These Feelings

God has been on my mind lately. Or, really, the idea of God has. I am a non-believer in God as presented by the Church, but do believe in the idea of God or a higher power. Today, at the hospital where my wife was receiving outpatient, I was walking around and found myself drawn to the various chapels that Johns Hopkins has. I’d walk in and poke around a bit. They are small and rather unassuming, most likely because they need to appeal to people of various religions. I’d didn’t stay or speak with anyone, as they were all empty, but I wanted to see if I felt anything. I didn’t, and never do when I’m in a church. Not sure if I should or shouldn’t, really, though I think I’m always hoping to. Once we finally got home the first three lines just came to me and then the rest within a few minutes.

I want to, I need to, I gotta believe

Soulless, clueless

And I can’t even breathe.

Thoughts I have, ain’t even mine

Horrified, outraged

Like some bold type headline.

This ain’t me, who I am, what happened here

Educated, loved

How come all this fear.

All my own, on my own, no one to lead

Follower, leader

Man, it’s hard to believe.

Made it this far, though I’ll surely need more

Straighten things out, or I’m bound to be poor.

Poor mind, body & spirit, gotta keep reaching

Or I’ll never get near it.

Salvation is at the end, down that one lane

Get your number, punch your ticket

And by God you’ll be saved.

 

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Poem For Piper

-Originally a poem I sent my wife on 12/13/11, about 5 months before Piper was born.

Christmas came early
for your Dad and Mom,
they now know who you are
and it strengthened their bond

A little baby girl
was going to be theirs,
to love, hold, and forever cherish

You are a dream come true
and will be a beauty for sure,
you’ll grow into a woman
and always be pure

The child we always wanted
and now finally have, to Piper,
with love forever,
– Mom and Dad

Volatile Bag Lady

Listening to the podcast ‘This Is Criminal’ and heard the phrase “volatile bag lady”. Such an odd thing to say, but can also make sense…though how often are we talking about crazy bag ladies and needing to describe them as being volatile? Yea, I’d hope not much. So naturally I decided to write a punk song about it. Like old school punk with little or no course and the song is under a minute! One, two, three, four …

 

Here I am, here I am

Out on the streets, a volatile bag lady

You don’t want to meet

Matted dirty hair, with gross and rooting teeth

I sleep where I can, and rarely get to eat

I used to go to doctors, I’d take my kids to school

Now here I am a bag lady, and I’m life’s fucking fool

My day starts whenever, and ends when it does

I smoke a few butts, get half a sandwhich

And I’ll drink cough syrup for a buzz

Here I am, here I am

No, wait, please don’t see

This is someone else’s life, it really can’t be me

I try and hide my face, just to bury the shame

So here I am, here I am

Out on the streets, a volatile bag lady

With no one left to love me.

The Toughest

The toughest love
That doesn’t exist anymore
Is a dad who’ll
Take a belt to you
But also give you a hug
And a pat on the head

The toughest love
That doesn’t exist anymore
Takes a strength
The average person
Could never understand

The toughest love
That doesn’t exist anymore
Is a father’s love
Mixed with fear
But always caring

The toughest love
That doesn’t exist anymore
Comes from men
Who have seen things
We wouldn’t comprehend

The toughest love
That doesn’t exist anymore
Is from a father who knows
He made some mistakes
But also that he did the best he could

A Fiery New Life

image

An inspiring photo by my friend Heather Marsh. It inspired my poem below, thank you.
Almost goodbye 2015 and almost hello 2016.

A beacon of hope
Fire that gives life
Filtering through clouds
Rescinding the night
It’s reflected off water
Warms a cold face
Always marching west
Never slowing its pace
So it is now
As it was then
We look upon heavens
But are searching within
It’s breaking we say
And dawn is here
Awake to new day
We start again fresh
What’s past now over
The cycle of life
New day, new year
Making time turn over.

Of Books

I see you there and I want to know you

What’s your story and where are you from?

Taking you, I’ll hold

Slowly with respect.

I want to know your age, really just because.

What paths have you taken?

Who else has seen you?

The older the better

Cause it peaks my curiosity.

Have you been loved by many,

Or hidden, stashed away?

Do you speak in rhymes, or plainly in prose?

I’ve been hunting for you,

I just want to know your insides.

You take me away, calm me down,

Can get me angry,

Or make cry till I drown.

As good as you are

There will always be another.

I want more, need to know,

But simply love the feel.

Good ones are great,

But none are too bad.

You all offer something,

Or nothing of thought.

I just want to hold,

And feel your age,

You weight, how you turn,

And how where you made.

I may keep for while,

To add to the others,

Or love you and leave you,

A satisfied lover…

 

Happy

Whole and happy, all warm and snug
Lying next to each other
Rembering our love
Unique to us, so sweet and true
44 days and nights, this bed without you
Alone I never slept
In fact I was with you
A cot on the floor
Our house a hospital room
This, this is our house
Our daughter now sleeps
Her room within sight
We gave family hugs
And together said goodnight
Me, I’m just happy
We now have you home
Our family is complete
This is where you belong