Under Water

It’s been raining for 26 years straight.
I haven’t gotten tan since my life began.
Soaking wet, I had to learn to stay afloat.
I even built myself a boat. In my life,
I have seen friends, family, and strangers
encounter dangers only few understand.
I have seen some sink to the very bottom.
I never liked swimming, but it’s what I had
to do to keep living. I learned not to be
afraid to swim around before I sink down.
Some days, I’ll dive down to see buried
memories and under-water trees. The rain
never goes away as nature does its thing.
I am drenched, cold, and tired as I paddle
in place, creating ripples in time and space.
The water will rise higher, so I practice
holding my breath. I inhale first. I hope
for the best and prepare for the worst:
no air. I am under water, over my head,
but I am still alive, just extremely wet.


Where I Be

This is where I be.
This is where I’m free:
away from people
and near the sea.
I float away. I cut
all burning ropes.
This is where I be:
caught in-between
being alone
and feeling free.
Like the ocean
breeze, I create
a flow I know,
and I just go.
This is where I be.
This is where I feel
myself. I am me:
just where I need
to be – living
next to the trees.

The Discovery

For many years, people have been
searching for treasure somewhere
under the sea. Many have tried
to dive to the bottom and died
with gold shining in both eyes.
The treasure has made men mad
and has turned good men bad.
The treasure remains untouched.
No man or woman has found
this underwater town housing
treasure causing false pleasure.
Not until many years later,
when there was a sailor
who traveled as he pleased
and watched over the seas.
Now and again, he casted a pole
in hopes to catch enough food
to eat. One day, he casted a pole,
and he felt a tug. He pulled up
the line, and he knew he found
the lost treasure he only heard
about. Without making a sound,
the sailor traveled into the mist
with the treasure he just found.
The discovery was never known
as the sailor never made it home.

Below the Surface

He was observed: made from scratch.
He was seen scratching away
at the surface: the stubborn dirt.
He scratched long into the day.
He wanted to reach the hurt.
Not before long, the day was gone.
He found nothing here, so he
scratched there. He couldn’t see
as he scratched deep into the night.
The sun came up, and he looked
down and said: “I can make some-
thing from all the stuff I found.”
Tired and dirty, he walked home
with stuff that can never be shown.
He was happy to have dug below
the surface: a place only he knows.

The Dumb Idiom Bum

I think he caught his second wind.
He keeps his cards close to his chest.
His back to the wall, he does his best
to weather the storm. Most thought
of him as a dumb idiom bum. Yet,
he was richer than the rest. He lives
in a house of business cards. Bet
he is a cat among the pigeons.
He buries every hatchet and burns
every bridge. He goes out on a limb
in cold blood. When life seems dim,
he looks on the bright side. Life is no
picnic, but it doesn’t get out of hand.
He writes his poems in a black book
in front of black cats with black caps.
He may give you the cold shoulder
or a skeleton from his closet. He is
the only human in a room full
of elephants wearing tight pants.
He raises the bar outside the lines.
He stays in the loop: has the scoop.
He will not drain his swamp.
No pain. No gain. And, he is here
to stay. The dumb idiom bum
chooses to live against the grain
because he is a free-spirit up to
no good for God knows how long.