Excerpt From A Travel

The whistle blows, the scenery engulfs for a split second in a rush of snow, it is winter.  The blistering cold of the north winds and the sweet smell of burnt chocolate and rubber fills the air.  I, sitting ever so confidently with my three dollar hot cocoa and water, am watching it all roll over the hills of Illinois and starting a new when it hits a plateau.


It is neither the past or the future, but whether it is the present, well, I’ll leave that for you to decide.  I pass thousands and thousands of houses with smoke pillowing from their quaint brick-layered chimneys.  Everyone seems content with their everyday lives, but I suppose everything seems that way when you’re always moving.  It’s funny, I guess, thinking about dancing, plastic flamingos on a stranger’s lawn or even a mischievous gnome in your own.  Someday I’d like to own a boat so that I can float away in unknown waters whenever I desire.  Someday.


More houses, trees, snow.  In just four hours I would have traveled worlds over by the window seat of a train.  I started in building-to-building windy city Chicago, one ant amongst millions in a colony, when I arrive I’ll be in, sure enough, Kirkwood, MO. The towering trees, swaying grass, and hometown folks will greet me with waves and lingering smiles.  The sun will warm my cheeks.  I’ll drive miles to get to my homestead in which I’ll take a moment to socialize and reflect the fruit of my journey.  Perhaps, I’ll even read this passage aloud.  Anything is possible when you’re in a different world.


What will you want me be,

‘If not animal nor man,’

Woman is just a word


A frailing skin,

And where we reach to meet

It flies beyond

Never touching.

You have me be

What I cannot be,

There when I am not,

And nowhere to be seen,


Do not mistake my silence

For shy tellings and obtuse mind,

I do not fear,

Though I was born to fear,

I wish not be what that you want,

For lost in flesh will find me,

And there we will meet

In undiscovered lies.

A Dream

Other day I had a dream,

It left me as it came.

With fear and sweat in my eyes,

I wiped my brow,

But the evil was still there

Chasing me to nothingness,

Clinging to the beloved.

I tried to fight;

I tried what seemed true,

But nothing seemed to work.

No one understood,

No one tried to fight,

They just stood victim,

Me the watcher and the barer,

I couldn’t shake it,

This feeling that it left me.

You were mad,

I a zombie,

“It may kill me,” I said.

So you made me noodles,

And I was glad for the moment,

Haunted it followed,

Day after night,

Night became day,

And I’ll hold these dreams,

May they be,

In secret like it was true.

The Woman and the Calf

The calf swims the open sea

Weary of each wave

That ripples and prances

Over rust and window.

Till inside it finds it stationary

As the ones before.

It lingers over

Faces never known,

Time lost in woods, names, never,

The same or different;

It is unlike but just quite similar.

The round fits a woman of present,

Her closest friend who now lays cold,

Loved but not missing,

From the heart and eyes of the woman present,

Another calf that swims the sea,

To search the matching.

The former stands alone

Dominoed in valleys of populace, dreams, romance,

How equal but not fitting the woman and the calf,

Pushing and still searching on the other one’s behalf.

A found over nothing,

A mere piece to one big whole,

The calves sail together opposite the massive blanket.

Perhaps past the horizon,

A light blinks never stopping

Welcoming the calves back home,

And there in the blinding protecting sheltered shore,

A man of same heart

Drives off in darkness.

Better Tomorrow

The hardest part is getting started,

Holding on to I’m not sure,

Second guessing your hypothesis,

Never having but wanting more.


It’s not enough to live with what’s given,

The grass is always greener still,

Holding on to nothing,

The fear of yours is winning over,

And though others encourage smiling,

The words fall short before your feet,

In some sort of self-defeat.


Tomorrow will be a better day,

That is what they always say,

Tell your self good tidings,

And surely they’ll come your way.

Tomorrow will have a better sun,

You’ll be happy when it’s done,

Safe and warm,

It’ll be your turn,

When another day is gone.


The hardest part is to keep going,

When so many signs say to stop,

This path that you had started,

Thinking for sure you knew what was what.


The wolf is just a wolf,

Not a prince or gold,

Each choice you live the decision,

Never knowing but growing old.


Hold on fast,

While the bite is thick and deep,

Reality is cheap.


Tomorrow will be a better day,

That is what they always say,

Tell yourself good tidings,

And surely they’ll come your way.

Tomorrow will remain the same,

You’ll keep on playing your self-made games,

Playing smart,

Rolling dumb,

When the sun had left and came.


Perhaps I am a wanderer,

Who’ll be lost to the no-where man,

Waking to a life not dreamnt,

Still believing that I can.


The hardest part is getting started,

Off a wrong or off-beaten path,

You don’t know how,

But you’re on it now,

The course of your future past.


When will tomorrow be that day,

That so many people say,

I want it so,

But on I go,

To another gloomy day.

Tomorrow I’ll keep going,

The fool who smiles mysteriously,

Nodding with the written course,

And hoping for another choice,

For when the sun comes out to play.

Something is Changing

Something is changing

I can see it in my dreams

I can feel it in my nightmares

Something is coming

And waiting

And haunting

I a shell that passes from here to here

Uncertain of the path that laid before me

Or the memories I thought of just a second before

Haunted by the happiness that was us

Knowing no one understood

Staring for the ghost that is the thought of you

Knowing that nothing changes and that we are both lost

Floating in an empty space

Trapped in air that runs without fear

Or want

But still hoping

A nod rushes by speaking of your safety

And I a fool listen softly

But something is moving

It moves me away from that

I’ve been pulled to where I must be

And now something changes inside of me

Uncertain of the guarantee

That everything will be alright

Unknowing if this will continue to be a faceless fight

No one understands what you’re going thru

That is the one fact, it’s true

Keeping waiting in the current

That pushes you along

Moving faster and faster

Till endless days are buried and gone

Something tampers with my nightmares

Bringing them truer each day

And I a ghost

Keep haunting

Waiting for these dreams to end

Poetry is for the Lonely

“Poetry is for the lonely,

The hurting,

The sad,”

That’s what she told herself,

The thought driving her mad.

“I’m not lonely or sad

Why must I be hurting?

Life is okay why must it be bad?”

She put pen to paper

And started to write.

“I’m going to fight this poetry fight,”

She told herself believing

And then she noticed

She was conceiving

A poem.

A poem just because,

A poem of what was.

“Poetry’s not just for the lonely,”

She told herself true.

“I’ll write poems until my face turns blue!

Poems of happiness,

Poems of love,

Poems.. I can’t get enough of!”