My Words

My words are not completely
unique.
If I were to write my reflection
without a mirror
it would probably look a lot
like you,
and I'm fine with that,
as long as I'm not
a famous poet.

A bumper sticker
is just a cop-out.

Circles

I've noticed a lot of negativity
and legalism
in the circles I run in.
It's always,
"Pick up the pace!"
or
"No sharp turns!"

Truism

The old saying,
"Conserve water, drink more beer,"
does not quite hold true.
It should be,
"Conserve water, drink less water
and other water-based products."

$

Sometimes it's the little things in life
that are rewarding;
take, for instance,
little amounts of money.

If laughter was worth it's weight in gold,
it still wouldn't be worth anything.

If weight was worth it's weight in gold,
you could get really fat
and still only get like $300.

If you are rich in money
you will never be poor.

The best things in life are free,
like when you find money on the ground.

The old saying,
"It takes money to make money,"
still rings true;
like when you put vending machine change
in your pocket,
and then forget about it
until you empty out the washing machine
and your quarter is at the bottom,
and that's where they get the sayings,
"Dirty money,"
"Clean as a whistle,"
and "Loose change."

Fatherly Wisdom

Son, pull up a chair.
Listen here,
there's a time in every man's life
when he becomes a man,
and it's different for every man,
but it happens for every man,
because he's a man,
and I wouldn't be calling him a man
if he wasn't a man,
so obviously it happened at some point,
or I'd still be calling him a boy;
anyway, I think it may have already happened for you.

My father once told me something before he died
that I'll never forget,
he said, "Son, your mind is like a seed,
and there's water, and wind, and..."
That's it, I'll never forget it
because I can't believe he forgot the rest.
Actually, he said that a long time before he died.

So, I'll just finish before I lose this train of thought,
I just want to inspire you,
okay?

Till Death I Will Part

I carve my gravestone
with my own two hands.
The words penetrate slowly,
grinding deeper
with every poem,
every photograph,
every story.

I can read my epitaph
through your eyes.
I can hear my eulogy
in our growing tales.

When thunderclouds retreat over the mountains,
part of my soul follows.
When smoke rings fade with conversation,
part of my voice lingers.
When the sawdust settles,
part of my reflection remains.

I spread my ashes now
so when Death calls
there will be nothing left to take.