Inspiration

Inspiration doesn't come with a kick, Nor does is it come like whip. Inspiration is nothing like A blow from a baseball bat... Rather it's like the most gentle of gifts. A quick "here you go"... A silent idea. No punching, no screaming, No yelling loud. Only a whisper, No dark, stormy clouds.

The Metaphor

It's like stretching your legs after a day stuck in the car.
It's like the light than shines through after a long night's rest.
It's the song of sound after waking up from being deaf.
It's what happens when you give life your best.

Stop giving up and let it begin.
Just come on, and let the light in.

Stay

All I need is just a word,

Hold me tight and say it soft;

Promise you won't let the wind

Carry me away. 

I'll take the sarcasm and the tears,

If you promise to take my fears.

We can stay together against the storm;

You just have to tell me now.

Now or never, let it out.

Will you be there through it all,

Or you already on your way out?

Living

Love.
Love lives.
Loves lives inside the brilliant sunrise
Created especially for
Us.
It lives in the grace;
That which we receive and never deserve,
And in the mercy;
That which we deserve but will not receive.
Love is found in sacrifice,
In trust,
In praise,
In celebration.
And love lives.

Banana Sunshine

It's the kind of soft yellow
Banana sunshine
That filters through the window
In the early dawn of summer
And sets everything inside
On golden sunshine fire,
Fiery but not hot, rather
A cool, misty fire
That warms the eyes.

Something Lacking

When something is lacking
is usually easy to tell.
A slip, a miss, a little less than bliss
Like a broken perfect spell.
It's easy to see when its missing,
The magic that used to be there;
Creativity, love, passion, hope,
All suddenly become something quite rare.
But more obvious than that is lacking,
Is when it has been given anew:
When the light once more shines in darkened eyes,
A a smile becomes one flashing of few.

What Do You Do?

What do you do when there's no time left?
No time to say goodbye,
No time to tell your heart
It's over, please don't cry.

How do you take a moment
When there are none left to take?
Can you ever command the clock
To stop a second, take break?

You can't, you can't stop time!
There is just no way.
So take a moment now to let it out,
And just go ahead and SAY

The Ups and Downs; Morning Night

Sometimes when the evening comes
And quiets all the world,
When trees drape themselves in shadow
And wind their hanging leaves had twirled,
When the sky is blooming with dark flowers
That seek to wrap up all the sky,
There seems to be a whisper riding
Upon the whirling winds up high,
A whisper of the morning secrets
That promise to come in time
But not many hear the future;
They only hear the climb.

Post-Sunset

The Man will try to wonder at every
Passing cloud. Give it meaning
Give it life, make it something that it's not.
Deliver it to the world with hidden messages
Piping hot. And then they want to twist the
Cloud to fit their point of view,
Without ever asking the cloud
What it wants to do, or even checking to see
If it has breath. Maybe one day the cloud
Will just rebel and stretch and morph
And rain down upon the world.

Books

Who said that books were monstrosities?!
Not I, oh no, not me!
Who said that words were a silly old waste
and that it's pointless to sit down and read?
You didn't hear this from me, oh no!,
Must have been someone else...
For I appreciate all that they are
And praise their trueness heart-felt.

Friday Nights

No one really knows each other
But when we gather round
We're a roaring crowd
A growling beast
Prowling all around.
With clapping hands
In ice cold wind
In frozen bleachers in the sky,
We raise our hands and raise our voice
Until our throats are dry.
Together we all join in
Even if we're strangers.
But here and now, as we cheer aloud
We're a family ready to fight until
The Victory.
So clap your hands
And stand up tall
And cheer away tonight.
The past four years of Friday nights
Have been something special.
But tonight the last
By far has passed
Them all and stands the greatest.

The Race

Hands are chapped and rosy red

as fingers slide across the keys

But there is no break, no respite, no rest

Rather a race through lettered-streets.

Time slows down and speeds back up,

Until there's no time at all.

Only the click click click of typing keys

When fingers start to fall.

But this monotonous, monstrous turmoil

Is only bad in thought;

Sitting at the filling screen

Is never done for naught.

It's done for the last few seconds

As the words THE END appear,

And nothing ever can overcome the joy

That comes when the finish line is cleared.

november

the steam rising from the ceramic
mug on the kitchen counter
floats through the tepid air
and the sound of cars rushing by

fills the silence. the hum of lightbulbs
hides behind like music never-ending and
their dim glow fills the room on the
early morning. the windows are frosty

with the mist rising from the grass
and the bitter chill of the mornings that slide
between the late, dying fall and the winter
coming after. there is no season now

no season but the cold, but not the frozen
kind of cold that kills everything and takes
away every breath of heat; no, it is the
cold that is only dipping its toes in the water,

getting a glimpse of the power of its chill.
it is the cold that tugs on a heart and tugs
on the last, hanging leaves on the bare branches
and eats away at the last bit of green in the

misty grass. and the cold doesn't pervade through
everything yet. it merely seeps into the walls,
but not the house. the sky, but not the lungs.
the cold that is crisp, hesitant, but ready.

and soon this halfway weather will
with a whip of the wind, gain courage and
explode across the clouds, freezing over
all the air and letting the chill

embed itself in everything. and then winter
will be crossing our doorstep and the
mornings will no longer be slightly cold
and then the ceramic coffee mug will really steam.

Firecracker Fall Leaves

Fire-cracker fall leaves go
Exploding from the trees,
Bursting left and shooting right
As they spontaneously lose their green.
Red like fire, burning gold
As leaves go whipping through the air,
Branches pop with brightest color
Until they're all left bare.