Did Our Best (Poem 8 x 20)

Is it just me?, life, Metaphors in Nature, Poems

Smells like death

Rotting flesh

Nothing left 

Makeshift meds

Bloody mess

All regret 

Clean the wreck 

Make amends 

Start anew

Lose a few

Find the truth

Slice in two 

Waterloo

Flocks that flew

Back to you

In the tomb

Slow runner

Front gunner

Lackluster

Drug buster

Safe summer

Steel cutter

Flow flutter

Green gutter

Makes no sense

Deeper dense

Cleaner cleanse

Dependents

Feeling tense

Falling fence

Soul to rinse

Repentance 

Is it right?

Keep it tight

Start a fight

On this night

Toughest plight 

In hindsight 

You were mine

If I might

Is it wrong?

Sing a song

Play along 

Bang the gong

Don’t take long

Just be gone

Fling ping pong 

Search Hong Kong 

Make a choice

Then rejoice 

Making noise

Finding voice

Rainy moist

Skin so coarse

Racing horse

Frightful Force

Sky is here

Space is near

We have fear

Changing gears

Pouring tears

Losing years

Chasing deer

Life will steer 

Forget me

Set us free

Stop and see

Wipe it clean

Sights unseen

Halo three

I’m in need

Nightmare dream

Is this real? 

I can’t feel

It’s surreal

Voids to fill

They will kill

If we’re still

Moving meals

Rusty wheels 

Soul is hot

I am not

Here to rot

In this pot

Of the lost

On the cross

You forgot 

I can’t stop 

Make it rain

Show disdain

Burn in flames

Never stay

Go away

So ashamed

Fall from Grace

Face will fade 

What am I

In this life?

Who designed 

All this plight?

A disguise 

So outright

Melting eyes

In the sky

Who are we

With disease?

Cutting keen

Reverie

Can this be

All for keeps?

Play for treats

Or we leave

Peace on earth

Myths of dirt

Rip my shirt

Stop the birth

Gait or girth

Gift of myrrh

Hating her

Flesh and fur

Wars in stars

Beating hearts

Saving scars

Rip apart

Fly afar

Doors ajar

Gates to guard

Fight too hard

In this wake

We create

Signs of hate

No debate

Quickly fade

Leaves to rake

Souls forsake

Time to take

Get us home 

Save our souls

We’re alone

Off the road

Outlaw zone 

Broken phone

Losing hope 

Where to go? 

Fly it back

Now attack

Burn to black 

Trim and track

What we lack 

We distract

Make them laugh

They’ll all crack 

Let us rest

No more tests

Disrespect 

Fallen friends

Joking jests 

People pests

Ended less

Did our best 

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Moonlight Lake in Summertime

Is it just me?, life, Metaphors in Nature, Perimeter Paddle (CCL), Poems, stories

Driving over the lake at night, mid summertime. Warm air, without wind, perfect, just right. Wishing this moment of comfort and fun could last an eternity. If Heaven is real, it must be like this. 

There’s work tomorrow morning, a normal day ahead, but none of that matters when the moonlight reflects off the glassy black water. Houses are silent across the land, all boats are shutdown for the evening. It’s quiet. Absolute stillness. 

Parking at a boat ramp and walking to the end of the pier, I gaze out at all the lights across the vast body of calm water. All different kinds of people inhabit the large homes of stone and glass windows. But none of them matter in this moment. All I see are the lights as they create an image of stars across the moonlit horizon. I’m standing on a platform in another universe where people, other than myself, do not exist. I’m alone. Completely alone, standing on the edge of an unknown expanse far from civilization. 

Cars cross the bridge with great speed off to my left. They’d never notice a lone soul standing in the midnight moonlight. They’re only comets scraping the sky in my universe of silence.

The warmth of the night brings a indescribable comfort to my wretched heart. All the cold has melted away and left me cleansed. The water of the reservoir evaporates under the heat and enters my lungs with every breath. All the negativity of the world, every impure thought, and each scar all heal with the vapor of the black moon water.

In this moment, I am free. I am alone and at peace. My soul is pure, safe, and clean. Stars, moonlight, warm water, warm air, barefoot, unseen.

I am the lake and the lake is me. We are one. We are free.

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Calm Before the Storm

Is it just me?, life, Metaphors in Nature, Poems, Wildlife

There’s a calm like no other, before the storm shreds the shutters, where a lonely lone wolf wonders all night long. 

A sadness drains the thunder, the rain pours out in gutters, the darkness hides the summer with clouds and fog.

A child searches for her mother, and yearns to please the brother, the heart has been asunder far too long. 

The storm shed won’t shudder, the strength is going under, her mind is lost in clutter and righting wrongs. 

Where does the darkness end, if not when she is dead, she’s paying for her sins all in one. 

Let the storm begin, she will be free again, allow the rage to send out its guns.

Hail and straight line winds, tornadoes spin and spin, flooding all within a fate undone. 

No one here can win, she can’t keep it in, battles never bend until the sickness runs. 

Century long silence, preceding a violence, she doesn’t like it but has no choice. 

Insidious slyness, hiding in the cypress, the calm is dying as she finds a voice. 

Tumultuous tyrants, planted a virus, forgetting all kindness in the world. 

Peace we’re not finding, children are crying, time to start fighting with swords. 

The clouds are rolling in, we all will face our sins, this is how it ends in fields of blood. 

Her hands control the wind, lightning from within, find a place to sit and watch the fun. 

Apocalyptic penicillin, nothing can stop this, bodies will cringe as they run. 

Their crimes to commit, feeding her vengeance, creating an ending of destruction. 


They made a monster with their rules and standards. She stayed calm for too long, sulking in silence and sadness. One day, she allowed her anger to erupt and infect the world. She would make them regret the pain they caused.

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Winter Sucks and I Suck in the Winter

Is it just me?, life, Metaphors in Nature, Poems, Texas State Parks

Cold weather and gloomy days of clouds and rain, snow covered lanes and mountains of shade, holidays seem far away, the inside is where we must play – this is winter and it’s a terrible time for hearts of summer. 

Fall isn’t so bad – autumn leaves and trees, football on Friday nights, Thanksgiving and family time. Christmas lights, giving gifts and buying unnecessary items for everyone in contact. But when the special days end, what’s left to attend? There’s nothing to bring light when January begins. Nothing but cold, work, ice storms, and hopelessness. 

Winter is a season of suffering, holding out for the promise of summer. Thankfully, every year summer comes when she should. And we shed the ice from our frozen souls. 

The prospect of warm weather and sunny days is what helps us survive the harsh winter months. Even the lightest and brightest of spirits are weighed down during the darkness following December. What’s the point? Can we hibernate like the mammals in the wilderness? 

Sadness, gray filters, madness, hope killer. Winter. 

Nothing gets done. We work, sleep, eat, repeat. No fun. No joy, laughter, nothing worth living for when it’s cold out and the clouds cover the beauty of the sun.

I forget who I am in the early months of the year. I wonder on auto-pilot, like a zombie mindlessly walking towards crowds of potential food sources. I wonder what the point of life is for the lost and lonely. Seeds of sadness flourish and bloom into dead trees piercing my internal organs. Pain. What’s the point? I can’t escape the four walls of my decaying room. I never want to leave the comfort of my warm bed. Outside these walls, the cold persists. I stay inside and the cold in my bones freezes all aspects of hope.

The winter months – I become stagnant and await the days of warmth ahead. The prospect of summer keeps me alive.

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This is Why We Write

Is it just me?, life, Poems

And so we write…because at a young age, we were told that our problems existed only in our heads. Our issues weren’t something to be discussed out loud. Other kids didn’t have problems, so the fact that we did have an imperfect mind was taboo, something to be ashamed of.

And so we write…because we felt alone. After all this time, we still feel alone. It was never safe to say what was on our brains. So now we are trained to push our feelings away. Pretend those negative thoughts and feelings don’t exist, put on a smile, and show up as if the world inside our heads is sunny and clear.

And so we write…because there’s something wrong with us. We could never be what they wanted or expected us to be. We needed an outlet, otherwise we would have exploded into a massive bomb of tears and feelings. Everyone would have known…and we can’t have others knowing how imperfect our minds are.

And so we write…because we aren’t normal. They see sun, we see pain. They hear music, we hear thoughts of sorrow. They play and laugh, we sit in silence. They always said, “Why can’t you be normal? Why can’t you just be happy, like all the other kids?” Trust me, if I had answers I would have changed twenty years ago. But answers don’t exist. So I write.

And so we write…to hide the darkness that others are so ashamed of. A safe place on paper that the outside world never gave us. A place of freedom, where we don’t have to hide or push away the words of doom. On those blank lines we are free to spill every nasty, dark, gloomy, taboo thought. No one will ever see. No one will ever say, “Stop.”

And so we write…for the child who was never free. We write to be free.

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