For Tashi (poem, anecdote)

I remember when you were just a pup

skipping, scampering, and falling in circles.

Smelling every smell you could smell,

and harrassing your uncle Freckles.

You ran toward and from waves,

when we took you to the ocean.

Your bark was super annoying,

anytime a door would open.

Remember when you wouldn't let me pet you?

Then Charlie showed me how to rub your tummy.

Which made you leg-shaking butter in my arms.

You flopped over me like gumby.

Your skin was always so itchy,

no one really knows why.

I'm crying as I scratch your neck.

It'll be the last thing we do before you die.

These tears are bittersweet.

You've lived a wonderful life.

I want your groans and pain to end.

7 Gifts (poem)

The first of which is a robotic harp.
I cannot sing to you while I'm away.
Perhaps its melodies will sooth your heart.
And at your leisure, serenade your day.

The next will be a special flower.
Named for you, a synthesized seed.
I'll plant a new one ever hour.
Conceive the scent of a beautiful breed.

I'll capture lightning in a glass.
An electric blue necklace spinning round.
It will keep you vibrant as a lass.
Its charge elates with steps near ground.

I'll burrow into the core of the earth.
And contain perpetual lava in a ring.
You'll understand the device's worth.
When you choose the amount of heat it brings.

With all that up-heaved stone,
I'll build a stairway to the stars.
And among many a home.
Will build a statue of you on Mars.

And finally, on the moon,
I'll build a a gateway to heaven.
And on a cloudy dune,
you'll receive your final gift of seven.

Dancing, smiling, playing, flying.
I'll look into eyes of ecstasy and glee.
After all my toils and trying.
My final gift to you: is me.

Gravity (poem)

A star and a black hole

orbit eachother. Yin-yang.

They are drawn and pulled

so close. So close. Big bang.

Outer Spaces (poem)

Dreams exist in countless places, like rolling oceans with cloudy faces. Morphing mists where outer space is.

You'll never force entry with power like that of a motor or meditation, but you might access staring at a flower while sitting on a quiet sailboat lost in imagination. The sun reflects perfectly at dusk and dawn. When the day ends though, the light isn't gone. When the wind's at your back, the gusting music stops. It's like you're not moving. But when the sun falls you blink at your sun flower, and confound at wonders and mystical power! The air is... water? The sun rebounded. You don't feel like you're moving, but you don't feel like you're grounded.

The yellow hue is drawing you near, knowledge and pain fall with your fear. Rippling above is restrictive gravity. The earth is so small, a greenish blue ball, self-righteous in importance, relevance, taxation, impedance.

But, like, suit yourself earth. I enjoy my self-worth. ...Maybe I'll visit when I'm feeling down and want gravity to pull me around.

So, I think I'll fly over here. See how Oz is doing. Or hit up Aslan and see what Narnia's brewing. Although, I heard Bilbo's got some baller smoking leaf, so we'll play board games with Gandalf while Frodo makes tea.

There are plenty of places I'll visit, but not dwell, like Dante's inferno and silly Winterfell. Granted, the good, the bad, and the ugly are interesting, but, they're artifacts pre-made by other's sintering. Goblins and ghouls haunted me plenty as a child, and I'd wish them well to keep running wild.

I'll make discoveries as I create them, day lit dreams of fantasy mayhem.

Do you think I'm looking for a meaning or point to this story? Why would I ruin such glory? I feel words like wind in my hair, and capture their essence in verse. So maybe with all these words you hear, you'll see you're a star in a vast multiverse.

Thimble Island Brewery (poem, anecdote)

Cozy in the winter.

Chill in the spring.

I can't wait for,

what other seasons will bring.

A trip to Thimble Island:

kegs, cups, growlers, glasses.

All served by Danielle,

and other smiling lasses.

India, American, amber, ghost and brown.

Try any ale or the coffee stout.

Flavors: tangy, earthy, rich and or light

Come see what all the fuss is about!

Want ice cream in your beer.

That wasn't a question.

Because a splash of vanilla,

will enrich your selection.

Take the tour an learn the story

of malted barley, hops, and yeast.

Then you'll agree with me,

they're the best in the east.

Check out the sci-fi

among artful comics here.

Have some conversation

while enjoying your beer.

Tikkaway (poem)

A lantern's light
glows effervescent.
And what's bright
holds luminescence.

Eat at Tikkaway
fresh, crispy, saucy.
Take it that way
with a mango lassi.

Food is energy,
just like light.
With that synergy,
taste the sight.

Whimsical Dream (poem)

Candy and luck.
Rainbows chase unicorns.
A silver horned buck.
Performers' gold leaf uniforms.

Scotland streams of orange soda.
Bagpipes blowing purple bubbles.
Video games neva game ova.
No one ever gets in trouble.

Beds are made of cloudy air.
Sleep only for meditation.
Dance alone or in pair.
Gliding by constellations.

Make a star.
What ever you think.
Go on, go far.
Blink blink blink.

Beauty (poem)

Capture a butterfly in the palm of your hand.
Set it free
and
hope it will land.

Track the wolf on the mountain.
Cry as it howls at the moon.
And when your tears well up,
attempt your business
without showing gloom.

Capture light with smoke and mirrors.
And clown around with magic tricks.
You only know of one sorcery:
beating hearts may never trip.

Permanence (poem)

To assign the idea of "always".

Or an abstraction of "never".

Would never be too wise.

Nothing lasts forever.

What is your perception of permanence?

Is there perfection in prescience?

No such thing as infinity.

No such thing as zero.

What then is divinity?

Who then is: the hero?

My advice is to let it go.

Admit your faults to let you grow.

I celebrate imperfections,

and conduct real connections.

Can we please get over this fright?

And grasp what's in plain sight?

Shaina's Ham (poem, anecdote)

Moist, succulent, dripping, and hot.

The roast basted and bubbling.

Ham sizzled open on the pot.

Salivating mouth droplets doubling.

Pink chunks fell from the knife, 

a spoon could have served just as well...

Never had I been so eager in my life

to taste what I now retell:

Salty, tangy, crunchy, munchy.

It's texture was of a sponge lost in heaven, I had one piece, I also had seven.

Winter's End (poem)

Brisk breeze eases,
"Which leaves are left?"
Withered White wheezes,
"My life light 'til the death!"

Woodpeckers smack their faces.
Squirrels start hopping around.
Excitement melts in all places.
As the snow seeps into the ground.

The canopied carpet is wilting away.
And flowers are popping purple heads.
Life rejuvenated on a warm day.
Soon White leaves to beds.

Their story is traceable knowledge.
Soon to pass to the sprouts.
Even when education toward college...
will still be seeded with doubts.

Continuation is something on which we rely,
and we never truly know why.
We can take comfort in trying,
because recursion re-springs despite dying.