Don’t Call it a Comeback…oh wait, please do.


I’ve discovered that I can get an app for WordPress. As a result I’ll be able to post with more frequency. Hopefully start building a following and actually make something of this blog. I look forward to hearing from all of you! If this is your first time here then please feel free. Stay awhile and smell the roses. (I mean read my poetry). I am not funny, deep or even all that good at writing but I am honest and I love words. I do try to always respond to  comments and likes ūüôā

Let’s have fun together!


The Itsy Bitsy Spider


Disclaimer: This post is written based on delirious thoughts. Today at work I was singing children’s songs because I was exhausted and my body compensates for extreme tiredness by flooding me with energy. This is the result of my overreacting neurons…

The itsy bitsy spider. We all know the song. And most of us have sang it at some point in our lives. But have we really thought about what the song, deceptively simple actually means? Ignoring the possible philosophical connotations like the Sun being evidence of a higher power or the interesting contradictory nature of the spider which in reality is often consider bad or evil but when made “itsy bitsy” becomes manageable and thereby good which speaks to our desire for evil if it comes in small doses. Ignoring all the other big question type scenarios, what does one get when they examine this song?

A classic glass half full or glass half empty scenario. Well, not exactly but the concept is similar. Essentially there are two extremes of people in the world (which a whole spectrum in between), people who think the spider is a courageous go-getter who won’t let anything stop him from achieving his goals and people who think that the spider is a foolish daredevil who can’t seem to learn from his mistakes. Assuming that the water spout in this song is the pathway to some sort of end goal, or even if you want to stretch, assume the spout to be the in and off itself, sort of a journey is the reward troupe, we see that the spider is on a mission, a quest if you will. Characterized as itsy bitsy, we can already tell that the quest will be daunting task as it pits the obvious underdog against this herculean task. Then as we see the spider crawling up this spout for some reason that is not made clear but seemingly is of absolute importance, the rain comes down, an uncaring force of nature made malevolent in direct proportion to it’s effect of the protagonist. If that isn’t a metaphor for life then I don’t know what is.

The crux of this discussion comes from the next two lines. After being washed out of the spout, essentially sent through the wringer and spat out by the emotionless combination of fate and mother nature, we see the Sun come out and dry the spider out. Even though I said I wouldn’t discuss it, it’s impossible to miss the implications of divinity present within this line. The source of light, heat and life of earth seemed to if anthropomorphised, care about the spider which is by description itsy bitsy. The parallel between this and the almighty God creator of all things caring about humans is unmistakable.

But I digress, the focus of this whole rant(?) is this: “The itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again!”

What does this line mean to you?

How does this speak to you as a person on your own impossible and possibly meaningless quest that we call life? When the storms of life smack you around and toss you around like a rag doll and spit you out in a bedraggled mess and you are somehow blessed enough to recover how do you respond?

Are you the itsy bitsy spider, charging back up the spout, challenging the source of your pain again with no guarantee of reward or are you going to shake yourself of and say I risked it once, no more?

I am not making any judgments as to which I think is right or wrong but simply asking a question. Feel free to respond in the comments.

The Runners (Partner Poem)


Co-written with hastywords


The phantom highways

Stretch before us

High speed, racing towards
A destination we can’t see yetOur feet are weightless,
each step covers miles
and yet we are going nowhere
endlessly running

Weariness threatens us
On our endless destination
Urging each other forward
Holding each other up

We are so real, so poignant
but only paint brushed on canvas
bursting with life and color
an endless moment captured

The earth under our feet
The sky our sunlit canopy
Never a more beautiful picture
Captured, a living symphony

She strokes our surface, lovingly
as she paints our moment, her dream
Her wheelchair creaking softly
as her brush dances
and a tear traces a path
to her smiling lips




Have you ever just wanted to walk away?

Drop everything, grab a bag and fling yourself into the unknown

Each step carrying you into your future

Each footstep kicking up dust and uncovering your destiny


Have you ever stared at the moon 

hanging there like some mystical fruit

ripe and tender and just wanted to pluck it

to reach up into the galaxy and consumed worlds

swallowing entire civilizations


Have you ever sat down, closed your eyes and disappeared?

Your body fading as you sink into a different world

a world of fantasy where you understand why you were born

and you are special and your life means something


Have you itched to break free of this mold 

and uncover your true self?

Have you longed for freedom until your insides bleed

and you can barely breathe for longing?

Have you started to walk away and then



The unknown too strong

the bonds too heavy

the burdens too tight

the people too broken

have you tried to fly 

but drowned in excuses?


Have you felt so alone in your desire

So broken in your failure

that you sat down and created

a poem

a story

a song

a painting

a dance

a memory

a joke

a moment


hoping that somehow by airing out your fears

you will grow wings and fly

when in reality it’s just a mirror

that tells you the fairest in the land is waiting

but you’re too afraid to leave.



We dance 

Each step painting 
A mirror 

Two parts of a whole 
Each a hole in the other 

We are a universe 

Being born 
and dying 
And being reborn

Our story is never told
But rather felt 

Our dance is never seen
But felt deep inside 

In silence we dance 
Yin and yang

My Fault


Maybe, maybe it was.

My too big fingers twisting and turning

trying to fix what was not yet broken

and in the process breaking

Shattering the tiny but important pieces

and in my ignorance continuing thinking

that I was getting results

the oil glistening and painting everything

shiny and beautiful and perfect

when in reality it was lubrication for failure

even in the end as I grasped and shoved

pieces here and there trying to make it whole

I realized that it was me that opened the hole

and now it is broken

Broken, and maybe it’s all my fault

for trying to fix something that wasn’t broken

Chapter One-The Nightmare



The room was filled with balloons and the floor was carpeted with bubble wrap. The balloons looked like normal balloons but seemed to bob strangely in the air, as if filled with something. A small child is huddled in the corner of the room, fearfully facing the only exit to the room; a large red door. The door begins slowly begins to open, creaking loudly in the process but ¬†no one but the small boy seems to notice. The door then shuts and the balloons and dancing guests part as an invisible force makes it’s way towards the young boy, the bubble wrap crackling with each step. The small boy whimpers and his lips can be seen mouthing “Stay strong my boy, Stay strong my boy”.

His lips quiver as he keeps muttering the mantra under his breath, eyes fastened fearfully on the advancing force. Then clenching his fist, he resolutely faces the creature as if determined to face whatever challenge comes his way. Suddenly the balloons start exploding violently, spewing puffs of color into the room. POP! POP! POP! Each pop shattering the silence like a shotgun blast. The colored fog that billows from the balloons eats up the air in the room and transforms it into a mystical shadow land, the chairs, tables and people acquiring almost ethereal qualities as they are consumed by the fog.

In the fog that is created, a¬†silhouette¬†can be seen. A blank area where the fog can con penetrate, and it is advancing on the young child who is now standing, fist clenched and face scrunched in concentration. The crowd, oblivious to the action bursts into song “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Kevin…” The happy joyous song striking a sour chord, each burst of merriment underscoring the young child’s advancing death. The irony of a celebration of life on the eve of his death seemed to register on the young child’s mind. He glances fearfully at the incoming ¬†menace and then with a shout charges into the mist hoping to get lost in the crowd and make his escape through the door. He moves faster than he has ever moved before, running as if he has gained wings, but before he can even reach the edge of the crowd the shadow is upon him. He can feel the cold clammy hands gripping his neck and drawing him back as if by sheer force of will. He struggles, his legs pistoning and arms flailing but it’s as if the very air is against him and he is drawn back¬†inexorably to his doom.

His flailing starts to slow and his body begins to grow limp. There seems to be no escape. Then from the resounding silence that had come after the balloon explosion and songs, a voice booms out, filling the room with sound.

“Boy! The whistle, blow the whistle boy! Remember what your father said, when facing death, blow the whistle!!”

The boy, moving as if through thick jello reaches for his chest where the whistle hangs. His hand rests on his heart for a moment and he can feel his heart trying to rips it’s way out of his chest. Grabbing the whistle and struggling to bring it to his lips even as the invisible hand crushes is throat, he blows with all the air left in him. The whistle’s piercing scream fills the air and the room is consumed by it. Time stops and the room is silent it the midst of the sound, each person frozen as they were. Then the aura of death, darkness and confusion is shattered and so is the room and everything else in it.

Still screaming, the echo of the whistle still ringing in his head, Kevin lurches upright, hitting his head on the top bunk. Panicked he looks around, eyes darting from place to place, thoughts running rampart in his head like stampeding buffalo. Where am I? What’s going on? Who…?

The realization hits him as he look around and sees the walls of his room and the scrunched up sheets laying in disarray and his bed that looked as if it was the victim of an aggravated¬†assault. Sweat drips from his face and he rolls over and wipes it on his pillow in disgust and whispers “Why does this keep happening?”