Poem: A Small Comfort #the100dayproject Day 60

A Small Comfort

A space exists for all of us 

as a door that swings open 

when we flail into this world. 

And like a door slammed shut, 

our bodies so rudely closed, 

and when the door shuts behind us 

we leave it unlocked 

so it can swing open once more. 

The space we fill is not ours alone, 

but more a revolving door 

spiraling open and closed 

when one of us leaves this earth 

another one comes in 

our trajectories never cross, 

and yet we follow a similar orbit 

a circle that begins and ends with a door. 

Poem: Organism #the100dayproject Day 59

Organism

We humans are a bonding, 

a chemical reaction  

of atomic relationships, 

a product of a million moments 

crashing, bonding, connecting. 

Each of our bodies a series of coincidences  

as unique as the moments  

that made the big bang. 

We humans are specimens of serendipity, 

none of us should exist, and yet 

here I am, turning ink into words, 

churning breath into air, 

watching the sun set 

into the atoms of the earth. 

Poem: Suspense #the100dayproject Day 58

There was a rain storm today while I was commuting back home from a long day at work. The kind of storm that rattles and stomps on the cars and the road. I love a good rain storm.

Suspense

I love driving through a rain storm 

the rhythm of the wipers back and forth,

the splatter of raindrops hitting my car,

a symphony of percussion through the cabin 

louder than the music on the radio. 

I love the danger, the slippery roads 

the anticipation of gripping the wheel 

as I remember when I first white knuckled 

the steering wheel of the first car I ever drove 

as my mother told me how to move through the rain. 

Keep your distance. Don’t turn on cruise control. 

If you hydroplane, grip the wheel, don’t brake, ease off the gas. 

I love the feeling of hydroplaning, the fall, the slide,

the suspended motion even for a few seconds 

gravity switches off and time holds its breath. 

It’s the same feeling as surfing rapids in a river, 

the water catches the boat in its glassy wave, 

grabs hold of its edges with the bow pointed upriver, 

it feels like flying, gliding, a dangerous freedom. 

The river can do with us whatever it desires, 

there is no control, all we can do is grip the paddle

and hope that after it all, we find ourselves right side up.

Poem: My Dream Home #the100dayproject Day57

My Dream Home

I could fill my hands with dirty laundry and food crusted dishes, 

I could track down that suspicious smell in the basement 

I could waste my time taking a tooth brush to the grout 

I could grab the broomstick and sweep up my wood floors, 

I could fix that squeaky door or fiddle with its jambed lock, 

I could paint the deck and replace that rotted step. 

I could get on my hands and knees and dig up the weeds. 

I could fluff out the rugs and mow the lawn until I'm sore, 

Or I could walk up the stairs and ignore the squeaky step 

Ignore the papers and books piled high on my desk 

And close the door and crack open my unfilled notebook 

Click my eager pen and smell the wet ink across the page. 

It isn’t practical or fixing up the American Dream, but 

It is a labor as satisfying as getting dirt under my fingernails. 

My body bent over my desk as if my notebook were a house to tend, 

But something more precious than a thing to live in. 

These words are not a thing, these words are me. 

A space inside myself that must out pour like a floodlight 

That trumpets its yellow into the darkest night. 

It is the purpose that so many people cannot say they have 

A life’s works, my dream home is within me and it takes me everyday 

To keep it in a condition worth sharing with the world, 

Each word a nail in the wood planks to hold everything up, 

Each sentence a roof, the siding, the deck, the kitchen, 

The little details that need fixing and need work 

Each poem a room that I build to house a piece of me in.