Poem: The Man In The Checkered Shirt

A man in a red and black checkered shirt walks back and forth in the book aisles,

the books have little bunny rabbits and little brown bears and little yellow tigers on the covers,

the man in the checkered shirt walks as if he’s holding someone’s hand in his hand.


He lets go of the hand and opens a book,

he flips the pages, softly,

not reading, just seeing,

the printed animals go through their ordered adventures,

neat adventures that are wrapped up in the end with a neat little bow.


The man in the checkered shirt puts the book back on the shelf,

a tear in his eye,

falling down the ripples of his cheek,

as his face contorts to hide the sadness,

imaginary hand in his hand once more.


In the neat little stories, someone always asks the right question,

someone asks if you’re okay,

but no one asks him as the man in the checkered shirt walks down the aisle,

looking for another book that might tell him what to do now,

or one that might ask him where did that laughter go that used to come with him.

Poem: Be Alive

You’re just some flesh and bones,

blood and muscles,

an animal like all others,

nothing more, nothing less,

the cosmos don’t care just as you don’t care about the ants in the wild,

the sun shines regardless and not especially for you,

the planets revolve around it, this one included,

you revolve around it and not the other way around,

here today, gone tomorrow,

your life perhaps will make the tiniest ripple,

if you’re lucky,

if you’re blessed,

one day you’ll be ashes,

the same as all that know you,

and yet,

your daily thoughts are concerned about others,

your ego trips over itself,

thinking people care how you look, what you do,

dimming your own hopes and dreams as not to attract unwanted attention,

blunting your experience of life just to fit in,

the days are numbered,

it’s all for nothing,


yet the handful of days you’ve got left,

you can make them worth something,

give them meaning,

through a leap of faith,

by going towards the unknown, the uncomfortable, the uncertain,

and making your life an art,

for once it’s gone, it’s all gone,

here for a second,

from nothing, back to nothing,

ashes the final form,

in between the nothingness, be alive.


Poem: Before It’s All Up

Passing of the day,

the sun goes down,

another grain goes under,

how much time do I have left?


The seconds, minutes, hours,

daily, weekly, monthly, yearly,

all of it seems to go by,

all of life seems to go by,

yesterday a child,

today a child but grown,

tomorrow, nothing,

how much time before I go back home?


Before it’s all gone,

before it’s all for nothing,

before I set,

I wish to live,

simple, loving, alive living,

to spend the time my way,

am I that privileged?


I hope I haven’t used my luck thus far,

I hope I still have some in my back pocket,

so I can fail some more,

so I can laugh some more,

so I can feel some more,

before it’s all no more.


Eventually, my time will be up,

luck will be up,

life will be up,

remember, remember.


Poem: Freedom

Living on borrowed time,

wasting it as if tomorrow is a real thing,

all around are dying people,

you are one of them,

yet, in your actions, you act immortal,

thinking that you could borrow some more time,

not understanding that you have no say over how much time you were given when you first cried out in this world,

still crying about useless things,

wasting your breath,

precious breath,

the inevitable marches on,

avoiding thinking about it,

inevitably it will catch you,

today, tomorrow, one day, someday,

till then there are really only two choices,

keep acting like you’re immortal,

or accept your mortality,

with acceptance comes freedom,

freedom to live the seconds you have left,

with avoidance comes slavery,

thinking there is a tomorrow,

a slave no more,

death sets you free,

all around us is death,

I am dying,

and so I am free.

Poem: For One Moment

Most lives are spent unexamined,

borrowing beliefs of others,

changing with the wind,

rotten core, cracked foundation, generational opinions,

never understanding the only person you can ever understand.


Most lives are spent in desperation,

trying to stay alive,

trying to feed kids,

trying to find love,



Most lives are spent dying,

death of dreams,

death of expectations,

death of love,

death of oneself.


For one moment,

I want to see myself,

for one moment,

I want to do rather than try,

for one moment,

I want to be alive,

before it all goes away.


Poem: Same Old, Same Old

Same old, same old,

the same day,


the same mistakes,


the same promises,


the same dreams,

drift away,

hoping that one day change will come,

the sun will rise and never set,

hopes will no longer be just hopes,

life will no longer be just living,

there should be more,

you know,

you should be more,

you know,

you said all of this before,

you know,

same old, same old.

Poem: Holier Than Thou

Holier than thou,

hide behind morality,

for the sake of likes and follows,

watching popularity rise,

as they cast stones from a safe distance,

diming the lights,

breaking the bulbs,

or at least attempting to do so,

in order to hide their own hypocrisy,

each day a new stone,

each day a new story,

the masses move as one,

one giant distraction,

a suffocating group,

strangling the individual voice,

the brave ones; the natures kin,

slowly burning away,

as the holy people wave around signs of peace,

quietly killing the man,

giving birth to second rate beings,

shielding and protecting them from reality,

in doing so,

teaching them how to be silent until they can blend their voice in the roar of the crowd,

screaming hate at the chosen few,

the couple who tried to be themselves,

they to get molded, eventually,

to become moralities cowards.