In the days of old Storytellers traveled far and wide Plying their trade at hearth and square Sharing tales true and mythical Of heroes and villains Triumph and tragedy Honing the sharpness of their wordplay Weaving captivating tales for coin Where are the bards of today Spinning tales for the eager
I host a phantasmagoria of storytellers Tucked neatly into my pocket Poised to share hours of narration For an audience of one A tap a screen whisks me away Into a plethora of elaborate worlds Thousands of hours of storycraft Read by hosts of skilled modern bards Memoirs and poetry Worlds fictional and factual Could the traveling rhapsodist In their pre-modern world Dare dream of such wonders As the miraculous audiobook
To any who my words reach In a time and place I will never see I hope the world is kind And if such things as kindness Still prove fleeting I charge you with performing Defiant acts of kindness That your efforts might fall Like seeds upon fallow fields And grow like wildflowers In the hearts of those you touch
American Bison are commonly known as the American Buffalo And are the national mammal of the United States These grand beasts have evolved to adapt to the harsh North American Great Plains winters They have vast biological adaptations to allow them to thrive in the volatile environment They evolved physically optimized to survive Yet their most fascinating adaptation is behavioral Unlike nearly every other wild and domestic creature Buffalo do not flee from the sweeping brutal storms that cross the landscape They put down their massive heads and turn into the maelstrom They meet the fury and ferocity eye to eye They seem to inherently understand The only way out is through Resisting the sky is futile The sooner the storm is met The less time it has to intensify The sooner they can emerge from its dangers No wonder indigenous people hold them sacred To meet the fury of nature unflinchingly Steadfast and secure in the innate knowing Passed down through generations That buffalo are built to endure Creating their own harmony with their world Writing their own survival rules Wise teachers for us all
Oh it's you I knew you might find me again one day Minding my business Unaware and defenseless I knew you might show up on my doorstep Inviting the resurrection of my long disused heart I thought we had an agreement An understanding, perhaps You see, I have no desire to let you settle here again The soil in which I am planted is not good for your roots You salted it well long ago Do you really not remember because I still do And yet here you are Bags in hand asking if you can stay a while Looking at me with familiar enticement Dressed up in pheromones and endorphins With all the charisma of a red carpet return I have not forgotten how fickle you are How you overstayed your welcome How you left me heartbroken I don't trust you You're too good at feeling good I forget too easily how you are besties with misery Stop looking at me with eyes that want to know me Stop looking at me with eyes that want Stop attempting to pull me into your gravity I do not trust I can break free again I don't want to have to break free again Don't you understand you are not safe for me Don't you understand I need to feel safe I do not trust myself in your presence I am scared, you see You see, I am scarred So very scared So very scarred The last time I let you stay Nearly dismantled me So no Do not leave one speck of dirt on my doormat I beg you to to forget where I live I do not want your false promises I do not want you to be seen by you Your attention has cost me too much And I'm still in debt for it
I want to splash the darkening sky with rivers of fire Purples and reds and luminous oranges of sunset And the waters will abstract my painting in its dark mirror surface Making an abstract of my realism A dream of my reality
I hope God is like Alanis Morissette in Dogma Child-like and irreverent Joyous and delighting Completely aware of and careful with her power
I hope God is an every-man like in Joan of Arcadia The janitor or bus driver The gym teacher or barista The stranger we choose to see and who sees us in return
I hope God is like George Burns in Oh, God! Humorously enigmatic and witty Persistent and plain A pleasant old man testing the boundaries of faith
I hope God is a cast of many players Everyone of them divinely human For we are no less God than God is us Each of us part of the other in the oneness and wonder of all things
Roses and rust and rivulets of blood Rubies and robins and radiant flame Victory red lipstick of defiance Red flesh of cool plums in summer Winking red of garnet facets in grandmothers' rings Washington Reds hanging from autumn apple trees Red hand prints representing the missing and murdered Blinking red lights lining dark empty streets Red dresses whipping and swirling to tango on stages Crisp red uniforms of Beefeaters on guard Red sports cars cruising the streets of LA Cardinal red of Stanford Sports Crimson Red and Columbia Blue of my high school Cherry red inside a pie Glossy candy apple red Ripe red strawberries perfuming summer picnics Enflamed red of flushed cheeks Sacred menses red Red haze of rage blurring vision Bruised red of kissed lips Fruit punch red staining faces Watermelon red dripping from hands Red wine glowing in glasses Berries bright red in winter snow
Spring has arrived Birds sing sweetly In quickening branches bursting with blooms My winter soul peers out of bleary eyes Before I pull the covers over my head
Words Wishes and Wisdom 