The world is a broken place.
Some people blame it on race,
Others on the government being
Out of place,
But for each finger we point away
At our backs another
Has something to say about us.
And after untangling that convoluted knot of loud opinions and anger wrought
We are left with the circle of humanity
Too busy tripping over vanity,
Too busy bringing others to sanity
To embrace it themselves.

You exist perhaps most in the waves…and I am a child come to the beach this day.
Over and over you lap the sand, foaming and roaring with joyful play.

I answer your call with a hint of caution, for the last thing roaring that I ran to was a fire and I felt the burn…yet your laughing splashes make me giddy, so I wiggle my toes closer and closer until   SWISH   a big wave I wasn’t expecting! Looks like you won’t let me settle for a little. As you swarm over my feet and between my toes, my fearful defenses are swept away. With a bubbly laugh I try and match your tone. I jump and dance and you catch me, smoothly slowing my feet till they reach the ground beneath…

But I could not be content in this ankle high puddle when it is just the fingertips of your breadth! Deeper, deeper I go, striding further into your wake…Suddenly I’m yanked to a stop by the second tug on my heart by fear….didn’t think my feet would disappear…I lift up my legs. Well, they are still there…I tiptoe forward, cringing with each step, unsure what it will bring, moistened sand or painful sting. A fish brushes past my leg and I fail to stifle a shudder. Now I see that the ocean is not the puddles.

While the splashing waves are you, this deeper unknown is too.

Breathing deeply I pause.              

Is it worth it to stay or should I go back to what I know?

My head pounds….I turn slowly ‘round, away from the giant waves that slide across the black abyss. Behind me lies sand, static, rugged, and bare….but at least I know what’s there.
For a moment I look left, then right, then down in despair.

But alas! My feet have already made the choice. Better to brave the fear, a worthy price for substance, for depth, for you to be there with me. I begin to tread more peaceably…then start to doubt that you would harm me. Yet as each wave pounds against my frame and I feel you all around, I feel your power over me and I know that you could if you wanted to. I trust you, and again I laugh this time at your raucous jostling.

I bring my hands to my face, and drag my fingers along my chin. This is not the face it used to be. I have grown, changed. I learned to stand among your waves. Your current may have pulled me in, but here I am, a man choosing to be with you. No matter how long I look out across your waters, in tempest or in calm, their beauty never ceases to sustain me. Though even in my manhood I cannot hope to see the ocean floor, I prefer it that way. I enjoy the trust of floating…when I sink you life me back up so I can breathe again.            

Yet, I gaze at you knowing that even amidst my most fervent desire to be with you, with the simplest push you could spit me right out again.
It is here that I stand, chest deep, heart deep, in your swirling sea…waiting to see…

Children see life through a different lense,
A creak in the hall could be death.
Imagination stirs their mind to a frenze,
Refusing the body to rest.
Their wild minds consider every option,
While we even critic what we see!
Kids create quite a concoction,
as we dumb it down to the utmost degree.
So is this a pro or a con?
Lets put it as simply as this:
When the robber comes in with a gun,
the kid's under the bed and you're dead!

A single lock of smooth dark hair
curled up in a small mint box,
that mellow fruity scent still there
unique among the putrid rock,
my only comfort in despair
from being far away from home.
The time that we have had to share
carries me when i'm alone.
Surrounded by blood, death, and pain
I cling to that luscious strand of life,
so that when I get that dark red stain
I simply think of my dear wife.

Oh Silence, What is your true form?
Silence cold and silence warm.
Silence is gold and money is power and power corrupts
So on one side silence destructs as an epic dictator.
The high card to any hand, though some may deem you bland,
your flavorlessness is not without potency, for boldly you cry for attention,
the throbbing emptiness louder and louder erupts when broken by words, making any and all sound absurd.
You are the quintessential nagger,
The silent treatment, a dagger to the heart.
Your are the ultimate obscurity,
For one could hide eternity behind that shroud of nothingness.
You are death,
For only the lifeless lack that subtly murmured breath.
But silence doesn’t stop there, for it wouldn’t be fair
To compare that pure soundless air to a dictator and not a peacemaker.
A moment of quiet amongst the riot of life is enough,
Enough to rebuff that ignorance, that helplessness, that stuff,
Which drags beneath the busy current of a day.
What other way could you flush out the reverberating noise
Echoing, toying with your mind.
In the midst of the cacophony silence is ecstasy.
Silence, the epitome of reverence,
For when your body, and even tongue bends in awe,
It is submission so raw, words cannot contend.
Silence is true.
Before a word is vocalized it has already been compromised,
Perverted to imbue a hint of meaning separate from reality.
Thus the purity of silence, how can one twist what does not exist?
But am I any further to understand,
The abilities which silence has?
It is a gift; it is a curse.
To a deaf man constant, to a husband the adverse.
Both dangerous and humorous, but to delve into the depths of quiet is most arduous.
Since we shall never know, the extent that silence goes
It has secrets it shall never show.

Nobody loves her best and that’s okay
Because her car drives faster than they can run
And her sweater is big enough and her hair is tangled
Like she just rolled out of bed
But bed isn’t home
Not anymore
Bed is anywhere she can close her eyes for more than a second at a time
Home is the structure built inside of her chest
Not quite a human with a human’s anatomy anymore
The bones are twisted the wrong way
Scraps of the past caught in the joints
Wrapped up tight like a flag in the wind of a tornado
And that’s all she’s becoming
But it’s still hard to breathe
And she would trade it all,
Trust me,
She would trade it all
Give up the speed
Give up the power
Give up the ability to knock them down and make them wander around in the dark
For the chance to open a front door
And not fear what’s on the inside.
Fear doesn’t truly move her
Fear actually locks her knees and freezes her lips
But a moving target is hard to hit
So she’s trained herself to run
And she’s going to keep going, screaming all the way
Take me back
Take me back
Oh god, bring me home.

If my life were a recipe
I feel like every ingredient would be followed
by the word "optional".

8 hours of sleep (optional)
Two to three meals a day (optional)
1 social life (optional)
1 job (optional)
A handful of friends (optional)
A pinch of creativity (optional)
One cup of laughter (optional)
Three heaped tablespoons of positivity (optional)

You get the idea.

But you're different.
You're the one ingredient I can't do without.
You're the one thing that matters
when I can't be bothered with the rest of it.
When all the chopping and sautéing and boiling
and grilling of everyday life
seems like too much hassle,
there's always enough time for you.
You're my quick-fix meal on a weekday evening.
You're a mid-morning snack
snatched between errands.
A quiet evening in on a Saturday
with a bottle of wine and Joni Mitchell playing
"I could drink a case of you".
I could cook you every night.
You're comfort food at its finest
unpretentious, convenient.
Never bland and never tiresome.
You're the one ingredient I'll always have in stock,
that one I'll never let myself run out of.
Because you cannot be substituted.
You, and only you, are not optional.

you love him
you love his smooth hands and his rough cheek
you love your hands in his denim shirt
and the cinematography of you together
everything else is an afterthought

the knife in his eyes that is not always pointed at you
but when it is
you kiss the fist that rattles plates
the lips that wrap around clenched teeth
melt him

fail to understand his poison tipped arrows
that are aimed at the mother who threw bottles
if he could only pick one more fight it'd be with his father
you kiss him when he knocks his brother's teeth out

he leaves in the morning for coffee and comes back a day later
welcome him with open arms and abundant questions
he will be a tower of irritation and concrete
he will point fingers that will curl into fists
but they are not fists for you
they are for the devils that dance within him
and behind his wild eyes
and in his childhood home

you will not be fooled
he loves you
you know by every sweetheart and the lips on your forehead and the way he smells in between the sheets each night

he leaves
he comes back
purple flowers that bloom around his eyes are the bouquets he brings home for you
the front porch sags when he puts his hands in his pockets
his face buried in your chest
on nights when the lamp swings a little too low
and his body is wracked with sobbing and shoulders shaking

he mourns the gentle temper he never had
he mourns what he would be like without you
he mourns what you would be like without him
this is how he loves you

your hands in his hair easing soothing shh shh
you are the mother who left
you are better than every last ex-girlfriend
for reasons he will be happy to name
this is how you love him

you came because you are drawn to the shipwrecks
but you stayed in the water for him
ancient child
furious soul
you salt his wounds
and then you clean them
this is how you love him