Step-Poet

These words aren’t mine. Well, the configuration,
the arrangement, and the manifestation of them
are mine to tell, yell, or sell. The rest falls on me.
I own nothing. I just borrow letters and words
that were said, used, or abused in old worlds.
I rent these words – these phrases: these upper
and lower cases. I use these words. They don’t
go to waste. These words help me save face.
They can tell you things that my mouth won’t.
I will never dishonor these words as they are
sacred to me. They provide light: the insight
that does me right. Like eyes that envision
better days, these sentences help me create
early mornings and dark nights running late.
These words aren’t mine, but I treat them
like they are. They carry me through the day
when I don’t have anything to say. Anyway,
I use these words to tell you to stay true
to yourself and to never forget about things
that will help you through all of the pain.



Hourglasses

The sands of time fall through
the hands of time. Hours, minutes,
and seconds rain from above
and shower clocks with love.
Each grain that slips through
is a day… maybe two. The grains
can be blue, black, grey, or green.
Every second that will pass
will do so fast. Every minute
will sink as the timeline shrinks.
Check your hourglass and see
what time is left. Stay calm –
dump some sand in your palm.
Lend me both of your hands;
let us stay still as we fill
space in this mysterious place.


Wise Guys

I know a few wise guys.
They know things
most couldn’t imagine.
They wear sunglasses
to hide their eyes
from the sun. Because
they are wise guys,
they don’t need to
listen or fall in line.
They do all things
on their own time.
They wear top hats
to conceal their brains
because looking from
the outside in would
really just be insane.
These wise guys like
to get a rise out of
anyone silly enough
to get caught in a web
of complex sentences
euphuisms, or idioms.
Wise guys wake up and
fist-bump themselves,
doing anything that helps
them begin to win.
I know a few wise guys.
They know how to be
people I cannot believe.




The Name Game

Just another name:
More of the same.
A life to be lived.
Chances I take.

To be me is to be
Here. Being myself:
Eager to become.

Death to my ego.
Remember when.
Everyone changes.
And life goes on.
Me? I will, too.





Memory Lane

Today, the car is in cruise control.
I take it slow and go with the flow.
Today, I take a ride down Memory
Lane. I revisit past pain and travel
through time frames: different days.
I unravel. I tear up gravel to navigate
an unknown fate. I carry weight;
I talk to my shadows: old versions
of myself. Sometimes, I ask them
for help – words of advice. Miles
into Memory Lane, I face pain
and embrace joy all the same.
I see old friends of mine the way
they were before I last saw them.
I notice houses I used to live in;
I recognize yards I used to play in.
I begin to see places I have been.
Today, I met with Father Time
and rode down Memory Lane
before any new memories came.