Beauty

Friday was a strange day

Dead body flowing down the Mississippi
the first one I see today
can't help but no looking away
watching death as the waters sway
older man with his hat floating along too
Two minutes to the time
Too late to do anything
but watch
and I did
I watched
hand over mouth with eyes stretched wide trying to take it all in
but hide from the sight at the very same time
like fistfuls of crushed flowers
empty habitat where life once dwelt
traces of color
rimmed and lifeless

Dead body flowing down the Mississippi
the first one I see today
resting upon the waters sway
to find peace from your troubles
the brown waters wrap you up from sorrows
swallow you in warm embrace

Living the Life

A Journey of Detours

This is for the breast-bearing hippies

the wild haired feminists

the child abusers

the free radicals

the cool chasers

the happy artists and the lonely businessmen

this is for the mailwomen

for the factory workers who screw on the tops of toothpaste bottles.

This is for you

for those whose whispers are not heard

for the violent and for the meek

this is for those who stay while everyone else travels

for those who are pretending to be strong

for junior highers on bicycles and for old men in gardens

this is for the late night dishwashing wine sippers

for the new girlfriend

for the lollygaggers

this is for new mothers and dirty diapers

for the average c and for middle c

for the poser and for the hidden

for the free spirit and for the caged bird.

This is for the mustached veterinarian

for the antique junk collector

for the cyclist whose clips won't clip

for the Lutheran pastor with a colorful sash

for the old lady who shares ice cones with her dogs.

This is for girls that drive their own motorcycles

for tree-climbing homeschoolers

for single dads with young children

for tin-can robot makers

for r.v. families

for old couples who sit outside and just hold hands

for angry blonde toddlers

for old women that mow the lawn in American flag bathing suits.

This is for hoodlums with chihuahuas

and for fourteen-year-olds who move out alone because of bipolar mothers

for those who share deep secrets

for those who don't speak to their fathers

for girls that are insecure about their legs

for people that monogram their make-up bags.

This is for the vagabonds and for the wanderers

for dieting mothers

for little girls who wear bathing suits but never swim

for people who don’t want to hold hands

for the toll booth workers and for the times square street preachers.

You have made this journey unforgettable.

You have weaved in and out of my story this summer, which is only made up of me entering and exiting yours. You shared it with me, and for that I am most grateful.

Some for only a glimpse and others I have experienced more deeply.

Some are fleeting moments while others are composed of hours of conversation.

Some are only thoughts while others I have met. You make up the fabric that spans from the far west coast to the east. I am changed and at this point I’m not sure how but I know that I am. I can feel it. Bubbling to the surface the same way water does in a small black pot right before two large eggs are dropped in. It will be a long process unraveling the complexity of this summer. Discovering the changes as they surface, realizing the lessons I have learned along with the things I had to unlearn.

I am always on my way home.

heart home

> "What did you say about our home?"
> "Home is where the heart is."
> "Then mine's a mobile home."

You're Welcome

I've got wherever it takes
to stand out
above the crowd
even if I gotta shout out loud
till mine is the only face you'll see
gonna stand out
stand out yeah
stand out yeah yeah yeah yeah
stand out
till mine is the only face you'll see
gonna stand out
till you notice me

words schmerds

There once was a little girl who owned a leopard-printed purse and a lack of words. She tried to speak but had yet learned enough words to piece together in order to accurately articulate the thoughts she thought or the feelings she felt. Hot stem of frustration would billow out of her ears at every attempt to speak. This was a growing problem for this little leopard-printed-purse-carrying girl. After a farcical outburst in the cafeteria (over corn dogs from what I could gather), she slowly began to withdraw from society. She moved into the woods with only her limited vocabulary to keep her company. 

Moral of the story: Make your children learn GRE words starting at the ripe ole age of five years.