Porcelain Thoughts

I sit here

on the toilet

the porcelain throne

wondering,

how many seconds

minutes

hours

days

have I spent

doing just this,

sitting

contemplating

wondering

what to write

having brilliant

and I do mean,

brilliant ideas

only to watch them

flush down the drain,

some folks get anal

(you see what I did there)

others get concerned

the color

shape

even smell,

becomes important

like ideas

that I have

their color

shape and yes, smell

and I think of time wasted

just sitting here

not doing

not writing

just defecating

pushing out the toxins

and then it hits me,

writing poetry

my brains way

of pushing out the toxins

that pollute my thoughts

and so here I sit

writing this poem.

I’m a Bouncer

I’m a bouncer,

not that kind of bouncer,

the muscular, no necks

who stand watch

over the dimly lit nightclub

watching designer dressed people

sipping their specialty cocktails

while the jazz band plays

eyeing one another,

seeking that one time love

that really isn’t love

but a need to feel something

even if only for a moment.

I’m a bouncer between words

seeking the right combo

playing all the wrong notes

with no rhythm or blues.

Needing to feel something

in the poetry of my life

if only for a moment.

I bounce because I’m scared 

of what might happen

of where the words will take me.

I used to bounce on an old sofa

in the basement of our house

listening to the A-sides of 45’s

on an old Sears and Roebuck

record player I got for Christmas

and there, with music playing

I would bounce and imagine

what some call daydreaming,

of adventures beyond my walls

being the hero who gets the girl

the one who saves the world.

Now here I sit, imagining still

daydreaming away, some say,

as these words flow out.

Nothing is perfect

nothing is easy

so I continue to be just that,

a bouncer needing to feel

if only for a moment.

Priestly Prose

As a Priest I straddle between two worlds, spiritual and material worlds, trying to preach a message two-thousand years old in a time of anxiety, where anything said or done is subject to being thrown back in your face. Don’t be too political, that’s not your place and don’t tell me to live by a message of love and grace, it cramps my style. No, just give them puppies and kittens, rainbows and unicorns, a few jokes during the sermon to make them smile, then demurely sip tea at the afternoon ladies gathering. After all I follow a homeless man, an itinerant Rabbi, carpenter by trade, who tells us to turn our cheeks, to give up everything, to carry our cross and to love even the unloveable, and that is called the Good News. 

No Poetry Today

I should have wrote a poem today

I did start on a couple of thoughts

but I didn’t get very far with them

my mind was just not ready to work

to try and find those perfect words

that would make it all a poem

one of those clever poems 

that speak to the human condition

and can change the hearts of many

but today, I’m just not there

the words are like roaches

that scatter when the light is shed.

So, I didn’t write a poem today

I sat, I read, I jotted notes

but no poetry was written today.

Sharks

Underneath the calm

sharks gather, waiting

in the deep, silent

they sense weakness.

The smell of blood

guides them to their prey.

The sea bubbles

their sense of peace

shattered in a moment

watching helplessly

while the predators 

tear apart the helpless.

As they watch

her heart sinks

knowing the sharks

that have come up

from the dark depths

to ravage her own soul.

The calm a ruse

as their teeth tear 

the delicate flesh

that was once her heart