I never thought I would leave a place I adored
For seventeen years - I just never got bored.
I had friends and a purpose and plans and a vision -
But then came a day I could not do a mission.

'Twas an ethical test - who do I betray?
I lost faith in the words they wanted me to say.
Knowing the truth I just couldn't condone it.
The decision to leave - it was mine - and I own it.

I had only been in that one place all my life -
where opportunities for me had always been rife.
I was nervous and scared but excited as well -
What the world had in store for me I couldn't tell.

I put myself out there not knowing who'd call me -
I'd done lots of fun stuff but what would they all see?
Just what were they looking for - could I be it?
The drama of searching nearly gave me a fit!

Then out of the blue there appeared someone gallant -
With a great reputation - and they wanted MY talent!
They were smart and compelling with fun stuff to do -
Is it any suprise that I went with you?

We started out great - hell - we started out grand!
We tackled some challenges linked hand in hand.  
But quickly I started with zillions of questions
And made what I thought were some helpful suggestions.

See - where I came from initiative was expected -
I was not prepared when my ideas were rejected.
Some issues I saw were things elsewhere I'd solved!
But for mysterious reasons you didn't want me involved.

I was puzzled and hurt and obsessed quite a bit -
Was it something I did?  How can I fix it?
I just wanted to find out how I could have assisted -
But more I pushed - more I found you resisted.

Then one day it clicked - I went about this amiss -
What yet had I done that you should listen to this?
I was barely a face with a name I was so new -
I forgot that I needed to prove ME to you.

It isn't enough to be good with some code -
Even if you know Java, python, and node.
It isn't enough to SAY that you know it-
Code does what you tell it - people need you SHOW it.

It's scary to be the new kid on the block -
With no credibility you're nothing but talk.
It takes patience and time for all this to be earned.
But it's worth the investment if you want to be heard.

So I rose to the challenge and did loads of work -
And hoped you'd forgive that I'd been such a jerk.
And now - one year later - just look how we've grown!
We've built up some trust and are now in the zone.

I don't think for a second my story is new -
I would not be surprised if it's happened to you.
Embracing discomfort is a humbling feat -
But work your way through it - the result is more sweet.

Now let's build a community where we ALL can have voices
And not be afraid of these riskier choices.
Where we're ALL safe to say what we think and we feel
Even when such disruption may not be ideal.

Let's connect with each other in such a way
That we're transparent and collaborative every day.
Let's let EVERYONE have their say.
Let's cultivate new ideas before they can stray.

Let our values guide us all how they guided me
To remember who I want to be.
Let's face the world with integrity
And wonder at and explore all the possibility.

I believe everyone should have a voice on any kind of project, regardless of experience or tenure.  Sometimes the freshest eyes yield the greatest breakthroughs.  That said - sometimes you do have to suck it up and work extra hard just to get the right people in the room to listen to you - and not let all the rejection along the way discourage you from doing what's right - and that was the inspiration for this poem.
DEW Jan 3

Her feminine fickle,
does tickle my pickle.
I sample the fruit.
Tastes like a sickle.

She cuts me with passion,
and when my pulse is crashin'
she decides to save me.
I wake up thrashin'.
I'd like to cash in,
on love's fashion,
but she gives me no portion,
of her cookie's ration.

Date: 2/24/2016

A strange poem I found while digging through my hundreds of iPod notes.
Notes that I haven't touched in a long time, so it's refreshing to take a look.
My notes on an old novel of mine are especially delightful :)
I'd share them here, but NONE of it would make sense to any of you unless you've got a black belt in insanity, LOL ;)

As always, enjoy!

J Dec 2017

Being called “annoying”
Is like a glacier, frigid, rigid, inescapable preventing from social contact

A choking, strangling feeling penetrating your veins. A stone crushed by the might of a palm

Isolated, observing, analysing social conversations yet never overcoming the boundary

A tether severed and knotted to the throat. A rush of pain caught in the wind at the hilt of the dagger.

But a hand, a few words can reach into the chasm, rejoice and untie.
Create connections and weave intricate relationships, to bloom into a captivating flower.

That hint of compassion, gradually using the rubble to form a new personality, saving esteem.

Blooming, prospering

DEW Dec 2017

The city was laid bare:
like a patient upon the operating table
I walked the streets with precision
I was the scalpel carving communities from the fauna
the city was alive, and so it was truly sick
concrete jungle
projects and penthouses
the beleaguered old traipsed about, silent, but not quiet
the youth, rambunctious and carnal, feasted upon the dying
With each touch, I soothed the soul
Kisses, like antiseptic.
Lectures, like stitches.
Like cumulonimbus, the raucous ramblings of crowds grew
I said to myself, "It is fine, this is life, let it live."

Youth, ablaze with carrion wings, descend upon the old
beaks barrelling forward, pecking and snatching decency
still there are some who help
swooping down like proud eagles, they shoo away the scavengers
they beat back the tide of villainy
they shelter innocence, foster truth
but they are not enough...
I carve out the puss of corruption
I ventilate the lungs of the city and plug the punctures
but the pollution is virulent and stubborn...
Still, I say to myself, "This is poetry, love is a mystery, let them be."

I will hear them cry in the rain
I will not know my place
I might extend a hand, proffer an embrace, but
they will shy back,
for man will become monster
and God will become devil... in their eyes: deluded; poisoned by hate.
I will wonder where I went wrong.
Will I try my best to turn the helm against the wave,
go THROUGH the heart of the storm?!
Of course, I will try
I will try,
but I will fail.
Man will flaunt his freedoms, those which were freely given.
Despite my grief, I will say to myself, "All things have an end. There was nothing I could do."

I wonder to myself...
How many centuries have I folded my hands against the storm.
Behold! It's patience!
It will ever rise,
It will ever approach!
So long as man lies,
It will reach for his throat!
Man will always feign surprise,
It is a sickness he cannot broach...
As the color of morning skies is calming,
The fumes of the rumbling storm are maddening!

I always let the storm build until the lightning sets the world on fire
I thought the storm was man's voice in an inimical life...
But I was wrong, the storm is the beast that lurks in the shadows.
It sets the table for carrion.
The beast builds the cumulonimbus, preparing the kindling for the floods of war.

The storm's pallor stains man's skin so ubiquitously
That he mistakes the storm for himself.

The storm is the color of sin: six in total.

I wanted to breath about the idea of responsibility: culpability.
Watching the world burn paints you as the enemy.
We have to do something, even if we're not sure why, or for whom.

God is the people. He is the future.
He (the "Wholeness" of our (human) being) is what we strive towards:
The Perfection of Humanity
The Peace of our Souls
The Sustenance of our Planet
The Respect of All Life
The Beauty of Divine Soul in All our Works
The Tempered Passion of Truthful Expression
Love for, and Security in, Ourselves that Spreads into Love for the Community
Patience Under Hardship and Tolerance Under Misunderstanding

Without setting our goals upon improving humanity, we feel empty.
If we're not focused on being good people, why are we even here?

That's all for today...


Journey of Days Oct 2017

sliding down light beams
in spaces where they pierce gloom
arrows' direct hit
it appears my fortifications have failed


love finds a way through

thank God you didn't give up on me
DEW Oct 2017

She gazed, transfixed with dread
The path stretched on in hunger for eternity
Although it had not turned its hunger upon her
Despite its silence, its passive existence
She heard the road like war drums
Its rage was flame and steel
She broke her gaze from the path
And consulted the shaman
The shaman, upon giving her earthen herbs, sent her to wander
In the forest, where no path exists, she lost herself
She heard a voice call out to her, “Resfeber…”
The joys of life escaped her in the musty heat of dappled light
The rains tore through the canopy, washing her fears away
She began to lust for vision, for purpose
The wandering filled her with a desire to know the unknown
For all around her swelled the inescapable, the densely profound
And she happened upon the path once more
Its narrow vein was like the canal from a womb
She stepped out upon it, tasting the freedom of escaping the shell
She flew off, out into the storm
Seeking the eye of truth
Braving the harsh road
For the narrow path leads only to heaven.

Hadn't really written a long poem since the end of July.
I'd spent July doing 30/30 for Tupelo Press.
Basically, I wrote 30 poems in thirty days.
It changed my life in really important ways, many of them subtle.
The confidence I gained has waned a little, but I'm trying to hold onto the lessons.

So, here it is, today's poem.


Steve Page Sep 2017

Yes, I embrace my personal spectrum of strange, maintaining my own range of a sense of self, my own present tense, a unique list of contents that expresses my deep down, my compound, my proper noun made up of all that I am and all that resounds and all that pounds within this fragile, fragmented, profound self that will rebound no matter how hard I hit the ground.
Yes, I am down,
but I am relentless regardless.

The importance of a true sense of self, regardless.
Krad Le Strange Aug 2017

I hate myself for my persistence
and I despise you for being so dense
but only you and your existence
could give me such happiness.

One of the few quatrains that I've written.






Spark seeker sitting anxiously in the dark
Counting every second to the sunrise
Blood, sweat and tears flowing down a stream of skin grinded by an infinite hour glass
Grasping for air to rise and mine once more for an everlasting bliss
Shattered by critics, cussed by ignorance and spat on by arrogance
A spark seeker rises like a phoenix above heights no eye can ever see
Persistence is key. Persistence shines light into the essence of mortality
While a spark seeker seeks light in the dark
Captivated by the fruit of blissful infinity.

Spark Seeker (n) One who never gives up. A hopeful person
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