Tag: grass

Trading Places

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My life is full of experiences
that I would never trade.
If I were to go to the other
side, I would likely hide.
I couldn’t imagine being
anyone else. I could never
trade places or put on
new faces. Where I am at
is where I want to be.
At times, the grass does
seem greener, yet I know
there’s more grass to grow.
To be here is good for me.
I love the air that I breathe.
I envision a life I now see.
I don’t doubt what I believe.
I have faith in my taste.
I won’t waste the space
that occupies my place.
I enjoy my life as it is.
I would never swap it.
There’s too much I’d miss.

Dead Ends

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The rubber met the road. The pedal hit the metal.
Raindrops filled the kettle. The explorer did not settle.
The peasant earns Shekels. Many faces wear frowns.
Some attendees heckled. The rubber met the road.
The host ended the show. Robots speak morse code.
Frogs claim to be toads. The snakes in the grass
slither fast as the blades cut and the blinds shut.
In life, follow your sight and do what is right.
Trust your gut. Pretend that you did not just hit
a dead end. Go spend time before time spends
you. It is time to lose the shoes and move out
of the way of the kicking boot. I mean, shoot.
Time to turn around. We are not quite ready
to sing the blues, read the news, or face
the fact that we must pay off our debt.
Just turn around and you will be free: set.









Gray Days

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Some days are gray days.
Dark clouds. Heavy rain.
No umbrella can help
us stay dry. Some days,
gray days fade to blue.
Most days, raindrops fall
turning seeds into trees.
Some days, the breeze
reminds us of the cold
world we occupy. We try
to get through the gray
days. On the worst days,
we find ways to follow
the light that pierces
the darkness. We have
seen many gray days.
We know it to be tough
when smooth becomes
rough. We know that
life has its ups, downs,
and roundabouts. Life
is full of green grass,
blue skies, gray days
and we are full of life.
Look past the haze;
do not let gray days
take the sunshine away.

The Price of Picky

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The wickedness of life

Comes with no cost,

Yet the price of picky

Can make us lost.

Picky can’t guide

Us to happiness we seek

As the life we were given

Did not come cheap.

I breathe air consumed

By the worst of faces

Who have no regard

For other spaces.

Surrounded by strangers

Latching to pain

Exhibiting angers

With no refrain.

 But I can’t afford

A life of sorrow.

For I’ll be happy

To wake tomorrow.