Do--
That is the simplest
suggestion I could ever
mentor.

As a psychologist
as a philosopher
the only teaching
you will ever receive.

Is an education
on believing
on hope
that no matter
the deter.

Champions
are prize winning
earners
whose primary
goal
was success.

As honest
as monkeys in the rain
the forest they forage  
only breeds fruit
when they bare
the vine.

Do not fear--
an earnest mind
does not fodder
but struggle
and strive.

Because conquest
is not numerical
neither obtuse or acute
standards are settings
on default.

Amongst follies
are consequences
these events
are challenges,
that show
achievement.

Trial by fire
instead of
death by average
live let live
exist to start.

If I never wrote
people would never know that I live--
does that matter--
it sure does to me.

That when my thoughts
and words
all my experiences
never hinted to involve another person.

How can anyone ever know:
that I think
I ponder
and I thrive
that amongst all my knowledge,
desperately I pander
for the eyes atop hills
and inside the trees around me

to speculate about my life,
when the wind brushes
through my hair
and sweeps across plains
knocking into trees
and leaking into your homes.

There are hints of my brevity
lingering within the air
and next time you speak
you'll realize that these words,
are not yours alone
but the words I've snuck
into your mind
with the wind.

I don't know what wood
this table is made from
as I bought it from a yard sale,
but to be brash
it seemed the people's home
had been foreclosed.

Knocking on the table's surface
imagine the beating sounds
of drums, a native tribe
secluded from the river of reality
and yokes the essence
of their seclusion to be culture.

Now imagine the opposite
and you'll understand the quality
of the table I just bought--
who has no history
and most likely
rested on IKEA's factory floor,
it's welcoming to the world.

There is no grain to this creature
as the metallic hands that crafted this beast
lacked a soul and its creations lack one too--
fittingly, it's perfection is a symptom  
to the disease that lies in it's faux-wood.

Placing the poor table frame
inside some high rise studio in Manhattan
I can't help, but imagine--
the hands that will enviably gloss over this shell
and preach to their acquaintances
of a life the table never had.

Retype number 3,018--
I don't really think I've written
this many entries for just one poem

it's a beam of light that
scores my thoughts
and begins to type across this board

but in the end
it was a refraction of shadows
hinting at another dream

because these ramblings of another world
are the minds way of scrambling
to form new words
and convey our Neverland
that we've Neverfound

Scented candles add an extra burst
of enthusiasm to wander this page a little longer
because they are my witness
that even Evergeen Woods
have some Cinnamon Bark hidden in them.

the candles are made of wax
and when I pour myself to sleep
perhaps our wicks stay lit
or do we fiddle away
with our dreams.

Hands on your shoulders
eyes closed and attempting
to follow the flow of your body
with each step I faithfully
plunge my feet
into where yours must
have been only a moment ago.

I gently tinge each finger of mine
so subtly that I wonder if you even noticed--
it's a habit of mine
where I need to stretch my hands
to find some focus.
It didn't really help
since I have my eyes closed,
although I do feel less
lost in this empty space.

Did you know that your body hums
I could feel it radiating in the cracks
between each finger--
more likely it was my anxiousness
of floating through the galaxy
with you as my only guide.
Honestly I began to
wonder where we are going.

Stopping my silence
I lean closely to what
I am assuming is your ear
and whisper, "you didn't tell me
we'd be walking so far"
your reply was sarcastic as usual,
"Oh, sorry didn't know
you would make us walk so slow"
with the usual eye-rolling chuckle.

Suddenly you stop
and because of how flustered
your response made me
I misstep and glide into your back
and before I can even see from behind you
an earthquake of sound explodes
"surprise!!!"...."happy birthday!!!!!"

Violence--
that is the term we like to throw around
when two people are brawling out in the street
Violence--
is a domestic dispute between two ill crossed lovers
who no longer can see eye to eye
unless their eyes are swollen shut.

Violence is not a fleeing person
who has to run from their protectors.
When protection means ****
it's hard to find the difference
between police officer
and criminal.

We're not shouting for them to stop speeding bullets
or to be our guardian who shields us from all
our pleas are for a chance
to live freely and safely in the world.

For them to understand that bullets do not prevent problems
and hiding the truth under a tower of corpses
will never keep their blood from seeping into the ground.
The ground where  too many people lie
from their protectors protecting too much.

Thinking of where they have been
has made me realize
that to me Thanksgiving
has always been a day I spent with my family.
The same people each year
as they repeat their ancient tributes.

People idly stand around the kitchen--
around an island of food
the same food each year:
of salami, chips, crackers
and an array of different cheeses
ranging from simply American to pepper jack
the one I've never seen someone eat.

It's a day where time has frozen
albeit Thanksgiving day always changes,
but the holiday always stays the same
my family is a concoction of numinous ideas
that when smashed together starts to combust.

It is where we relive our previous life
a content collection of relatives
who do not see each other that much,
but on this day can realize the love we have.

Even as reality leaves the day behind
and people begin to change
this is the moment we'll always have
because even when they leave for good
it'll be our day to thank them for the time we had.