Loch Garten

Just a few steps from the long road, 

I rest on fallen leaves. 

Here we are together 

on the banks of peace. 

The air colder than ice, 

the water not far behind. 

Melted from last winter

into this glass divine. 

As mist drifts across the loch, 

six ospreys cut through the stillness, 

hiding in the haze 

as they touch down on the surface. 

Not unlike the autumn leaves 

that twirl down before they float 

in ripples of their own making, 

here in their final resting place. 

As my grays shimmer in this morning light, 

I hope to return one more fall. 

I’ll gently rise and softly call, 

good day and joy be to you all.

It's Rather Beautiful

I spent a lot of time on love, 

obsessed with the idea of it. 

A wholesome expectation 

I didn't know how to attain. 

And when I discovered 

it was not out of reach 

I jumped into each pool 

not knowing how to swim. 

And each time, my body 

would float back to the surface 

as my mind floated in the clouds, 

but my heart would float suspended.

It was waiting for you to hold it, 

my hopeless dream come true. 

I spent my entire life hopeful 

that love would lead me to you.

Hate has a Way

With a few words 

you pierce my psyche. 

Hate has a way.

Yet I know you're only looking for a fight. 

Easier to live in darkness 

than to see the light. 

Your peace is bought, 

not earned. 

Easier to hurt than to learn.

There's a Freedom

There's a freedom 

in not succeeding, 

a peace in last place. 

It comes from learning 

that chasing perfection 

is not a race.

Wisdom Comes

Our wisdom comes 

from open minds, 

open hearts and 

open eyes. 

Those who claim 

to know it all 

have so much more 

to learn.

Caracas

Our lives remain a circle 

instead of a straight line, 

instead of moving forward 

we remain stuck in time 

in a place no one wants,

in a place no one needs, 

created by those 

who have the means to succeed.

Umbrella

If you are in a storm, 

let the rain fall as it may, 

and know that a rainbow 

awaits you once the clouds 

float away.

Toxicity

If we do not heal our wounds, 

we will bleed onto those who did not hurt us. 

This saying affects me in ways I did not expect. 

The expectation is the hardest part. 

What it means to be a man. 

Teach me, again, what it means to be a man? 

Who taught you? And who taught them? 

Each meaningless milestone 

is wrought with our creation, 

worthless expectations that are unrealistic. 

It's almost sadistic how we push them onto others and ourselves. 

A toughness that evolves 

only based on fear. 

We wouldn't need toughness 

if there was nothing to fear. 

Why can't we create 

a kindness that permeates 

and settles even the saddest souls? 

And why do we call them wounds 

when it's more like a cancer? 

Infecting generations one after another. 

We are not born equipped to fend off these attacks. 

But we cannot carry on these sins of the past. 

We owe it to ourselves 

to sow and mend ourselves back together. 

Because if we do not heal our wounds, 

we will bleed onto those who did not hurt us, 

forever.

North Star

We can’t mourn 

before we’re asked 

to mourn again. 

We can’t grieve 

before we have to believe 

it’s happened again. 

It's happened again.

We can’t catch our breaths 

before the deaths 

accumulate. 

It’s far too late.

And all the while 

some carry on and smile 

in some acceptance
of the norm.

We can’t live 

our lives worrying, 

I’m told. 

But when we will grasp 

that our inability for empathy 

holds us back 

from being the very kind of people 

our children lack.

It's happened again.

Compassion is the compass 

that will guide us to a place not far 

if we’re brave enough 

to hold compassion 

behind our teeth 

and in our hearts.

Relief

When you reach the time 

when that light turns on, 

when you believe the self-reflection, 

what it tells you, what you see, 

I hope you find the help you need. 

We are not put here 

with the wherewithal to heal, 

or express how we feel. 

One generation can't teach another 

when they weren't taught to deal 

with the single hardest thing there is to do:

confront our trauma 

before it spreads from me to you. 

There is no guide 

to explain 

this cyclical pain. 

And standing up to it can feel 

like standing in front of a train

moving at full speed, 

hoping that you'll be 

the switch track you need. 

But please... 

Know that to not know 

is completely okay, 

as long as you seek the answers 

to the questions that keep you at bay, 

on the edge of pride and peace, 

I hope you finally can begin to find relief.

Little Luna

I see a golden moon tonight, 

large in the distance, 

shining in the dark. 

I think about you, 

my baby girl, 

who I bond with 

in the dark. 

How perfect we named you 

about my favorite part 

of a galaxy so big 

I can't comprehend. 

The moon's glow 

must reflect 

all the sunshine you send.

For Today

You can look ahead 

and reflect on before 

while keeping your feet planted 

firmly on the floor. 

The present is a gift from the past. 

A chance to enjoy 

all you've worked towards 

and a chance 

to make change everlast.

2:11

My mind is a traffic jam 

of words and thoughts. 

I thought I ought 

to write them down. 

But as I approach the scene 

I see a crash, 

so I look 

for another way around.

I hope the kid 

running in full sprint 

as his mom pulls him in 

towards the bus 

they just missed 

gets all that he deserves. 

I hope he has 

more to read 

aside from 

what he sees 

on billboards 

and bus stops.

Poverty

Poverty's a choice, 

our world makes 

possible and cyclical.

I can't take it 

every time I see 

a crime committed 

I think, why are we surprised? 

It's us who did it. 

Systematically 

we choose our future 

only to patch it up 

with sutures 

and wonder why 

the wounds still open up.

Never do we wonder 

how we stop the bleeding, 

the hunger, the abuse. 

"There's no use." 

Focus on prevention,

perhaps.

If the people who need help 

got our attention,

we'd build the place we need, 

but selectively 

we can't seem to agree 

on what that looks like, 

on what we look like, 

too much money to be made

on disagreement. 

And those who spend it 

would rather us not see 

all the things 

they try to hide.

These are fights 

intended to blind. 

And we fall victim to the crime. 

Poverty's a choice, 

our world makes 

possible and cyclical.

I can't take it 

every time I see 

a crime committed 

I think, why are we surprised? 

It's us who did it. 

Death over Life

Like a faucet 

the thoughts, 

they pour out 

like the water 

that drips from my eyes, 

heavy from the day.

I am tired of this way, 

this path we've chosen, 

death over life.

Cuerpo

I often wonder why the mirror isn't friendlier, 

why what I see feels like a betrayal. 

Thoughts of failure and disappointment. 

I must unlearn the lie in this portrayal. 

For what I see is a mere reflection 

processed to believe it's wrong, 

that years of abuse on my body 

are no excuse for carrying on. 

But I carry with me this baggage 

for the years of abuse that hold on.

My curves cause pain to my mind 

I spent years settling down with a meal. 

Now society shames me unfairly 

when all I intended was to heal. 

For what I see shouldn't matter 

except to myself when I stare

at a young man who's told 

he shouldn't look that way. 

But why? 

Why do they care?

Tick

Where will it appear? 

In my mind it's always there. 

Infiltrating thoughts 

and creating more.

But physically, how will it show? 

A tick in the hands, shoulders, neck or face. 

Which subconscious choice 

will lead to today’s disgrace? 

As my heart races, 

my anxiety settles in. 

Making its home 

in a space too familiar. 

I wish I could wish it gone, 

to not be burdened by its grip,

wondering where it will appear,

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Punditry Puppetry

Who are they, those who tell us how to think? 

And who were they before we put them on TV? 

What makes them qualified to speak on every subject,

whatever they please? 

And why do we listen? 

Why do we make nests in their echo chambers and tunnel vision? 

Why do we stay blind to other viewpoints? 

Deaf to other voices? 

When will we ask ourselves these questions? 

When will seek answers to our questions from those who have studied the answers? 

Those without agendas.

Because those who speak the loudest may only be trying to upend us.

Words Can

The words were as haggard as the speaker, 

drunken and pathetic. 

How long were they hidden on your tongue, 

just waiting for a malicious reveal? 

True words bring out true colors. 

But I see you in black and white. 

A transparent mask on your face 

with a mouth full of lies, 

each with a splinter that sticks to my skin. 

I expected more of you, I did, from my own kin.

And shouldn't we all expect more? 

But to share that is to be unfair. 

So expectation dissolves into enabling. 

And enabling leads us here.

To the words that sting, 

each one deeper, indeed.

But each word says more about you 

than they do about me.