Not Out There

It’s not out there!

Don’t go outside,

there’s nothing there to see.

 

Inside your virtual world here

you can think and do and be.

 

It won’t take any work at all for

fortune, love, and fame.

Just hit the buttons really fast

and play your bestest game.

 

Achievement’s just a click away.

Reality’s a bore.

We love you here in 3D land,

now go increase your score!

 

You don’t have to be perfect,

strong and beautiful, or kind.

And you don’t even have to think,

let us immerse your mind.

 

In virtual realities your Screen Name

fills with dread.

Out there you’re weak and helpless now,

and you could end up dead.

 

In here your image flickers

and you get to live again.

Out there is love and friendship,

“Let’s go here!” “Remember when…?”

 

But when they finally bury you

and no one comes to care,

it’s far too late to find out

virtual worlds are not out there.

 

At the End

At the end,

we stood in the rubble

of what was once a

shining kingdom on a hill.

 

The snow fell

and chilled our hot tears

as we sifted through the

burned and broken stones

of our castle.

 

Winter crows gathered,

and one broke the bitter silence

to call more.

 

I threw the stone that

took its life,

but the echo was loud enough.

One by one they grew bolder,

and began to feast on the remains.

 

We lost the fight, the battle,

and the war.

And at the end,

we looked at each other

with sad indifference,

and went our separate ways.

 

Bye Morning.

A day full of clutter

and clamor and rush.

Alarms and commuting,

Face wash and toothbrush.

 

There’s no time to waste,

And my head’s full of worry.

Can’t find anything! Running late!

Gotta scurry!

 

But how did that happen?

I set the alarm.

Gonna quit and cash out.

Go away. Buy a farm.

 

And now on the road,

all these jerks in my way…

It’s a horrible start

to a terrible day!

 

Slow down, says a voice

somewhere deep in my head,

for one day, it’s ‘Bye, morning.’

It’s over. You’re dead.

 

Take time, watch the sunrise

in fiery gold hue,

with a cadre of clouds

in a sky bright and blue.

 

And quiet your heart and your mind

for the day,

A peaceful, ‘Bye, morning.’

is what you should say.

 

And though there are some days

I still wake up mad,

I still say, ‘Bye, morning.’

And it’s not so bad.

When Evening Falls

When evening falls

I come to this place.

I like the way the colors of night

gather to say goodbye

to the colors of day.

 

The birds claim their beds

with songs of belonging,

and the rustling brush whispers

as the chipmunks find their dens.

 

The evening stars

peer through the forest canopy,

bright and clear.

 

A bright moon pokes its shiny face

over a distant mountain like a child

burrowing from under the covers

to favor me with a smile.

 

And somewhere nearby

is the sound of running water

I’ve never tried to find.

 

I name it

Evening Falls,

and take the pleasant path

toward home.

 

 

Fill My Hand

Come fill my hand with yours,

my love,

for mine is empty too.

And since we both have

empty hands

I’ll give my hand

to you.

And now let’s fill our eyes,

my love,

with one another’s gaze.

And finally let’s fill

our hearts

with fullness of our days.

One day they’ll say of us,

my love,

in far and distant lands,

‘They changed the world

together

by filling empty hands.’

Can’t Swallow Your Poison

I can’t be myself within your parameters

that define me according to what

you think

my limits

should be.

I don’t only belong in the places

you tell me

I can go.

My mind is not limited to your perceptions

of what

I am capable of achieving.

My freedom is not contingent

on your condescension.

My life

is not yours to take

because

you’re afraid.

My will

is not yours to mold because

you hate

what makes you afraid.

My color is not an accident.

My true ancestry is not diluted by you.

My creativity need not celebrate you.

We are on this sphere by divine will.

You are in my sphere through no choice of my own.

But understand, I will not swallow your poison.

You belittle our massive, unspoken love

for this nation of bondage; whenever we are asked to serve,

we do it with dignity and honor, but not at the expense

of our dignity in service to your hypocrisy.

I will not give you water for your pill of denial,

and I will not drink the poison you’ve

slipped into my life.

I give you back your cup, untouched.

Partake of your own bitterness,

And when you leave

I will place coins on your eyes

for the ferryman,

because I won’t carry the weight of

your ignorance on me

anymore.

 

 

 

Light of the Whirled

(For my parents  RIP)

 

I remember swinging

between the both of you,

smiling,

feeling loved and secure.

 

You were no longer together

even then,

but I felt no loss in that moment.

 

And when my own small children swung

in that same manner between their mother

and me,

all those many years later,

I saw the same smiles,

and thought of you.

 

I hope you’re together now.

I hope you’re swinging between

the arms of God,

and you’re both smiling.

Plunder

Into my life you came,

bold against the rising sun,

your wind-tossed locks alluring,

your bright, bold eyes searing.

 

And I opened my chest to give you the contents

of its heart, and at first you treasured them.

The glorious days of sailing with you

were warm and secure, with clear skies and

wide horizons.

 

But in time, you craved not the warmth of my heart,

preferring the cold hardness of gems and coins.

Not the stable strength of my arms,

but the fickle roll of riches.

 

Turning yourself to seawater,

you slipped from my grasp

and left me no choice, set me adrift

with no anchor, no oar.

 

Under the stars my heart withered.

The sun-kissed days grew dank with brine,

and the raucous racket of overbold gulls

pursued my foundering lifeboat.

 

I dreamed that in a reef of nascent coral

I put the seawater to my lips as if to kiss you

once more,

but therein lied a fatal thirst,

and under a high tide moon,

I spilled it and left it behind.

 

What remains ahead is unknown, uncharted,

yet with a sense of direction and purpose,

of longing fulfilled, a calling realized.

As the gull calls fade, the windsong rises.

 

And I know that in the distance,

a paradise awaits my arrival.

I shield my eyes from the sunlight

dappling the dancing waves,

and sail on to fate’s warm hearth,

alone

but finally

free.

3 a.m.

At 3 a.m.

they come to play,

disturb your sleep,

disrupt your day.

 

They sing and giggle

out of sight.

They cry and cut you

through the night.

 

“They don’t exist!”

the people say.

The creatures like it

just that way.

 

Their smiles malignant,

gleaming white,

‘Your blood so red,

it tastes so right.’

 

And in the sunrise,

glowing gold,

your heart is still.

Your flesh is cold.

 

At 3 a.m.

they come to play,

cavort, and

steal your soul away.