Like the rubber of ducks
I am stretched ’til it hurts,
But the pain could be worse.
I could snap into two
Or be forced to return
To the shape that I was,
To the place I’d begun.
Elasticity sucks.
Sunlight Drunk
Sunlight drunk, my skin glows
Flush with sleep, my eyes close
Breath like waves, my lips part
Blanket warmth, my dreams start
Turtle Friend
My turtle friend will never die
Eternal turtle standing proud.
His turtle friends are standing by
Those jealous turtles shout out loud,
“Your immortality ain’t real!
All turtles die, in this we trust!
Eternal turtle, can you deal
With death like all the rest of us?”
My turtle friend stood for a while
The turtles watched expectantly
Eternal turtle gave a smile
And said with pure serenity,
“If only you could walk a mile
With me and see just what I mean.
Believe that my eternal life
Is more than just a dream I dream.”
The turtles cried, “Who has the time?
Our lives are short with things to do!
You might not care, and that is fine,
But that is only good for you!”
Eternal turtle gave a sigh,
“You all will live as long as me.
Your life feels short because you try
To rush through it so hastily.”
My turtle friend will never die,
Eternal turtle of the soul.
Because his turtle words are right
Just take it slow to reach the goal.
Dust
Dust is so beautiful sparkling in light
Stars as they twinkle and blink in the night.
Sand can be smooth if I walk very slow
Running my fingers along with the flow.
I am like dust but I do not know why
I cannot twinkle like those in the sky,
Muddied instead like the dirt on my shoes
Clinging to something I know I will lose.
Those caught in darkness are hoping to glow,
Wishing to be like a landscape of snow.
Mirrors of something far greater a sight,
Dust to reflect a more beautiful light.
Whistle This Alone
I’m writing the righting of wrongs,
But longing too long to belong.
I’m stuck in a loop;
No luck in a group
To sing of a singular song.
I’m singing a singular song,
While writing the righting of wrongs.
I’m stuck in a groove
No luck can remove
The longing too long to belong.
Trypophobic
We are so afraid of holes because
Holes are signs of imperfections
Holes are where decay set in.
People look into holes
And only see gaps
So we cover
Our holes.
But
What if
Holiness
Is when the holes
Are allowed to work?
Letting light through the breaks?
Since fists too tight to open
Can never hold another hand
Or release the regrets of the past.
The Modern Pharaoh
I’m packing my sarcophagus
To take into the afterlife.
My house and car and property,
My pets and children, plus my wife.
My education and degrees,
Awards and many accolades,
The land investments, stocks and bonds,
And all the money I have made.
And now to place my body down
To all my things, myself I give.
But if in death they have no worth
Did they have value while I lived?
The Game We’re In
The bank gave me a dollar bill
To give the bill to my good friend
To build my shop atop the hill
And see construction to the end.
I thought that I had taken care
To guess the cost to build my store.
But he replied, “I’ll help you there.
It only costs a dollar more.”
He had my dollar, I had none,
The bank had zero dollars too.
They gave me credit, minus one,
So I must pay them back with two.
He started planning up designs
And buying up the wood and bricks.
But not long after gave a sigh
And said the piping needs a fix.
I sought the bank for one more loan
Which filled them with anxiety
My debt was large and now had grown
So I must pay them back with three.
One day I asked when it’d be done
He said that it was hard to know
Since nothing’s free under the sun.
But where did all my money go?
He laughed and said to think it through,
“The money goes around and ’round,
And it will all come back to you,
The store will rake in pound for pound.”
I paid my friend, who bought the wood
From others in the lumber yard,
Who paid the grocer for the goods,
Ensuring wife and child don’t starve.
Then they would use that money too
Investing in their businesses
And hire one more lumber crew
To reach much further distances.
But then I had an awful thought
What if the money never came?
Just stopped up at the very top
By wealthy hoarders playing games?
If funding does not circulate
Then how will I repay the bank?
For payments which are paid too late
Will make my credit rating tank.
And interest fees will pile up high
Undoing everything I made
Until my value’s sucked up dry
While hoarders end up getting paid.
“You borrowed from the future you
And risked it on this present bet.
The banks did only what they knew
To roll the dice that you had set.
You’re too far in to try and stop.
You’ve got to trust the system works.
So open up your hillside shop
And gamble with those banker jerks.”
Of course, he egged me on to try
The risk was mine and mine alone.
The system rigged to watch me die
And suck the marrow from my bones.
I cannot trust that they would play
By rules so everyone would win
Because if I were them I’d say
“Well, don’t you know what game we’re in?”
Polishing
In the furnace of steel and the surface of sand
Are the burnishing yieldings of personal plans.
And my friction with you gives conviction to prove
That the mixture of two is a picture of truth.
Time will soon tell.
This is the imminent mark of the emigrant
Wherein the icicles laugh at the littlest
Sending the officers out like the nihilists
Time will soon equalize loss to the legalist.
Suzugos 