Monday, May 23, 2016

Coffee house home

Again, at home
Away, in a coffee house
Not my own
The sounds
Background noise 
Coffee grinder
Someone's phone
Playing a video
Interrupting the noise
With a foreign sound
Tinny, alien
But in my language
Not understandable
As if in another 
The cup, hot steaming
Sits waiting for my touch
Black, really deep brown
A little bitter
Biting the back of my mouth
And realizing the promise 
That comes with its smell
now and again
The movement of 
My fellow patrons
Ordering, carrying their 
Prizes to their tables
Two men talk of their plans
Two women talk about their work
Refilling their mugs 
And continuing
Caffeine fueled ambition
Coffee scented hope
In this chaos, ordered, 
I am myself. 

Friday, April 8, 2016


God existing where?
In the minds of believers
I do not live there

fried egg

Teflon pan butter
Egg sits and fries lazily
Egg over easy
He asked me
Do you believe in God
I said No
And he said why not
So I
Told him this
That while I had seen many things
To convince me God exists
My daughters face
Seconds after she was born
My son's laugh
When he is watching some
Ridiculous show
My dog's sleeping form
The dogwood in the back yard in full bloom
Pink blossoms glowing in
The Afternoon sun
I had also seen things
To show me his Absence
The wars that continually rage
All over the planet
The hatred people have for
Others who are different
The child dying from a disease
He did nothing to receive
I see people search for
God, mostly to have someone to blame
For their failures and someone to
Credit with their successes
I see people use God to
Condemn others for simply
Loving someone
For trying to live a life
Deserved, a life loved
I see families split
Over nothing
But a misguided belief
In an absent God
No, faith doesn't satisfy me
I cannot simply accept
Because in simply accepting
People found themselves led to
Gas chambers
Or clearings in the South American Jungle
And disappearing
Or simply stopping living
Waiting for the next life
No, I told him.
I don't believe in God.
He said OK
I kinda Get it
And lifted his beer
And drank.

Her Eyes

Jason Murray

So dark
Her eyes
Iris bleeds 
Into the pupil
The first time 
I saw them
Fell deep into 
Those pools
So deep 
I couldn't climb out
Hair floating 
In a halo 
Around her 
Perfect face
How it snares me
Traps me
Takes me in 
And comforts me
In its hold
Her hands
Small, blunted nails
Touching my face
And I drifted off
Asleep on the floor
Late for work
She simply had
To kiss me
And I thrilled
Lifted deep 
In my soul
Captured, trapped
And Oh!
What a wonderful
May I stay in it 

Monday, February 1, 2016

February 1st, 2016

The night is rainy
wet streets and dark
the street lamps strain
to light their small world
and provide the small
sense of security
as people splash in and
out of the puddle of light
left like a stain on the sidewalk
this light
like a moon
suspended above us
sees everything directly below it
it does not see the cat
skulking beneath the car
the dog in the house
silently barking
through the window at the cat
it does not see the lovers argue
while sitting in the car
neither getting out
it is blind
to the pigeon that sleeps
securely on its top
while into its sight
walk friends laughing
at an unheard jokes
lovers who holding hands walk slowly
reveling at their brief
as they move from light to light
protected in their darkness
revealed by the street lamp
left there by city planners
to help everyone feel better, safer, seen, unseen.