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.

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Into the Infinite

 

Whatever is bad in your life,
Whatever is hurtful,
And broken,
And painful,
And sad,
And evil,

I hope goodness will come
and replace the bad things
with their counterpart in hope;
gathering up all those wrong entities
and releasing them into the ether.

The bad things will try
and make their way back
into your life. Unfortunately,
you will let them at times.
But try and remember how
light hope is to hold; like a
sweater over your shoulders
and not much more.

Hope has this soft quality too
and it helps you see clearly for
what feels like the first time.

It is like a gentle reset; a
calibration that is neither painful nor
harsh. More like fine tuning the
gears of an elaborate wrist watch.

When the wrong things cover
your field of vision, all you can see
is straight ahead. Everything is clouded;
murky.

When hope fills your eyes, things are
crisp and precise; you can see the
infinite.

I want you to see into the infinite
with me. If you feel you are ready
and that you are safe, I can show you.

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

Grandpa

He was the junkyard king
Man, he had everything
His friends called em Red
He had a field, a house, a broken down shed

He was plenty tough
He only dealt in rough
His heart was made a glass
But, both his hands were made a the finest brass

He hates old cigars
He sat in rusty cars
He’d burn all his trash
He said that nuthin’ ever seems to last

I thought he hung the moon
He’d sing ole cowboy tunes
He always kept the law
And I’m just glad I got to call him paw

And when I said goodbye
He yelled, “We never die!
Build a hot air balloon!
So I can see you again real soon!”

He was a man a God
Said he was plenty flawed
I don’t believe it though
Cause when’d it ever seem to show?

Loved his wife and kids
He shut his “Old eyelids”
I know he loved me too
Loved me like the grass does love the dew

Then he rode his horse
Into the dusk of course
I want to be like him
So I sat straight down and wrote a hymn

I thought he hung the moon
Whistled ole cowboy tunes
He always kept the law
And I’m just glad he gets to see my mom … again!

Mr. Money


Mister money!?
The all-lending-gold-stash-in-the-sky!?
Why?
Why am I here so hundred-dollar puny?
And they’re so stacked-to-the-ceiling-bundles-of-cash?

Is it cause I don’t tithe to you?
The all-lending-gold-stash-in-the-sky?
Seems to me like you got enough, feel me?
Your wealth is never ending kind –
And mine is the maybe run out tomorrow kind.

Would it be so terrible if I did inherit a small fortune? ™
Not baseball player money!
No, more like long-time plumber in a small town, money.
Name on the side of the truck, money.
Small recognition and respect, money.

Maybe I’m not the guy cause I won’t use it like you want.
Maybe other folks with short pockets and long donation lists are better.
But this – not make it past one medical bill – type money has got to go.
I’m trying to hold in all my illness.
Can’t have too many burst forth at the same time!
My mailbox would explode with bills.

I’m not too good at working, all-lending-gold-stash-in-the-sky.
I need a little help from your swimming pool coin fortune.
Your bugs bunny, cartoon money.
I have to pay my rent.
Do you want me out in the cold, all-lending-gold-stash-in-the-sky?
Kinda seems like it…

I forgive you though.
You gotta make the money go around to everybody.
But it sure seems like you’re not very even…
What do I know though.
You big time.
I’m small potatoes … and bank account (singular).

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.

Celebration of life – 11/10/18

I stared at all your faces
Sombre, though bright alike
They came from all your places
Some drove through the night

I recited poems and sang
The worship songs you’d want
My bright guitar strings rang
Hid my tears all nonchalant

It was impossible indeed
To see your daughter cry
Our simple family creed
Is try, then give, then try

Many wished they’d’ve spoke
Too hard a thing to do
I tried to calm them with a joke
And head back laugh in lieu

In pictures, young I saw
Your face lit up with glee
God’s gift of grace and awe
For many eternity

I know I did you proud
Don’t have to wish a thing like that
Your people sang real loud
I acted as diplomat

I closed with that poem
I read to you that day
Not ever a time alone
When that poem I hear you say
When that poem kneels down to pray