I am from - Poetic team building activity

I am from stealing warm gooey chocolate chip cookies,

While dodging, wooden spoon, wielded by callused hand grandma.

She never complained.

buried her husband,

buried her second husband,

buried her child,

buried her second child,

In a country that was not the place of her birth.   

Soul power skips a generation.

We dress our wounds daily.

We work as an expression of love.

We pray as a way of breathing.

I am from hand-me -downs, fixer-uppers, Home cook'n and Hard work'n.

I am from love, opportunity, camping, sports, piano lessons, choir singing, 

teachers that pushed me learn, parents who used both tough and soft love. 

Where I am from, gives context to who I choose to become. 

- Journal circa 2011 

little collection of funny poems

trouble getting up

Buzy, buzy, buzzing brain,

one might think myself insane.

I and me are hosting tea,

while future fights with memory.

It is just us so quiet down,

we have no time to laze around.

Reconciliation

I confess my confessions remain 

the same.  

In my heart and in my brain, 

nothing has changed.

My Philosophy does not save me.  

My faith does not endure. 

I give you this lord Jesus, 

I'm looking for a cure. 

Icelandic Reflections

Brits seem as out of place as Americans, 

in countries with softer languages.

I think I will bring home,

rocks and sweaters.

Short Story

Frustrated and overwhelmed, lost in thought circles, over eating, smoking, depressed and hopeless, I set out to climb the great mountain. The trail is steep, rocky, with dangerous precipices and loose footings. I drag my beaten body on with the hope that at the pinnacle I will find the holy guru. Far past many breaking points I finally reach the summit and take the last steps toward the hut of Saint Theresa Mohamed Gandhi King Jr.  

As my fist raises to knock on the door, it opens and still seated the guru asks, "Vat is your question?" I say, " What the fuck should I do with my life?" After a medium length meditative pause the guru responds, "How the fuck should I know?"  I immediately react by throwing my hands in the air and say, "You can't answer my question with a question, jerk!"  The guru just sighs and says, "Write to Dear Abby." Then after a pregnant pause says, "If that doesn't work, quit your job, have lots of sex, and take yourself out to dinner." Then more silence.

I breath in the pure mountain air and sip from my Evian bottle. The guru's eyes half close and she or maybe he (it is hard to tell) whispers...Go out and get really fucking drunk then while nursing your hangover write some new years resolutions.  I feel an anger rising inside me and I yell, " You are a god damn shame, a phony, a reclusive windbag!" The guru smiles and says, " I am a mirror. " Then disappears. The hut also vanishes and I am left looking out over a vast mountain range.  The sun is setting, painting colors across the landscape. 

-from a journal circa 2010 

Small collection of old poetry from an old journal

Reflection in Shackles 

Only self conscious in transition

While breaking tradition

Never thinking while in submission to a state

 of mind, 

of body, 

of time,

Far from sublime 

A waste of your line

Unfathomably blind

Lines I like from poems I don't

Not a priest minister monk of my fantasy

But a busted child in a man's body

Smelly birthday suit

Does skin look the same from the inside?

Spare parts to devices unknown

This shape must be useful

3 Death Poems 

1.

Beloved,

silent song,

won't be long,

Will I have fair for the boat?

two cents to put in,
will it all end...then begin?

Will I have a bone for Cerberus?

Or will I sacrifice a bone of my own? 

both joy and pain end,

rest in peace

2. 

How does it all go down?

With thunder, lightning, flood, fire and Crash!

...or during my lunch break , while I pick spinach from my teeth.

How does it all go down?

With love, fireworks, and happy endings

...or while sit waiting for the bus, pondering my finances.

How does it all go down?

At the end,

 when my work in done,

my pride is earned,

and everything is in place.

...or on a Wednesday after I've gone to bed,

 worried about tomorrow,

still mad at you.

It goes down every day.

I just don't see it,

most of the time.

3.

Waiting for checks,

to pay bills,

Bills check me.

Broke down budget.

Waiting comfortably.

Surrounded by rushed, 

tapping foot, 

shaky hand,

weight shifting nervous people.

Police lights outside say, "Emergency!"

my over caffeinated belly, but...calm,

Almost got hit by a car yesterday. 

Two haiku

Rain, Grey, Green, Cold, Wet

I don't want to go to work

warm feet, got to pee

You know bus don't go

You are mad, I'm not upset

Each day we are get'n there

excepts

No one knows what is good,

No one knows what is right,

I want to be no one.

Who will be the old man with the smile and the squinty eyes?

What do we loose by making everyone in our society into a business person?

Drifting day, loved, lost, loose

Beer in plastic glass tasty and cold

Wish you were here for the indescribable moments that are 

perfect, 

sad, 

euphoric, 

cool, 

whatever,

you weren't there and 

now I'm tired.

Strength, Power, and Courage 

are not a costume, a fashion, a look 

my actions ripple in both directions on the timeline,

my will is a pebble tossed in a placid pond,

dark thick fingers close on my world.

I am solid but bouncing within

breath...unfocus...silence

Swim without disturbing the surface,

Shift the level through displacement.