Megaphone

It is not until I’m seated in a reclined position that I realize how heavy the mental burdens of the day have been. Then I can see how unwieldy they really are. 

I’m wondering out loud a lot to my fifth grade definition of God. “Why all this pain? Why all this broken and bent and tragic? What are we doing? What are You doing? Do you love us, still? Did you ever at all? 

Basically, it boils down to : this life is really hard. A real slog at times. 

God doesn’t like to be asked direct questions, it seems. He likes to whisper in the wind and speak in a mourning dove’s song. I’mma be honest, I get pretty tired of discerning meaning from the breeze on a blade of grass (that’s a joke). 

How about some megaphone responses? Maybe he does that too in the face of tragedy, but I’m talking some straightforward, not cryptic, unmistakable commentary. I mean all of this light-heartedly (for now), but it would be nice to see some road signs marked, “Tyler, go here.” 

I’m in a life-lull for the moment and a big, clear push is welcome. 

 

What heaven’s customer service angels sound like

I’m quite sorry ma’am, but there’s been a mistake in how much broken you were handed. It makes sense now, doesn’t it? Yes, yes too much broken, I understand completely.

It’s an egregious error, I agree. What’s that, dear? No, I’m afraid we can’t start the whole thing over from the beginning.

Yes, I agree that does sound rather nice. But I’m afraid the wheels are already in motion. Yes, yes we can’t rightly stop the ride now, it would be too jarring for the rest of the customers.

I know, my dear, it is very unfair. We cannot begin to explain how sorry we are for the mistake; truly. That amount of broken is usually reserved for our most surly customers.

Yes, I can call down to the main desk and see if any refund is in order. Why, I’m sure we can offer a complimentary fruit basket, wouldn’t that be nice?

Oh, I see, nice only goes so far this time round. Well … sure … I’ll see what my superior can do, but I must remind you how busy he is this time of year.

I know my dear, but please bare with us, we’ll have this turned right side up in no time. Forty years is too much time passed? Why yes, my thoughts exactly.

We’ll put our best men on this job. Nothing a few days in the sun can’t fix, am I right? Thank you again for staying with us. We appreciate your business.

Depth Charges

A submarine sinks down to the bottom of the darkest depth, but it is not sunk.

It will overcome the trench, bringing with it, articles from the bottom that we would like to examine further.

Articles from the darkest place, a place that no light has ever touched.

Be like the submarine.

Go to the dark place, all the while protected from the intense pressure.

But also, be like the submarine, do not be overcome by the dark and return to the surface with perspective.

Trazodone Kids

Go to sleep
Go to sleep
Little trazodone kids

Your dreams are calling
Whispering soft stuff
About a nice, quiet end

To self harm scars –
Replacing that bad
With cloudlike good

Go to sleep
Go to sleep
Little medicated ones

There is a day coming
When monsters like depression
Are slayed by a great warrior

One who is cloaked in light
And brings the sun
Into each new dawn

Go to sleep

Full stop

2009-12-21 18.05.41

It hasn’t gotten as cold as I remember.
This time years ago, I was wearing a
double-lined, rust-colored coat from
the Duluth catalogue; matching boots
to boot.

I prefer a mild winter, with enough
cold to contemplate words like “alone”
and “silence.” If we are in the habit of
preferring, I’d like my mountains snow-
covered but my black, asphalt streets
dry – with no salt to muck up the
underbelly of my truck.

Winter is a clear head; free from
summer’s buzz. All the better thoughts
have settled to the bottom; sifted.
Winter is a reflection and a state of
quiet – no longer heading, but headed.

It feels good to take in a deep,
December breath and feel complete;
like I have managed to move more than
I sat.

In January, I write letters to my future self.
In December, I read them and laugh; goals
too broad in breadth. Then, calm as I wish,
revel in all the pleasant surprises, content.

A poem to call on confidence

I have a stately purpose
Just like a stately pine
I have a sprightly wit
Just like a friend of mine

I have a stunning sense
Just like a flower’s smell
I have a sustained vigor
Just like a young Orwell

You like my noble name?
Why yes, it ends in matter
How ‘bout my natural charm?
Mad, just like a hatter

I bring a sparkling fury
To music like a dance
My hand’s superb command
Puts my readers in a trance

I am a throneless king
Who picked the wrong to rule
You can call it vain conceit
But I know I ain’t no fool

I’m slick with polished ease
Gold throughout my voice
Calculated with mathematical precision
And you thought you had a choice

There is a majestic awe
To my nameless grace
A simple, modest plainness
To my fervent, steady pace

Don’t make a vital mistake
And sullen, call it quits
You might make boats for a living
But I’m the captain of this ship

-TS