If I had talent, I’d be a musician

I’d play for small crowds or big arenas

I’d be able to command the attention of an audience

I’d charge buckets of money or sometimes not charge a thing at all

If I had guts, I’d be an actress

I’d wear designer dresses to all the award shows

I’d become any character anyone could come up with and

I’d even move to LA or New York

I’d hide from paparazzi and enjoy every second

If I had grace, I’d be a dancer

I’d glide across the floor, making every step look effortless

I’d feel the music through my toes and in my heart

I’d have perfect pirouettes and flawless leaps

I’d be so beautiful

If I was braver I’d be a poet

I can write poems until my fingers bleed

String words together on lined paper

Watch them as they tumble from my pen

Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of the night

Just to write down some lines or stanzas

But no on ever reads them

I keep them tucked away in notebook after notebook

Hidden by school notes or doodles

I leave them all to collect dust

If I was braver, I’d be a poet

Instead I hide my poetry away from prying eyes

Out of fear, I let the pages rot

Until I lose myself in their wilted corners

And I can feel my soul begin to wilt as well

Through the rhymes I choose to ignore

To the poetry I give pieces of myself that no one will ever see

If I was braver, I’d be a poet

-JE

Why have you forgotten Him?
Oh, you soul of bitterness.
I stand on the dry land,
surrounded by those who sense your rotten scent,
Oh my soul.

It is not well
that I should perish
unable to drench your putrid mess in water
This desert cannot compare
to the deep, deep well
that I so desperately need.

Oh my soul,
Why are you so downcast,
Oh my soul,
unable to gaze up toward the hope
that could save.

This is not well
Crackled and brittle
Oh my soul, I stumble
with this thirst.

If only I could find a well
Where deep calls to deep,
But that kind of roaring showers of glory
isn't for us, oh my soul.
Is it for us?

Oh
my
God,
have you forgotten
me
and my soul?

I relinquish the breath in my lungs,
Throw to the dirt all that I am,
Oh my soul, please leave me alone.
But dirt turns to rock
beneath me.
And cold
becomes wet
becomes a trickle
becomes a stream.

Oh my soul.
The river has found me.
OH
MY SOUL.

I stumble into hope, into grace, into a river
flowing with life.
This is our hope,
Oh my soul.
Be clean,
Oh my soul.
Drink deep,
Oh my soul.

And it is well
with my soul.

Beware: Do not fall in Love with an artist.

An artist is definitely the most dangerous to fall into a relationship with.
You won’t even know you’re the exact facsimile of their work.

They will tear your heart to bits,
more than likely to generate a new showpiece.

They will watch your irises go from fields in bloom to dull skies,
and your black pupils go from metallic to charcoal.

They will be able to stroke your hair softer than a paintbrush,
and watch your little detail emerge from something pallid.

They will be able to memorize the structure of your face,
then round your cheeks and chisel your dimples into rock.

They will sing lightly the melody you’ve made,
as they cling to your torso as if a life source.

Do you see the danger?
For the love of god, beware.

You drive, the road aims for a mountain.
Trees, grass, bushes, all fly past
Faster as you gain speed.
I watch you in silence, staring straight ahead
The radio turned down quiet
Just a distant sound in comparison to my thoughts
The journey has begun for us
And we don't know where it will end.
But steadily we sail down the empty road
Sun setting behind us.
It's a new beginning.

The water paints with sound
redamancy upon the shore
and our hearts.

And the cascade reminds me
Time can be beautiful,
Love is first shallow,
And then deep,
Oh, so deep, my love,
The color of shale and cobalt

We sit on the rocky shore
And stack stones into a cairn
Making the moment, the place.
Finally, he says, we’ve seen the ocean
Together.

As if seeing the vastness of Resurrection Bay
Perfects our Pacific love
Deepening.

We skip a few rocks
To test the shallows
To find the deep
To discover what we believe awaits us
In the future:

Love like waves
Pulled by the moon--
My hand pulled by yours
To go home.

Around age 30, she had begun this dance
Of conversation, how to suggest the low-fat
Without insulting the husband’s paunch
And need for chocolate chip and fudge ripple.

Twenty years later, they stand in the aisle,
freezing, as they open door after door
in pursuit of the perfect opportunity
to be guiltless,
in at least one aspect of their lives.  

“Is that mocha chip a two-for-seven deal?”
He asks, squinting at his wife.
It’s not low-fat, it’s only sugar-free,
She said, eyebrows creased
“Well, it looks like a good deal.”
He is reaching, ignoring the tap tap of her foot,
when she snatches the tub from his palms
and the freezer door closes the conversation.
They leave for home in silence,
with frozen peas.

My fiance and I watch,
each carrying tubs of french silk
and mango sorbet, and feeling the fullness
of potential among the frozen foods,
and I add waffles and bananas
to our feast.

Promise me adventures.
Promise me we'll be okay.
I need that promise, the kind
the fisherman tells to the sea,
the kind you'll tell to me.

And when the wind blows
the shingles off our tiny, little house,
promise we'll take me to that sea.
I think we'll be okay
with a day by the sea,
where the wind will push us onward
and sometimes further than we imagined,
into the gray
and murky green.

Promise me with a map
and the road
and the static in the radio
Help me find the promise
in the static in the radio.
I'll see the promise and the ocean
and in the hands clasps together
at my knee.

And when we find hope inside the clouds,
promise me the rain
will cascade
diamonds
into the sea,
onto the shore,
and onto you
and even me.

The fisherman tells the sea
that he promises to weather its storms.
The sea tells the fisherman
that she promises to carry him
to adventurous lands
upon her leeward waves.

As for me,
I promise we will be okay
as the winds blow the shingles
off our tiny, little house.
I promise we will be okay
as we follow the maps
and navigate the roads
while the radio sings static,
our hands clasped together
at your knee.

I promise that the rain
will radiate diamonds,
that reflect the gleam of your eyes,
onto the shores,
into the sea,
onto me,
and especially onto you.

We will find hope inside the clouds.