the heart of an old guy

The man gets so excited sometimes, it's really quite funny to see... If you saw it, you'd never believe your crowded little eyes. This man, when someone sings to him, will jump from where he sits- his beautiful, comfy chair (which seems to take up the entire area), and start jumping all over the place! He just gets SO excited! He'll start clapping and whooping and bouncing, completely undignified, until you stop singing and he flops down, exhausted, into this enormous chair of his.
Even funnier, and so adorable and joyous to watch, is what he does if you dance for him. If you simply just start boogying around- no particular form or fashion- just start moving around and enjoying yourself- he'll get up and dance with you! The best part, though, is that he's not just, "kind-of" dancing. He goes full on CRAZY! I'm talking like African tribal one minute, then classical ballet the next, then all of a sudden you'd think you were in a back-ally dance battle with all the crazy splits and spins on his head and whatnot! And again, if you stop, he looks all disappointed and plops himself back down in the huge plushy armchair.
But ok- the weird part is that this guy is OLD. Like he should've kicked the bucket ages ago. You'd think that just standing up would break all his bones, but yet he pulls out all these sick moves and only seems a little winded after.
I'm not really sure where he's from, either, somewhere in the middle east I think... I can't really tell, but I'm just guessing that's it by his darker skin... 'cuz his hair is completely white and really long, so that doesn't really help with the identification process... but he kind-of looks like Gandalf with more melanin and saretonin overload... all the time.
In fact, the only time you'll ever see him sad is when you tell him you have to leave. He'll erupt out of the chair, fling his cane aside and run like a madman, throwing his arms around you. He'll squeeze you so tight you think you're going to cry, and then - it's so sad - he'll start to weep, saying, "please stay just a little longer. Please stay, please stay." He'll make you promise to come back before he lets you go. He makes you promise to come back next day. You always feel bad for "forgetting," or "being too busy" to visit, because he looks so hurt, but overjoyed at the same time to see you again. It's just so moving, you know? Man, you gotta meet this guy. He's just so wild!
Oh! One more thing I gotta say about him. As you walk out the door of his house, after each and every visit, you'll hear him, still weeping, but whispering under his breath, "I miss you already. Please, please come back. You're my favorite creation. I love you."

Oh, Woman.

To be a woman is to be afraid
of potential to be free.
Unname me Woman for it steals
The promise of my Me.

Yes, how grave a woman is to Man
in strength - even body alone,
That Man, beside his pride with self
Cannot bear her lovely bones.

Oh Lady of the wall, don't cry!
For your hurts he is not hearing.
Your silent strength has not the worth
of his violent domineering.

And Beauty of the Church, beware
Of your calling to the He.
Don't ever ask why men are stronger
for an answer will not be.

Our strength is not for sale,
And our work is not for you.
Unsexed, I stand not as a "woman,"
But an ache for human's truth.

Dreams American

You know, in America,
we all have a dream.
A resume of sights to see,
ways to be,
and things we need to prepare ourselves for.
We have great ambitions
for the risks not yet taken,
and explosions of ideas
on how to never have to think again.
Our minds are running,
constantly
running,
marathons of intelligence and wit.
How successful we will be one day,
us North Americans.
Just you wait and see for yourself how this will all unravel -
unpriced, untimed, like a pretty Persian rug.
Too bad ambition only carries so far.
Too bad ambition
doesn't close the deal.
Perhaps America
needs a new dream.

I Am

I am not a woman,
not a little girl.
I am not a hipster,
and not mainstream enough to know what that means.
I am not a pirate,
though constantly marooned in ocean dreams
and waving goodbye.
I am not a Bible thumper,
just ask me about the King and you'll find out how unobsessed I am.
Were I a nerd, which I am not, I would most definitely be a writer,
which I am most certainly not.
I am not messy,
though if I were, I wouldn't care.
I am not prideful, and I know it.
I am not addicted. I could stop any time I wanted,
but I'd have to cough up a fee for that.
I don't know what I am,
if simply
Unlabeled. 

Hands All Over

This is definitely
not what you think it is.
You think
I have some hidden motive behind the words,
and I do,
but it is opposite to what you think.
You think it's love,
but it's genuine.
You think it's dirty,
but it's just a coating.
Your mind says, "she's a liar,"
and I say, "yeah, that's probably true."
If you think, "naiive."
My words imply wisdom.
Don't look into the bottom, backside, or behind of the whole thing,
just love it.
And yes, I know how that sounded,
I just wasn't listening.

Only XX

Back of a pick-up truck
for our own little drive-in, we're livin'
on half tanks of gas and full tanks of student loans
well you betcha our car won't run
and it's missing side mirrors and funky steerers,
but at least we know it's our own.

Yeah, in our town
we all know someone famous, someone big
with Vancouver next door
There's so much more
than we could ever know
so we just gotta get outta this town

Oh, that I could be 20 forever,
cuz you know we'd share this moment together,
just doing whatever
we feel like
in the middle of the summer night
illuminated by cell-phone light,
forever, we know

the smell of home is a bit
of veggie-eaters, gangsters and Bible readers,
corn stalks, cow plops and chronic crops,
Yeah, Chilli's wacked
but we kinda like it that way.

There's a band by our name,
but I doubt they've ever been here.
There's a hundred mountains to climb
a hundred things I could rhyme
about this little town,
but with Church goin' down,
I'd best be on my way.

Hope you enjoyed the diddy about my Chilliwack.
It ain't that dutch, so I guess it ain't that much,
but it's all I got at 12:48 am.

Hello, Half Moon.

Hello, half moon dreaming!
Can you do a little favor
for a lonely soul like me?

Send a little dream my way
to help me sleep at night
where I finish the story before I wake?
For I long to know the ending of
the carousel called Life,
and the wisdom of the ages resides in your dust.

From Up Here

Something brown beneath white ripples
that I can't quite see from here -
something underneath those ripples
provokes unendingly curious leer.

Maybe beneath those rippes
lies a truth not yet unearthed,
but were I to pull the curtain back
it should be a connection birth.

Rippled, that ocean lies,
pushed by the wind, not yet by fate,
perhaps a frequent flyer will flow
the tides - untermined dates.

Triangles

Triangles
perhaps are not the
strongest,
for the points pierce
the score-boards
and pull your game-face
down.

Tri Angles
are never the same
for one story.
All sides have a point,
where the point should not
take sides.

Try angles,
solve the problem,
or square off in a heart
wrenching circle
of lie-nes and projects,
Sept,
Ah,
then you're
Gone.

Be My Artist.

Time we take one step towards our dreams,
A thousand pull us back,
A hundred talk us out...
I don't understand, but this happens.

I could save living in my house
For just another year,
And I understand what it'll be...
But I fear I'll never leave.

I'll have adventure,
And I don't care the cost.
I dream only time, for that's how I have to live it.
I know complacent, and don't give me all up for comfort.

I can see my dreams shining in the distance -
Only 6 months away,
But it's getting harder and harder to keep them
With every pull from my hands.

I'm only too hard to ask
For all these things
That budget me terribly
And mother me badly without pleasure.

Life on Auto-Pilot

Cardboard,
Caffeine
Teen Challenge
Work,
Cardboard,
Work,
Sleep

Tuesday
Blank...Caffeine
School
Church
Blog

Cardboard
School...Caffeine
Church
Blog

Sleep....Sleep...Caffeine

Cardboard
School...Caffeine
Cardboard
School
Caffeine
School...No sleep.

Blank
Caffeine
School
School
Cardboard
School
School
Blog... Sleep?

Blank
Work,
Headache
Cardboard.........Caffeine
Errand
Errand
Soccer

Cardboard....Caffeine
Work
Work........Cardboard
Work
Church...START.

Human Nature

The sweetest downfall,
I self-destruct,
breathing sickly smiles,
kissing the mirror
in a beautiful delirium.
I loved this first,
when all the while
the answer lay between
the sheets of tired paper.
Purple-paisley thoughts
overshaddowed a clear blue sky,
and I bled myself dry...
for I knew too much,
and knew not what to do with it.

February 14

Oh, that love were a fountain,
that never ceased to flow -
to quench the thirst of every heart
and every aching soul.

That love will one day come,
I pray, to know that sweet release,
and curl, protected, in the lap
or heaven's loving seat.

Poetry Inspired

Inspiration
comes softly
like a sleeping baby's sigh

Inspiration
comes unexpected
like a thief undercover in the night

Inspiration
comes hard
like the turbulent waves of September

Inspiration
comes only
if we listen
and remember.

The Ice Queen

Breathe out
like a dragon with ice on her breath,
creating a wall of solace
ten miles thick.
Through the night we fought for day
to see this coming
but you're the only invisible star
I would have followed this far
to have what I knew I was looking for
and praying I wouldn't find.
But luckily now,
black and scarred,
it lies burried deep
beneath the thick blanket of the Ice Queen.

You are Owl City

Cosmic spaces on the floor
provide me a comfortable base
to lift off from
and fly to an all-consuming sky cuz my
imagination's never been this beautiful
ever before.
Is this tidal wave here to chase my dog days out of mind?
Oh, grab me a parachute of twilight stars and touch down in
Seattle - how I love you.
Maybe my travel bug will let me sink
or swim
this time with yacht clubs and firebugs
and sing me to Vienna...
oh I'm feeling rather  impatient these days with
rainbows bursting in my veins...
but that's OK
I'm alright to wait,
cuz Jesus' plan is never plain.
Yeah, I was a dear in the headlights
when I realized that some of my dreams just might come true,
but oh my dear,
they're not worth as much as a heavy rain cloud
if I don't get to spend them with
You.

April The Alien.

Ahh, yes, let me soak this in.
I am so privileged that it is finally my turn
to leave you be.
Tell me, did I suffocate you this time?
I am smiling ear to ear for it, so
bring on the warp speed -
I'll just sit back here and smoke an unholy cigarette
while you get on with it.
It's such a good thing that I don't assume truthfulness from actions-
no, I wait until you explain to me how it really is -
just in case there was any confusion
from the image you portray
every day.
Thank you for leaving me in the dust -
I appreciate it down here.
How thoughtful of you.

Disolving Slowness.

Slow me down,
cuz with choices failing everyday,
I sometimes un-recognize the truth of you all...
and I see -
Bluer skies,
I wonder:
is the sky really clearing,
or did I just stop raining on my own parade?
Play me a song on a solo violin
to soothe my tired eyes,
for  the world is harder than dreaming,
and I'm tired of letting go.

Air Ministries.

I have a feeling, this wasn't the original plan.
I don't think God set out to create
a reality so focused in
on greed and hate.

Maybe we've perverted
the ways
he intended when he created
our earliest days,

I think he intended love,
joy, us all to be kind
to one another -
we lost something along on the ride.

Let's do this,
not for selfish gain,
but for the reason
that Christ first came.

Because we need him,
we need each other,
in genuine love
it's time to be bothered

by the fact that this is still missing.

Cages.

Chilly little shivers run
over my skin, bumping every hair,
raising them each to stand on end
despite the summer heat.
Carefully, delicately,
I suck in the thick air
to pump myself with false courage,
and march up to my adversary.
Your eyes match the sky,
match my gaze,
and I choke,
for I was not expecting this -
to meet you
standing in winter skin
amidst the summer sun.

The Final Show

Dances
alone
are semi-trucks
without breaks.
Halt,
and falter.
Lights off,
curtains drawn,
blind movements
hidden behind your eyelids.

If you didn't know...

Fallen to the depths
of my mind
I replay a tape
of days past,
loves last,
running fast,

wait.

Drip, drip,
rain outside
sings me into
the sleeping black world
where emotion plays
perfect
ly.

This time,
I later realized
that no one
can be right
when selfish.

And knowing
is not the same as accepting.
And knowing this
is lazy
if it still needs
action.

and

compassion, love, belief,
Jesus, friends,

don't ignore the lines.

Heavy breathing,
tired sleeping,
secret love,
fired hate
behind the gates
of my dreams
and selfish mind.

Generation X

Rotten, rotten, rotten,
tastes lie flat on my tongue
of mistakes we make to hide ourselves
when we find ourselves too young.

We'll die for our own image,
and worship our own deadly friends
who cage us like the sick rats we are,
scraping for a light at the end.

Oh! How we toil!
And Oh! How we try!
But our own lukewarm past
is a sick alibi.

And of only the world were better!
If only we understood!
But weed makes our thinking hazy -
and you know we would quit - if we could.

Oh, woe, are we teens, of Generation X,
our lives are gone strait down the drain.
Though they would be better,
were it not for the weather,
and us causing ourselves so much pain.

Trouble

Were a kiss,
not a kiss,
or a lingering glance
not so tempting,
I do expect
that if we were
not so forbidden,
then I,
unstoppable that I am,
would not be
in love with you.

Purified

Dutifully I trace myself.
admiring the soft white lines
that set such firm, indefinite boundaries.
Boundaries
that remain surrepitious -
except to those who reside within them.

I pull the white, compacted stick of powder,
weaving in and out,
molding a shape that reflects who I was,
until,
in a tiny moment,
I stop moving,
and white ceases it's tiresome grind against pavement.
The boundaries are heavy,
and just as purity is the rival,
unknown forever
to those who pervert it,
So death remains a curious thing
until twins are joined together
by a thin line of chalk.

Yet.

Perhaps, while floating down this river,
one day I'll be found
with the rest of those who delayed their prize,
desires for the crown.

Limp my withered soul,

inside my withered skin

breaks with the weight of me I carry,

sags in the arms of Him.

And my angry body, fatigued and lame,
can push itself no longer.
With sticky breath I choke a cry
to one who still is stronger.

And though the light is passed to grey
to my heart, so badly broken;
I suck these laboured breaths - I know
The Last Word has not been spoken.

Amen.

The Perfect Man

The love of my life
is tall, dark, American- oh,
and just a little extra sweet.
He's strong but not bitter,
and always perks me up when I'm tired.
He only takes a few minutes to get ready when we go out,
and always smells fresh and inviting.
He is warm and soothing,
and feels so at home on my lips.
I love him, and hold him wherever I go.
My love pours himself out to me,
or sits quietly when I need it.
He is the perfect man.
He is coffee.

Lie Lazy

Let's lie lazy.
Let's not be good,
Let's not be rebels.
Shoulder to shoulder,
only think of the soft brush between fabrics,
and the breeze
whistling
through my eyelashes -
smiling like the fairy-tale grasses.

It feels like coffee.

Ah, those winter Sundays
when we both had ample time,
when we walked out of church,
slipping and laughing in the snow and black ice.
How naive we were
to the woes of spring,
to the responsibility of the sun.
It would slowly appear,
that as the ice melts and the seasons thaw,
it wasn't really better on the other side.

Sans Serif:

When I take the time
to consider this
my life - a symphony
of music swift
I wonder if
a drastic shift
might be wise
as a hopeful wish.
Maybe then
my dropping eyes
could rest through
even calmest nights,
a book would be
a book
not jumbled words
to overlook,
my silent space
would have a floor
instead of clutter
and clothes I wore.
So going forth,
this I wish:
to lead my life
sans serif.

Come, Thirsty.

Come, Thirsty,
and drink of the well.
Save yourself from selfish ways -
a timeless death in Hell.
Come drink the water
that always flows
a sea as murky
as glass,
and find a way
to break the pattern
of the rocky ground of life.
Come, Thirsty,
bath yourself,
be cleansed of all the grime.
Surrender pride to the waves that crash
on peaceful beaches.

Thirsty, you don't know
that sand doesn't quench the thirst
of the saints who died
just to live
in a way that no one can see.

Edge of a cliff

I am quite happy
to lay here,
passport fluttering in the wind,
stuck to my finger by a tiny piece of gravity,
who has no choice
but to hang me there -
while my hair tangles,
my shirt flies in erotic dances with the air currents,
and dust swirls around me,
waiting to settle down on my still face.

(In)trepid(n)ations.

In trepidations
we take our first steps.
We crumble at the sight
of new opportunities,
and heave sparkling eyes
with the joy of accomplishment.

Intrepid ations
fuel us.
Victory showcased in our outtermost reaches
that we never thought
would be in the palms of our hands.
After jumping hurdles
that seem as tall as mountains,
we can safely say
that we are fearless.

As a unit we are searching,
as individuals,
we are hoping.
As dauntless, we are striving,
and as cautious, we are learning.
We are youth,
a nation.
These are our
intrepidations.