget you.
i'm glad you don't occupy all my thoughts anymore.
i wish we never met.
i'm sorry.
once, i woke up freezing.
it was dark. the moon glowed green upon dew-tipped grass,
there was a boy.
he told me not his name.
the boy stood under moonlit skies;
i remembered something i was once told.
time does not wait.
i know this.
"it delivers all equally to the same end," father used to tell me.
i know this.
the boy, he was given one year.
"go forth without falter," father said, "with your heart as your guide."
he listened to those words. he followed his heart.
and now again, i am back in a freezing dream,
a morning mist settles under the unnatural moon's gaze;
"time to choose," the boy in stripes tells me.
"choose what?"
i didn't need to ask. i knew what he meant.
go forth without falter, father's advice always was. carry on even in turbulent times.
i give the boy my answer.
the boy smiles.
the boy disappears in a blink.
"go forth without falter," he says, "with your heart as your guide."
"i know," i told him.
"good."
and then the boy was gone; i was left alone under the eerie skies.
later i woke up. i didn't remember the dream.
but i had those words in my mind, that i hadn't heard in years,
"go forth without falter, with your heart as your guide..."
so i will. i'll do those words proud.
"time never waits", i was told.
time will not wait for me; i will not wait for it.
if it delivers all to the same end, then there is no sense
in wasting away, afraid of the future.
i shall go forth, without falter!
and do the past proud.
my father is a butterfly.
he is not always a butterfly.
sometimes he is a man.
he looks different every time; wears masks.
i don't think most fathers do that.
i don't care what most fathers do.
i wouldn't trade it for the world.
my father is a butterfly,
but his lover is a moth.
is his lover also my father?
i do not know. i never ask.
it is not forbidden to ask...
yet i do not, anyway.
but he is a moth, sometimes,
like my father is a butterfly.
they complement each other.
father says when i grow older,
i will be a butterfly.
i would like that very much.
i have always loved butterflies,
perhaps because of a book my grandmother would show me
with hundreds of gorgeous butterflies in the pages.
(though, more simply,
maybe i have always liked butterflies
because my father is one.)
God,
It is quiet today,
As it has been every day for months.
My mind is not as quiet as the still air;
Today,
My mind is as busy as it is every day.
God,
I want to thank you, the creator,
For making this world,
And the last,
And the next,
And for allowing me to live in it
This is my final thank you;
A final prayer.
Mom,
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for trying your best.
Thank you for the clothes on my back,
And the food made with love,
And the roof over my head.
Mom,
Everything is so still today.
Do you think it will be this quiet
When you get home today?
Father.
I hated you.
I loved you for years.
You betrayed me.
You betrayed my mother.
I'd be happier
If I didn't see you at the funeral.
My wives,
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for being kind to me.
I will love you now,
As I did in life,
Even in death.
And last,
I would like to thank this knife
That will be the last thing I feel.
I am glad
To spend my last moments
With an old friend;
Though I will not be cutting up fruits again.
God,
Everything is so still today.
Did you know today would be the end for me?
After all,
I circled the date on my calender
Months ago.
Thank you for letting me live
But I could not bear the burden.
So thank you for letting me die.
Please remember me even in death.
I will remember you.
I carried your love with me to the grave.
The wind chimes sound lovely today.
Will they sound the same when I am gone?