in the quiet

in a world full of suns and moons
and everything in between
where do you lie?
where do you rest your soul?
does your soul have a name?
does it have an essence or presence that parts the Red Sea
or is it a quieter one that calms the deep dark depths of the oceans?
whichever, it is your soul
and it is within you.

or maybe you have locked your soul in a cage
or maybe you gave it to another person or being?
maybe it’s trapped in that one plant that rests on your coffee table.
that’s fine too.
wherever it is, maybe it’s just resting
but you can pick it back up later.
reset the doing and undoings
and see where you are.

maybe the world keeps spinning around you
or maybe it doesn’t even know you’re there
because you’ve done a superb job at staying minuscule,
that’s fine too.
whatever is will be
and whatever works for you, is fine.

no one is really looking
and no one even glanced this way.
a stain there, a rip here,
it’s all the same to everyone anyways.
the wind blows,
the sun sets,
and you slip into night.
your night.
your space.
that’s fine too.

a reset
a new start
a repeat
a new beginning
fly and find the wind.
find your wind.
find your space.

maybe it is in the pantry
or maybe it’s on the floor.
be and let be.





carry on your carry-on

rainy days and quiet winds
time measured in ounces of water
and steps taken.
fears and unknowns come out in bursts,
like fireworks that’s broken.
get them out,
it’ll be pretty to someone.

this show of solidarity is waning.
the tide comes in and goes out,
where is your mind?
has the oceans reached your heart
and taken it over yet?
do you want it to?
the push and pull,
the distractions,
and numbing solutions
that seem to bring their own luggage.
carry on your carry-on
and see what pushes you forward.

a light out in the middle of the tumultuous seas
is still a light,
faint and far away
but that does not negate its presence.
hold onto the rails,
we’re going through.
find your footing
and lose it again,
find your breath and let it go.
in and out,
as the waves crash
breaking your spirit and hopefully not your soul.

you’re a resilient little being,
much like the trees;
seasons go by
and they’re still standing.
they might have lost all their leaves
and feel a little disheveled,
they’re not a rose after all.
they might not have the perfume right now
to hook anyone in
but they’ll be here next season,
dig their roots deep and make it through it all.


ideas on the floor

all the ideas are dripping on the floor
is that blood or water?

beaten up butterfly
searching for a place to rest.
she’s not a bee
and doesn’t have any weapons to launch an attack
touch her wings and she’s dead.


coloration of a deadly bug,
everyone stays away.
no poison but everyone misinterprets

oh so fragile:
a crack becomes a chasm
a thought becomes a twitch.

all the ideas are dripping on the floor
is that blood or water?

did we dream this again?
are we sleepwalking through this moment again?
did we shut our eyes tight enough to miss it again?
are you sure?
this tastes like honey.
wait, I don’t eat honey.
am I dead again?
is there a way to come back from a crushed wing?
or do we hang it up entirely?

all the ideas are dripping on the floor


alphabet soup

if A is in love with B
but B is in love with C
and C and D are best friends,
and D and F feeling like they’re failing
where does that leave us?

a lot of the time the structure and feedback
leaves us in circles,
grasping at straws
in hopes we find some answer.
in all the words and letters,
all were left with is a bowl of alphabet soup.
tasty but doesn’t make a lot of sense.

does this mean we pour it down the sink
or give it to the cat?
not necessarily.
filter it out and try again?
maybe we find a mouth piece to convert our gibberish into something
maybe we take the time to create a key for another
then the mess is a game to figure out
maybe all the letters don’t find a home
and end up scrambled up in a pie.
maybe that’s just the way it is.



two weeks of push and pull
and baited breath,
wishing and wanting
but silence ensued.
it wasn’t an elegant dance of time and variables
but a clunky combination of missteps and tears.
the kind that sneak up on you
when you least expect it
and take the wind right out of your lungs.

you push and pull yourself to get up,
to get it together
and yet entropy seems to always take the trophy in the end.
a full moon of messes
where the clock smirks at you
with sharp teeth hidden behind its lips.
you wait and cautiously step
as the pathway seem to disappear in front of you.

you push and pull the map in order to make it fit the scenario you see ahead
but nothing seems to fit much like you hope it would.
trial and error and more errors to your left and right.
you take a deep breath and realize you’re under water.
take a look around and find the beauty
while you make the struggle to breathe.
but the water seems to wash away the colors and blood.
the push and pull of a job well attempted


scattered winds

if distance kills some
and divides others
what is the moment we are sharing?
in this world that’s running
and the butterfly that gives zero fucks

right, left, try again.
it’s a puzzle,
don’t you know?
the answer is hidden
and it’s a game.
isn’t this fun?
are we having fun yet?

the turtle whispers to the hare,
“why don’t we give up this race?
if no one finishes,
then no one wins
and no one loses.
what do you think?”
the hare grins and speeds past him.
the turtle shrugs and goes into his shell.
“well at least this time I asked, that’s something.”

the cake toppers dance with one another
in a frozen sense of time
and it’s all such a beautiful sight.
almost like a photo,
a moment frozen in time.

you can’t see the wind but you can feel it
and see its effects.
a peaceful breeze rustles the trees.
a mark here, a blemish there,
on Wednesdays we were a scarlet A.
notice, point, disgrace.
it’s all a part of the game.
it builds character.
apparently digging holes does as well.
have we built enough character yet?
it’s feeling like the trenches instead.
did we actually fall into a war without knowing it?

if it walks like a duck and talks like a dick…
then it must be what it seems.

close your eyes
let the advice and cliches fall away
let’s stay there


feel your pulse

if the words don’t jump off the page
and the lyrics aren’t beating in your soul
then maybe you should press fast forward.
if your mind is wandering
and it lands on you,
then maybe press pause,
wait here,
wait until it stops stuttering,
until the world stops spinning in your vision.

take a sip,
pass that pipe,
inhale, exhale,
start again,
open up,
shut down
and reimagine.

if we’re along the path
but it’s breaking beneath our feet
maybe you need to go into the unwritten part

in the silence, you’ll see much more
than you thought was there.
but in the silence
out comes the monsters
and the other imaginative ideas
that can tear you apart
and lift you up.
it’s a double edged sword
that you’re swinging against yourself.
do you bleed if you’re the one doing the damage?
if you ask the questions
and answer them,
have you written the great American novel
and solved world hunger
or just opened your eyes this morning?

is that enough?
are you enough?
can your skin make it through this oven?
can we numb it all up
and dress it all down
and still make it through the day?

if we’re spouting words
but not making change
are we changing anything but the vibrations?

and now we just sit in silence.
today, we might be grinning.
tomorrow, we might be crying.
the unknowns and knowable
are seeping through the cracks again.
do we board it up
or let the mess become a beautiful painting?
looking back, you’ll see the masterpiece,
but in the thick of it all,
it’s just a mess.

scattered thoughts
splash through the lake
making ripples that carry out
and die along the opposite shore.
they’ll break along another part of the world
for another to see or feel.
they may not know who caused it
but they can feel the effects.

zip up your lips
and tape up those pores
that are oozing with opinions.
we sit here and can feel your pulse
but we don’t want to today.
today we want productivity
and a smile,
today we ask for your skills
and not your feelings.
today is another day,
you wrap it up
and present it in a new set of paper.
take down that tree
to reconstruct that idea
and make it acceptable.

if we drown it out
without drowning ourselves,
we deserve the gold medal
for making something out of nothing.
the trophy case is empty today
and there were no thieves in the night,
there weren’t any destruction and damage to report,
it’s empty
and it’s echoing off the nicely painted walls.