Worst Day

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Well, I was in Kenya until recently working from my laptop. I started a blog after I was prompted by some of my friends and it has been a fantastic experience. I posted most of my work that I wrote while in Kenya and the response was really uplifting. 

Through all this I was so excited because I knew once I came back to the States I would break out the mother lode. I had all my work since 3rd grade stored in my computer and I was really excited to revisit, share and get feed back on my writing. This computer literally had everything, my triumphs and high moment along with some of the darkest times of my life. All chronicled in black and white and emblazoned with funny titles.

This morning I was finally ready to start the adventure of sorting through my work for some gems and laughing at all the poems and short stories I used to think were gold. At first search I find nothing. Unperturbed I keep searching because I knew I was pretty private about my writing and hid it well. After literally tearing through my computer for an hour and finding nothing, I finally break and ask my mom. 

“Oh yea, the computer crashed and your dad did a clean sweep and re-installed everything.” The words clean sweep echoed through my mind over and over again like some monkey playing cymbals in a bad dream. Clean sweep, clean sweep, clean sweep. 

Everything that I am and I have ever written was stored on that computer. My hopes, my dreams, my tentative story ideas that I secretly thought were brilliant but never told anyone, my maturing as a boy to boy man to man boy to man and my growth as a person and a writer. Everything. And now it’s gone. 

 

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Fool’s Friend

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I’m searching for a friend

I used to have one but I think I lost it

I’m scrambling up and down

Looking in cabinets and in dish racks

I even pulled out my book of faces

And scanned desperately through the pages

Of faces looking up at me

But I couldn’t find my friend

How can this be?

Just yesterday it was smiles in the hallway

And secret inside jokes

But now it’s just a face in my book

And a memory that grows dimmer every second

Was it ever real, my friend?

I’m desperate, throwing everything out in my search

My goals and dreams lie on the floor in a pile

Ignored in my quest to find a friend

And at the bottom of my drawer of desire

I see a glimmer and I pounce and grab

But it’s a false alarm, a fool’s friend yet again

Where are you friend?

I have been calling out for you

But maybe you don’t understand my language

I can’t find you but I won’t give up

Maybe it was never my job to search 

instead I’ll gather my dreams, hopes and goals

straighten them up and try them on for size

i think I will even go on a trip somewhere

and hopefully I will stumble across you

half buried somewhere like gold

A Poem For Faith (My Sister)

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Sometimes life hits you hard, 

a sucker punch right to the heart

Sometimes the sun dims

and your nightmares come true

Sometimes your eyes are screaming

but no one can hear

Sometimes you look down and only

your steps mark the sand

Sometimes all you can do is cry

and hope for a better tomorrow

 

But remember you are never alone

 

Remember we only fall to remember

why standing is so sweet

Remember that all nightmares

must end when the sun come out

Remember who you are 

and what it is you believe

Remember that it is OK to cry

but never to give up hope

Remember your name

Remember above all else,

you are loved

You, Me, We

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In age past, before the

darkness coalesced its liquid depths

and gave way to light.

Back, back before darkness

was dark and light bright

there was an egg.

A single potential in the

backdrop of impossibility.

A promise too potent to be

held by the cold embrace of

Nothingness.

Within we lay, not there but

There.

Unaware.

So was the universe born,

A potential within a sea of

Impossibility

And became we.

Memory

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What’s a memory but a moment immortalized in the moonlit mind of a midnight dreamer,
A gem of golden gladness gloriously displayed
Or perhaps a moment of madness mirshed with misery
That stands tall torturous in ones mind as solid and immutable as a diamond by stress formed
But is a memory a gem to be held polished and admired or a deadly shard with which to cut oneself
Is it so solid and immutable?
Or rather is it simply a bubble of iridescence capturing a fleeting moment of sun and reflecting a million rainbows?
Each glance back casting the brilliance of experience upon the fragile moment and seeing the subtle nuance of the bubble sounds dancing in the winds of time
A memory moment so fragile and mutable that the experience of seeing it changes it and the rainbows dance to a different tune.
So fragile that we grasp it, or we try, our desire to know, invisible hands grasping at that moment until they have…then it is gone forever
A burst of air gone and the moment the kiss the words gone forever.
As a bubble bursts and leaves behind air so the moment leaves behind an aching emptiness
Or is memory a river, rapidly running rampart, it’s riotous rage ripping the bank and rising to the present
The inundation seeping through everything and overwhelming now and sweeping everything to the past
Or maybe a mountain, an obstacle obstructing openness and overshadowing opportunities opening up
or maybe, maybe the past is a mystery madly made magnificent or maybe a mirror