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undefined Jun 2019
Around stone pillars, hear the cries
into the ground a casket lies

Sunsets behind two eyes
darkened skies, stars arise

Lonely hopes drift and Float
across the sea horizons glow

Where souls go, I don't know
we all travel far to find a home
undefined May 2019
I began writing in a therapist's office actually, as a child. I was a pretty wound up tight sorta kid I think, bubbling over on the inside with all sorts of emotions that I had no idea of how to channel or deal with. So, I wrote, kept a journal, wrote some stories for my friends in school, letters, poems... You get the idea. I think back now, and believe that all of those things are important to mention, because the reason I write songs today, is the same reason that I couldn't stop writing notes, poems, or lists back then, to collect, better understand, and focus my emotions... And to me, help maintain some sanity.

Everyone, I feel, has to at some point deal with the darker corners of life. That's just the way life goes, what could we ever learn without walking through both "good," and "bad" times? I don't ever think that I'm owed anything, I simply wish to live, love, enjoy and experience as much good in this life as I can find... And sort of, make certain that it outweighs the bad times, if possible.

I could either sit here and tell you that I grew up with an abusive step father, was teased and picked on by children, pulled out of school for things that weren't my fault, ***** by a gay man, had a friend close to me die on my couch, served in the Army where I discovered the body of another friend just after he'd blown his head off. I could tell you that my first daughter passed away due to something that I never understood growing behind her eye. My family betrayed me. My wife left me. I was plagued for years with horrific nightmares of all sorts... I could sit here and tell you about many, many of the darker parts of my life, but why? I could say that after the loss of my family how I hated God, hated people, and hated myself so much that I decided to take my own life.

However, I don't see too much good in that for this sort of thing. So instead, I will stand here and tell you that when I had rid myself of all that I owned and began walking down a road 7 years ago, with no idea or plan of what to do next. I had my writing. And I began to get all of these things out onto paper, in black and white in front of me, to throw into the trash, burn, rewrite, to do whatever I needed to do with them. It wasn't eating away at my soul so much anymore. Someone gifted me a guitar, and I began to watch people play more closely, learned a few chords, made some better friends, and started writing songs.

So, I think for this paper, I'll simply, as shortly as I can, just tell you about some of the things that I've been able to realize the past few years. Such as, it's remarkably quiet at the top of a 14,600 foot mountain... In Port Orford, Oregon you can watch the waves break before they even get close to the shore from atop a rock there that is as far west as you can go in the continental U.S...  Freight trains are cold and loud, if you're going to hop one bring earplugs and a blanket, and I would recommend waiting till they've stopped moving... There are so many beautiful places in this world that have absolutely No Cover Charge to see... When kayaking along intersecting rivers, be aware that they all move at different speeds, you can easily get pushed into the bank if you don't navigate properly... People are kind, over all I mean, we're all just doing the best we feel we can at the moment. Please, for your sake, don't take offense... The poorer people are, the more likely they are to share, again this is a pretty general statement, but I've found it to be quite true... The west coast is easy to walk down, and very lovely to look at. The east coast of the US on the other hand, is much more of a challenge, but you will find some of the oldest trees and some of the wisest folks there... If you plan your year right, the weather will always be perfect where you are... If you will just be you, and not try to be something else, people will like you... The one's that matter anyway.

Now, I feel as if I've come full circle here with telling you all this. I began writing as a child, writing things just for me. I've made it through some pretty serious bouts with depression, writing for me. But what music and this old guitar have done for me and my life today, and in recent years, is connect me to total strangers in a way that has been nothing less than magic. It's began to help me repair relations with loved ones, it's shown me over and over and over again the unimaginable realization, for my mind, that I'm in fact not alone. And it's begun to show people who I am, as well as show me that it's absolutely acceptable for me to be who I am, because who I am aint that bad. And I'm getting better.
not really poetry, just thinking out loud
undefined Apr 2019
I love to write. I write often, like breathing. And as I began to understand a few years ago, it's not always that easy for others. I'm not a boastful person, I feel I have a decent understanding of my own gifts and talents. I don't make a lot of money, I'm not the best fisherman, I can't draw worth ****... But I have been writing creatively, and therapeutically, in some capacity since I was 10. I have professional experience and a bit of an education to back it up too. But now I'd like to tell you why none of that means anything to me, no piece of paper, other than a blank one, sheds any color at all on my actual ability to write something worth reading.

The reason I can do this job, the reason I know how to take what you're feeling, what you need to express but can't find the words that make people listen, and create something worth listening to, or worth reading, is the empathy and real life that I bring to my writing. I know what it's like to love truly, to suffer gravely, to travel rough, breathe deep, fight hard, lose everything, and then stand tall and find just the right words to speak.

I can write. And it won't ever just be space filler, if hired for a gig, I will write for you what you're really trying to say.
I applied for a ghost writing gig on line and they wanted to know "briefly" why I think I can do this job (creative writing). lol
undefined Apr 2019
I was whole once. I knew who I was.
I was full of ideas and dreams, and surrounded by love.
I had a home, where we all stayed.
We built blanket forts, ran and played.

But that was all taken away, by someone
not quite a friend but in whom I loved anyway.
I was blindsided by  ruthless cunning,
and mercilessly betrayed.

My comforts were meaningless, heart and spirit broken,
my soul was lost. I was hurt and afraid.
I sank deep deep deep into a shallow grave,
tore my clothes in mourning. No god could save.

I had been beaten worse than I had ever imagined
Defeat hung 'round my head and drowned me in sadness.

All hope was finally crushed on a day I'll never forget
The day I devised a plan to finish what life I had left

I gathered the medication, tools for my doing in,
said goodbye to strangers that I called family and friends
moved into an old storage shed, and set out to put an end
to the misery, that had consumed all but my last breath

I took my charge without hesitation and in darkness I was swept
only to have an angel wake me from my bed
At dawns first light I arose from a nasty pool of red,
pills laid scattered, spewed about the whole mess

… And I was a new sort of alone, one I'd never felt

...In a way, I had    kind of left.

And for the first time in a while, I had nowhere to hide
I began to understand a little of what was going on inside

I soon after found a road
and began my life to roam

never to look back at how I was before
only the trail ahead, onward, f'ward.

I've lost myself so many times
To houses in cities, with girlfriends and wives

But I always seem again to find,
with hunger when I'm tired, in the rain when it's cold outside,

Myself again there, on the trail,
somewhere I can't hide
just tired..
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