Shortly after college, I began writing poetry in an effort to make better sense of random thoughts, puzzling experiences, and internal dialogue. Inspiration is very sporadic, and the poems I’ve written are few and far between.
Poem 64
— COMING SOON —
Poem 63
(May 5, 2024)
I’ve been wanting to see the revival of Little Shop of Horrors ever since it opened in 2019. When I finally made it, I sat in the second row and such close proximity to the cast is something I’ve never experienced. Corbin Bleu and Jinkx Monsoon knocked it out of the park in the lead roles of Seymour and Audrey. I’m still riding a high from my visit and can’t wait to head back. I 💖 NY!
Feed Me
Inspired by the incredible cast of Off-Broadway’s Little Shop of Horrors
I’ve heard it said
Two days stand out
As most important
Days gone by.
The first being
The day we’re born,
And second, the day
We learn why.
I haven’t learned
For sure, just yet,
Why I was born
Onto this Earth.
But I know trapped
Inside of me
Are talents that give
My life worth.
A recent visit
To New York
Quite helped me fill
My fuel gauge.
My spirit soaked in
Nourishment
From magic that
Occurred on stage.
The actors bared
Their souls to all,
Leaving their hearts
On full display.
Their noble act
Renewed in me
My wish to live
My dreams each day.
Poem 62
(February 23, 2024)
Several years ago, I dressed up as Cousin Eddie for my annual holiday card and wrote a poem titled, “Ode to Poo.” It was widely regarded as my best holiday poem ever. Today I decided to write a little poem about poo’s predecessor, farts. Unlike boogers, I don’t have a love/hate relationship with farts. I just hate them.
Farts
Inspired by flatulence
They’re sneaky little devils,
‘Cause they’re only made of air.
They live for fleeting moments,
Caught within our underwear.
Sometimes they’re released willingly,
But other times they’re not.
And when it’s unexpectedly,
We hope we won’t get caught.
They could arrive in silence,
Or a thunderous uproar.
The biggest question though,
Is what smell will they have in store?
The silent can be deadly,
But the loud ones might be too.
We simply do not know,
And there is nothing we can do.
Though he who smelt it dealt it,
There are those who shift the blame.
They claim another farted,
But the lies they tell are lame.
Let’s proudly own our flatulence.
Calm down, and get a grip.
Just lift your leg in public,
And then really let one rip!
But let’s be careful out there.
When you’re squeezing out that fart,
Be sure you don’t push too hard,
Or you’ll wind up with a shart. 😊 💩
Poem 61
(February 23, 2024)
Here’s an amusing little poem about boogers. I have a love/hate relationship with boogers. I love to hate them. I try to pick less than I used to and opt instead to blow, thereby lessening the possibility of creating a bloody nose. Do you flick or swallow? Ha, ha, ha. Boogers are funny. Have you heard this one? When you’re kissin’ with your honey and your nose is kinda runny, you think it’s pretty funny, but it’s SNOT. 😊
Boogers
Inspired by snot
They’ve always been a part of us.
They’re with us day and night.
But they’re not always top of mind
When they stay out of sight.
However, when they irritate,
They make their presence known,
But we can’t try to excavate
Until we are alone.
So when we find a moment’s peace,
And know the coast is clear,
We stick our finger in until
The knuckle disappears.
And when we pull it out we’ll look
To see if we struck gold.
If not, we’ll send it back inside
Before the trail grows cold.
And we’ll repeat this exercise
Until the job is done.
Retreating from our nostril when
The prize we sought is won.
If it’s too wet and gooey,
We will roll it in a ball
Between our thumb and forefinger,
And then we’ll make the call.
Should we flick it into the air
And call it game, set, match,
Or should we simply open wide,
And toss it down the hatch?
Poem 60
(February 21, 2024)
This marks my 60th poem. Once again it centers on the depressing topic of that wide gap between what I feel I SHOULD BE doing vs. what I AM doing, a topic that’s becoming a broken record for me.
Shame
Inspired by giving in to bad habits and not doing enough to improve my situation
Although I do know better
I just roll over and cave
Each time I find temptation
In seductions that I crave.
Instead of choosing wisely,
I choose poorly every time.
Descending to this valley
Out of which I must now climb.
It’s less work, in the moment,
To give in to what I want.
No struggle to deprive me
Of the prize the moment brought.
So I ignore my conscience,
And I give in to the urge,
Then drown in shameful thoughts
From which I struggle to emerge.
I curse myself for failing,
And berate myself with shame.
There’s nowhere else to place it.
At my feet, I lay the blame.
But that leads to inaction
As I wallow in self-guilt,
Instead of starting work on what
I’d like to get rebuilt.
I can’t change what’s behind me,
Only what lies up ahead.
So it’s time that I take the reigns,
And put my shame to bed.
Poem 59
(December 2, 2023)
Once again I’m reflecting on those things I feel like I should be doing with my time, if only I had the drive to do so. If I can change a few of my daily habits from bad habits to good habits, I’d make it easier for myself to make some necessary changes and get back on track.
Doing a 180
Inspired by my desire to completely turn around and move in the opposite direction and by Henry David Thoreau’s famous quote from Walden… “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” – Henry David Thoreau
I know the steps that I can take
To right the ship and turn around.
Instead, I change nothing at all,
And walk the path on which I’m bound.
My current path does not lead to
The life I know I want to live.
Yet I continue walking it,
An act I find hard to forgive.
I know there lies inside of me
The strength to live the life I dream,
But I have yet to tap that strength.
Inaction has become life’s theme.
Don’t get me wrong, this life of mine
Is blessed in each and every way.
There’s simply more inside of me
Than what I’ve managed to display.
So, I return here, yet again.
I walk this path I know too well,
Bemoaning my incompetence
That traps me in this private hell.
In Walden, Thoreau said it best.
Most people live more quietly
Than they would if they had the strength
To bare their soul entirely.
I do not want to leave this earth
And have my song still trapped inside.
I want to turn my life around
And sing with my heart opened wide.
Poem 58
(November 12, 2023)
A friend of mine lost her dad recently. Other friends lost their mom not long ago. I lost my dad almost three years ago. I know that comes with getting older. It inspired a short poem.
Elders
Inspired by the gradual loss of our elders
It comes with aging
Heaven knows.
We’re left behind.
That’s how it goes.
The voices that
Once led the way
Slowly depart.
They cannot stay.
So one by one,
We say goodbye
As those we love
Earn wings and fly.
Though they departed
From our view
Their spirit lives
In those they knew.
While we prefer
To have them stay
Life simply doesn’t
Work that way.
Looking ahead
My biggest fear
Is how I’ll cope
Without them here.
It’s up to us,
Those still on Earth
To recount stories
Of their worth.
We’ll teach the lessons
They taught us.
No better subject
To discuss.
Then as they take
Their final bow,
We’ll step in as
The elders now.
Poem 57
(October 28, 2023)
In the early 2000s, the northwest corner spot of Union Station’s real estate housed a 70s-themed dance club by the name of the Have a Nice Day Café. I’m a fan of 70s tunes. So I decided to check it out with a few friends of mine. I thought it might make for a fun place to spend a relaxing Saturday evening. I was wrong. Have a Nice Day Café was a complete meat market. The 20-somethings on the dance floor couldn’t keep their sweaty hands off one another. Instead of 70s tunes, a techno dance beat pulsated relentlessly through the speakers. It sucked ass. It was my one and only visit. I thought of writing a little poem about it many years ago but never did. All these years later, I finally finished that poem.
Meat
Inspired by Have a Nice Day Café’s Meat Market
It seemed like a fun evening
To be spent on the dance floor,
But I did not envision
The debauchery in store.
The atmosphere was playful
With its cute 70s vibe.
That bright, shiny exterior
Concealed the truth inside.
The music there to greet us
Was not disco, funk, or soul.
A techno beat boomed loudly,
Pulsing quite out of control.
While squirming on the dance floor
Was a writhing, sweaty mob.
Warm bodies fully intertwined
In an amorphous blob.
Hands groping over bare skin
And eyes glaring at each curve,
Displaying wanton lustfulness,
They hailed each carnal urge.
I wanted no part of it.
The meat market on display
Quite nearly turned my stomach,
So I had to look away.
I then stood at a distance
As I watched the night unfold.
I won’t join such vulgarity.
I’ve simply grown too old.
The revelers kept pawing
As they moved across the floor.
Unhappily, I sighed and shrugged,
Then I walked out the door.
Poem 56
(October 21, 2023)
I struggle to live openly, reach my full potential, and express myself freely. I’m afraid to do so because I’m not sure how I’ll be received by everyone. I give in to my fear and shame, quietly go about my business, and weave my thoughts, with their common themes, into rhymes, which for whatever reason, make them easier to communicate.
Muzzled
Inspired by my struggle to communicate openly as myself
I don’t know why,
For 20 years,
My voice was muzzled
By my fears.
I could have lived
Out loud and strong.
I could have done that
All along.
Instead, I chose
To live more meek.
I squelched my voice
And did not speak.
My spirit tried
To seize the day,
But doubt and shame
Got in the way.
I gave into
The fear that you
Might not accept me
If you knew.
But I’ve grown tired
Of the game,
And cannot shoulder
All that shame.
My life’s become
A shadow of
The one envisioned
From above.
So I will muzzle
It no more.
From here on out,
My voice will soar.
Poem 55
(October 11, 2023)
October 11 is National Coming Out Day, and October is LGBTQ+ History Month. I’m queer (the LGBTQ+ community took the word back), or more specifically, gay. I didn’t ask to be gay. I didn’t choose to be gay any more than you chose to be straight. The choice was made for us. I was born gay, and that identity doesn’t diminish my humanity or my worthiness in God’s eyes. While it brings no harm to others, they fear and hate me because of it. I see and hear frequent examples of that fear and hatred, as I have all my life, and it hurts me.
Scapegoats
Inspired by 29 anti-LGBTQ bills in the Iowa legislature & 432 anti-trans bills nationwide
I won’t cause you any harm,
Simply by the way I live.
Many though, condemn my life
As a sin you can’t forgive.
I wish you would take a breath,
Clear your mind, and look within.
Should an honest act of love
Truly be considered sin?
We are not that far apart.
We both want a happy life.
Happiness for me just comes
With a husband, not a wife.
There are those who profit from
Spreading fear and sowing hate
So that they can make the rules
After each election date.
They do not care that I’m gay
Or that my neighbor is trans.
They just stoke your fear of us
‘Cause it feeds into their plans.
We’re pushed to opposing sides
Of their line drawn in the sand
So we will not reach across
To shake one another’s hand.
Their goal is to separate.
They divide us into teams,
Branding us as enemies
Who cannot share common dreams.
If you’re pitted against me,
And I’m told I must hate you,
We will fight amongst ourselves,
Just as they would like us to.
Those desperate to stay in power
Want us at each other’s throats.
They use me and my queer friends
As their demonized scapegoats.
I was born into the world
As a queer man, that is true.
But I’m not your enemy.
I harbor no hate for you.
We can meet on common ground
Where our values overlap,
Then we’ll vote the con men out,
Putting an end to their crap.
Poem 54
(October 1, 2023)
I often hold myself back in an attempt to blend in with my surroundings. I don’t want to live out loud too much and call any attention to myself. I worry too much about what everyone will think if I live more openly. Suppressing parts of myself to appease others and fit a certain mold is a disservice to me and to them. It’s particularly hurtful to my closest loved ones from whom I’m concealing the full me. It’s also hurtful to those who might see themselves in me and benefit from me living a completely open and transparent life. I’ll have to see if I can do a better job at that.
Dance
Inspired by the battle to dance like nobody’s watching and the fight with myself to be me
I walk along a razor’s edge
To balance and avoid a fall.
Can I live fully as myself?
Or will that risk losing them all?
I’ve gradually unveiled myself
To loved ones whom I hold most dear.
I came out time and time again
To let them know that I am queer.
But I live quite a reserved life.
I make no waves to rock the boat.
I am vanilla through and through,
And that keeps everything afloat.
I’m censoring parts of myself,
To smooth things out and get along.
The older that I get, it feels
That my approach has been all wrong.
I’d like to live out loud for once,
With no regrets for who I am.
I have no practice at that yet,
And I’m not quite sure that I can.
For those who’ve known me all my life,
Would they notice the way I change?
Would parts I’ve censored until now,
Once they’re revealed, appear too strange?
My heart and soul remain the same.
I’m still the man I’ve always been.
But in me, stirs this new command
To live the truth beneath my skin.
So I will do the best I can
To find the strength and take a chance.
I’ll follow where my heart leads now,
Accepting its invite to dance.
Poem 53
(September 24, 2023)
For a variety of reasons, mostly due to my extreme lack of confidence and overly abusive inner monologue, I haven’t lived up to my full potential for a very long time. I’d like to change that, if I can. I may as well give it a try. I have a song to sing.
Sing
Inspired by Christine Ebersole in song and my effort to find my own singing voice
“When we love, time stands still, and we can glimpse eternity” – Christine Ebersole
There’s music trapped inside of me –
A song I’m meant to sing.
But years of doubt prevented it
From ever taking wing.
I’ve told myself it’s no big deal.
Who wants to hear MY song?
But now, an older, wiser me
Can see that I was wrong.
Those melodies that speak to us
Particularly well
Inspire us to break free from
The jail in which we dwell.
At one time, I was fortunate
To know such gift of song.
The brilliant Christine Ebersole
Possessed it all along.
She shared her gift with those who were
Much privileged to attend.
Her song rose wholly from her soul
And revealed God within.
The music trapped inside of me
Can be delivered yet.
If I call out the obstacle,
I’ll neutralize its threat.
It wasn’t simply fear or doubt
That kept my song at bay.
A hateful inner dialog
Had drained my soul away.
I can’t resolve its origin,
But know its voice by heart.
It judges me unworthy of
Each dream I try to start.
So I deemed it quite hopeless to
Pursue a single dream.
They all were doomed to failure and
Could not come true, it seemed.
But all hope is not lost on me.
My spirit’s flowing back.
I’ll voice the song I’m meant to sing
And get things back on track.
Poem 52
(September 21, 2023)
Since its release, I watched the movie Red, White & Royal Blue well over 100 times. I expected to like it, but not nearly this much. I forget how much representation really matters until I experience it firsthand. When Love, Simon was released years ago, I saw it in the theater six or seven times. I remember seeing an older gay couple in the audience and wondered why they’d be at a young adult rom-com. I quickly realized it’s because they didn’t have the opportunity to see themselves represented on the big screen when they were young adults themselves. Matthew Lopez, Taylor Zakhar Perez, and Nicholas Galitzine, gave us a great gift when they created this film, and it’s a gift for us all, not just the LGBTQ+ community.
Represent
Inspired by the soulful work of Nicholas Galitzine, Taylor Zakhar Perez, Matthew Lopez, and the entire cast and crew of Red, White & Royal Blue
It’s often way too easy
To assume we are alone,
And no one knows the heartache
We feel deep within in our bones.
While logic may assure us
That our fear’s simply untrue,
In solitary moments,
I see only me, not you.
I’m utterly convinced
I walk alone upon this path.
So maybe they were right –
My sin resulted in God’s wrath.
But then I see a story
That turns my tale on its head –
A story about love,
And I see me within its thread.
A real-life fairytale about
A boy meeting his prince,
Depicted honestly,
From which the camera doesn’t wince.
I see the prince is weary
Of the judgement and the shame
Heaped onto him by others.
I admit, I feel the same.
It’s rare to find my story
Represented on the screen.
For as a general rule,
Lives like mine have gone unseen.
So when such a portrayal
Told in such a brilliant way
Is broadcast to the masses,
There is nothing left to say.
I need representation.
I’m as valid as are you.
To those who tell our story,
I am so grateful. Thank you!
Poem 51
(September 16, 2023)
Lately, it feels like folks are passing away at a greater frequency than they did in the past. However, I’m guessing that may simply be because I’ve become more aware of it as I grow older and hit middle age.
The Hug
Inspired by Janet (and the warm hug she gave me after our dog, Queenie died)
The losses keep on coming,
And I guess that comes with age.
With far too much consistency,
Dear souls exit the stage.
It happened yet again today,
Another friend is gone.
We had too little warning,
And sweet Janet has moved on.
A fixture in my childhood,
I knew her all my life.
So this one packs a bigger punch,
And it cuts like a knife.
A life-long friend to Mom and Dad,
A classmate and a peer.
A neighbor just across the street
Who we held very dear.
We joined her on vacations,
And played ball in her backyard.
We fought our bottle rocket wars,
While she and Mom stood guard.
Of all the memories I have,
There’s one that stands apart.
It’s testimony to the love
Contained in Janet’s heart.
Our family dog, Queenie, was killed
One random summer day.
A gas truck ran her over
While we kids were out at play.
I hid myself beside the house,
And sobbed there, all alone.
Then Janet walked out our back door
To make her way back home.
She walked straight over to me,
And she wrapped me warm and tight.
Here hug helped heal my broken heart,
And made things seem all right.
Poem 50
(July 2, 2023)
I habitually focus on the negative, instead of the positive, in the endless 24-hour news cycle we live in today. In the moment, it leads to continuous thoughts of doom and gloom spiraling out of control. Ultimately, it leads to hopelessness and inaction. While unbridled hopefulness may be a natural byproduct of youth, it’s not the exclusive property of the young. If they’re so hopeful about the future, I should be hopeful too. There’s more to be hopeful about than most of us realize. Hateful just seems to get better press.
Focus
Inspired by the hate, and hope, in the world
I face the wrong direction.
Although my eyes gaze ahead,
I’m looking toward a future
That I’ve filled with fear and dread.
I do not look behind me
To regret the choices made,
But when I’m looking forward
What I see makes me afraid.
It isn’t a bright picture
Filled with sunshine and blue skies.
Instead, a world of chaos
Now appears before my eyes.
I give in to temptation,
And I buy into the fear
Our media is selling
Every day throughout the year.
But that’s not the full picture.
There is much hope to be found.
It may not garner headlines,
Yet it’s present all around.
An army of brave people
Can be seen guiding the way.
They’re leading by example,
Living honestly each day.
They do not hide their spirit,
But live openly, with pride.
They’ve proven, beyond measure,
Their lives cannot be denied.
Despite the work before us,
And the state the world’s in,
I’ll focus on these heroes,
And know hope, not hate, will win.
Poem 49
(March 11, 2023)
I quite enjoy all the Irish blessings that have been written over the years. While reflecting on some of those, I decided to write a little poem inspired by Irish blessings, and by the many blessings I’ve enjoyed over the years. Erin go Bragh! Happy St. Paddy’s Day!
Lucky
Inspired by Irish blessings
May you feel
The brilliance of
A parent’s beaming pride,
Comforted
To know that they
Are always on your side.
May you know
The embrace of
A family’s loving hold,
Guiding and
Protecting you
Until you’re very old.
May you seek
The counsel of
Those friends you hold most dear,
Offering
You wisdom when
Your path becomes unclear.
May you have
The refuge of
A roof over your head,
Which includes
A table that
Contains your daily bread.
I have known
Such blessings in
My life over the years.
I’m lucky
Beyond measure.
I weep with grateful tears.
Poem 48
(March 9, 2023)
I’m the luckiest uncle in the world. My three nieces and my nephew are each perfect in their own, unique way, so I wrote a little poem inspired by and dedicated to each of them. Here’s my poem about Sophia.
Phia
Inspired by Sophia
A smarty pants
Who loves to cheer,
Which she does 12
Months of the year.
A bookworm from
The very start,
Explaining where
She gets her smarts.
She loves all creatures
Big and small –
Cute, furry ones,
The most of all.
Her interests vary
Far and wide,
Exploring life
From every side.
A teacher to
The younger set,
She sets the best
Example yet.
Sophia is,
Quite honestly,
The best there is.
Take it from me.
Poem 47
(March 9, 2023)
I’m the luckiest uncle in the world. My three nieces and my nephew are each perfect in their own, unique way, so I wrote a little poem inspired by and dedicated to each of them. Here’s my poem about Reegan.
Reegs
Inspired by Reegan
A real sweetheart
Who loves to climb.
A favorite way
To spend her time.
A big sister
Who serves as guide,
Is always on
Her brother’s side.
Her hugs will not
Squeeze you too tight,
‘Cause she prefers
Them extra light.
Full of politeness
Through and through,
She never misses
A thank you.
She has it all.
Not one thing lacks.
We love her to
The moon and back.
The luckiest
Of folks are we,
‘Cause Reegan’s in
Our family.
Poem 46
(March 9, 2023)
I’m the luckiest uncle in the world. My three nieces and my nephew are each perfect in their own, unique way, so I wrote a little poem inspired by and dedicated to each of them. Here’s my poem about Lauren.
Lou Lou
Inspired by Lauren
A gentle soul
Who loves to dance.
You’ll see her talent
At first glance.
A bundle of
Pure energy.
Can she sit still?
No, why would she?
The brightest smile
You’ve ever seen.
She should be on
A movie screen.
Our lives seemed fine
Before she came,
But actually,
Were rather lame.
She adds a spark
None other could.
So now our lives
Are extra good.
We’re lucky to
Have Lauren here,
And we hold her
So very dear.
Poem 45
(March 9, 2023)
I’m the luckiest uncle in the world. My three nieces and my nephew are each perfect in their own, unique way, so I wrote a little poem inspired by and dedicated to each of them. Here’s my poem about Quinn.
Quinn Willie
Inspired by Quinn
A soccer star
Who loves to sing.
Throughout the house,
His song will ring.
A tender heart
With love for all
That lifts you up
When you feel small.
Two arms to wrap
You in a hug,
And hold you tight;
All warm and snug.
The sweetest soul
You’ll ever meet.
Though others try,
They aren’t as sweet.
A joyful laugh
That brings a smile,
‘Cause joyfulness
Is just his style.
We surely hit
The jackpot when
Into our lives
Came charming Quinn.
Poem 44
(March 3, 2023)
Mom just celebrated her 80th birthday. We lost Dad at the end of 2020, and it’s been lonely without him, but Mom’s strength is unparalleled. She makes it very easy for me and my brothers to carry on, because the example she sets is so admirable. I talk with her every day, and she never misses the opportunity to tell me just how much she loves me. That means everything.
Mom
Inspired by and dedicated to Joanne Bride
Mom may not know the impact
She and Dad had on their sons,
But their example taught us
In ways none others have done.
She’s there for every moment,
Whether it be big or small,
And when we may need guidance,
She is there each time we call.
As youngsters, we could witness
The devotion on display
When she walked out the door
To live her purpose every day.
For nursing is her calling,
And she met the call with pride.
Her patients were quite lucky
To have our mom on their side.
A passion to make music
Also dwells within her heart.
Her prowess on accordion
Really sets her apart.
Mom dearly loves her family.
She opens her heart wide,
And for her grandkids, she displays
A special sense of pride.
Her faith in us is constant,
And it’s comforting to know,
On days we need encouragement,
We realize where to go.
Of all moms we could wish for,
She’s the best of every one,
And nothing makes me prouder
Than to say I am her son.
Poem 43
(2023)
In college, I had the very good fortune to meet one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Pat is a phenomenal person. I always admired his passion for life and the fearless way he pursues his dreams. I’m still not there yet, but I try to follow his example to the extent that I can. Shortly after graduating college, when I first began writing poetry, I came up with the title for this poem, but I never wrote a word of it until now, over 25 years later.
The Dreamer
Inspired by my incredible friend, Patrick
After the first encounter,
Their uniqueness draws you in.
You spend some time together,
And your friendship soon begins.
You very much admire
The self-confidence displayed.
As that trait quite eludes you
In your journey on most days.
Their passion is infectious
And inspires you to do
Whatever’s necessary
To make sure your dreams come true.
I have a friend whose spirit
Motivates in just this way.
Patrick’s courageous choices
Show how best to live each day.
His dreams are not just wishes.
With his drive, they become real,
Pursued without exception,
If it’s Pat behind the wheel.
I haven’t yet quite mastered
The skill set employed by Pat,
But I continue learning,
So don’t count me out quite yet.
He’ll always be there for me,
Ever present, year to year.
He’s one friend in a million,
And I hold him very dear.
Poem 42
(2022)
I live in fear every two years, anxiously awaiting the final result of that year’s election cycle.
Nonsense
Inspired by a world of increasing ignorance
Each couple years
I fear the fate
That follows our
Election date.
It used to seem
A nonevent.
That simpler time
Has come and went.
I wish I knew
What caused the change.
I’d then go back
To rearrange.
At present time,
We take the word
Of cheats and frauds,
Though it’s absurd.
We make no time
To check their claim
When our views mesh,
And that’s a shame.
They don’t plan to
Stand by our side.
Their only aim
Is to divide.
They tell us who
To fear the most,
And when we do,
They raise a toast.
That game plan though,
Miscalculates.
Our hope will soon
Outlive their hate.
Poem 41
(2022)
I lived with depression for a long time. Since I still function well enough to get through my day-to-day activities, I never dealt with it. I hope to deal with it now.
Checked Out
Inspired by my gradual descent into depression
For more years than I will confess,
I sidelined myself from the game.
The life I could and should have led
Sat idle. No spark stoked its flame.
It happened very gradually,
And didn’t seem to cause much harm.
So I sat back and let things be,
Instead of sounding the alarm.
I’m functioning sufficiently
To navigate life day to day.
As long as I maintain my stride,
Is it so wrong to live this way?
If it were me, and only me,
Who suffered at my own expense,
I might continue down this road,
And give no thought to consequence.
I’m blessed with a close family though,
And with a wealth of loving friends.
If I let my life self-destruct,
Then I could never make amends.
So I will seek out how to best
Reanimate my stalled-out life,
And free it from this lonely spot
Where it was hopelessly jackknifed.
Poem 40
(2022)
When a coworker lost their 16-year-old son, I tried to imagine what it might be like to experience such an incomprehensible loss as a parent. I wrote this in that attempt to imagine their unimaginable situation.
Senseless
Inspired by incomprehensible loss
Of all the forms of senseless loss,
One sits atop the awful list.
For parents who have lost a child,
A valid reason can’t exist.
Subject to your theology,
You may seek prayer, or meditate.
But no amount of reasoning
Sufficiently explains your fate.
It seems almost impossible
To proceed without knowing why
The perfect soul that was your child
Is gone, and you must say goodbye.
The natural sequence of events
Is unbearably out of sync.
Our children shouldn’t pass on first.
When they do, what are we to think?
There are no answers to be found,
No matter how hard we may try.
The gift of life we’re granted here,
Becomes bleak when a loved one dies.
It’s my belief we are too close
To what transpires here on Earth
In order to view grander plans,
Where such senselessness may have worth.
We can’t make sense of things from here,
But from a higher vantage point,
The reason may appear more clear,
And not so wildly out of joint.
Although we can’t make sense of why
Their spirit left this Earthly space.
We know its purpose was to make
This world of ours a better place.
Poem 39
(2022)
My inner voice constantly offers harsh criticism of my life and how I live it. I try, but seldom win the battle to silence it. When I have the opportunity to get out of my head and view the situation from another’s perspective, I earn a reprieve. I had the good fortune to hear from a group of friends who offered praise for some of my recent work. Hearing it greatly inspired me and lifted my spirits. I’m so grateful for their perspective.
Through Their Eyes
Inspired by the vision others see of me
Self-doubt retains possession
Of my life from day to day.
An ever-present obstacle
That never goes away.
I try to build my confidence,
To mute the doubt inside,
But nothing can consistently
Cause its voice to subside.
My mind defaults to dwell on
What pitfalls may lie ahead.
It doesn’t fuel hope, but
Magnifies my fear instead.
The doubtful inner voice may speak
Authoritatively,
But other voices wake new thoughts
To stir from within me.
I’ve friends who see in me
The best of what I’ve got to give:
Those traits uniquely mine,
That highlight why I’m here to live.
While it’s still hard to fight off doubt,
And seek out bluer skies,
The difficulty lessens when
I see me through their eyes.
Poem 38
(2022)
Ever since Kyle Dean Massey visited St. Louis as Pippin, I’ve loved the musical’s song, Corner of the Sky, and its lyric, “Don’t you see I want my life to be something more than long…”
Impact
Inspired by the lyrics to Corner of the Sky from Pippin
Give in to doubt,
Or stand up straight?
Which choice will be
My final fate?
The doubting voice
Held sway so long.
I wonder now,
Can it be wrong?
It takes strong will
To mount a fight.
Uncertainty
Holds on too tight.
Can confidence
Break through the wall
While bashfulness
Keeps me so small?
I long to make
An impact here;
Waste no more time,
As it’s too dear.
My life should voice
My inner song,
And it should be
More than just long.
Poem 37
(2022)
With each new election, I fear who will win the privilege to hold public office and what damage they may do with that privilege. I’m afraid preying on fear and sowing hate is viewed as the winningest strategy by too many elected officials. Although I’m afraid, I’m not hopeless. I know those who value equality and individuality far outnumber those who don’t. I know our government offices gradually welcome a greater diversity of lawmakers. I hope to draw strength from the examples of courage I see in those who live open, authentic lives, then increase the volume of my own voice to more effectively speak out against ignorance and hate.
Fear to Hope
Inspired by my struggle to remain hopeful during fearful times
I’ve lived a sheltered life, I know,
With full support along the way,
But there is fear buried below,
Because I happen to be gay.
It’s not a lifestyle choice I made,
And I tried hiding who I am.
Eventually, acceptance won,
Anything less was just a sham.
I have avoided, until now,
Contact with homophobic hate.
I fear my luck may soon run out,
Given our country’s current state.
When I let fear enter unchecked,
I sink into a pit of grief.
I’ve given up, before I start.
I am not armed to find relief.
But then I struggle to seek out
The better nature on display
By those working to make things right,
And pointing where we went astray.
Although there are those who persist
To prey on fear and sow more hate,
Their game plan is not built to last.
It has an expiration date.
As sheltered as my life has been,
And timid as my voice may be,
Its volume will increase, so hate
And ignorance will soon fear me.
Poem 36
(2022)
I used to travel the Amtrak line between St. Louis and Chicago on a regular basis. On one trip, as we slowly rolled through the few remaining stops before reaching Chicago, a handsome stranger boarded the train and asked to take the empty seat next to me. I nodded politely to oblige and gestured for him to sit. I then shied away and sat in stoic silence the remainder of the trip.
Silence
Inspired by a beautiful mystery boy
It was an innocent request.
You simply asked to take a seat.
I motioned you to do just that,
Then quickly stared down at my feet.
You wore a shirt of baby blue.
With bronze skin peeking from beneath.
I longed to share a word with you,
But couldn’t speak through my clenched teeth.
My darting glances took good notes
Of perfect nails and dark black hair.
But I would rather turn your way,
Fix eyes on you, and simply stare.
Peeking over yellow sneakers,
I spy your ankles, and I grin.
It is exciting when I catch
A glimpse or two of your bare skin.
I’m jealous of the dark gray scarf
Beneath your smooth, clean-shaven face.
How fortunate your scarf must feel
To occupy that sacred space.
The music pumping in your ears
Prevents our dialogue to flow.
I wish I had the words for you,
But what they’d be, I do not know.
I notice that our denim jeans
Are tinted the same shade of blue.
Would you detect if my right knee
Moved over to brush into you?
We’ll never know what might have been
Because I gave my thoughts no voice.
My silence will win in the end,
Until I make another choice.
Poem 35
(2022)
Not long after moving to St. Louis, before I was out, some friends and I ventured to a huge country western line dancing bar called Incahoots. It sat on the western border of St. Louis County, near St. Charles. I resigned myself to remain a wall flower all evening, observing the action from afar. Part of my observation included spying on a beautiful mystery girl. I took some notes from that evening and intended to write this poem back then, but never did. So more than 20 years later, I decided to review my notes and complete the poem.
It May Have Been Michelle
Inspired by a beautiful mystery girl
A cute blue hat holds tight atop
Her bouncing brunette bob,
And as I stare, I feel like a
Complete and utter slob.
A snug blue top clings to her frame
As she sways to the beat.
My legs don’t have the strength to walk
Me out so we can meet.
She sports a carefree spirit that
Shines through on the dance floor.
While my self-conscious inner voice
Beckons me toward the door.
She draws all the attention
From within her group of friends.
I orbit from a distance,
So my presence won’t offend.
She shifts her gaze to meet someone
Who enters from the side.
I sigh in desperation,
Wishing it was me she eyed.
She welcomes him quite warmly,
Bringing him into the fold.
I curse my crippling shyness,
Knowing it’s not me she’ll hold.
Her hand meets his delicately
To lead him through the dance.
I’m petrified in silence,
Longing for a second chance.
Her partner is entranced by her.
She has him in her spell.
I wish I’d learned her name tonight.
It may have been Michelle.
Poem 34
(2022)
While every day provides an opportunity to start over and conquer your demons, it also serves as an opportunity to fail, again. It’s a daily struggle for me to win that battle, and all too often, I fail, over and over again. I haven’t lost all hope though, and tomorrow is a brand new day.
Poison
Inspired by my continual intake of unhealthy material
I know much better than my
Current actions would suggest,
And yet, I suffer daily
From the refuse I ingest.
With each sunrise, I tell myself,
Since it’s a brand-new day,
I’ll start completely over,
And I won’t be led astray.
That is all wishful thinking,
And each day, I veer off course.
I gulp down that day’s poison,
Then I sink into remorse.
My sweet tooth wins me over.
I don’t long for natural food.
I’m craving something processed
To prolong my depressed mood.
A walk around the park does not
Entice me to explore.
I decide to open Facebook,
Instead of my front door.
Should I put on some music,
Or sit down and crack a book?
My TV is too tempting.
Let’s give cable news a look.
I am the only bouncer
For my body and my mind.
Though I decide what enters,
Lately, nothing gets declined.
I have a long track record
With this damaging display.
My hope is to recover,
And tomorrow’s a new day.
Poem 33
(2022)
On Labor Day weekend of 2022, I witnessed the most genuine display of true love I’ve ever seen in real life. When my dear friend, Sara, married her soulmate, Todd, it touched me greatly. The speeches given by the bride, groom, and both sides of the family were absolutely heartfelt and incredibly inspiring. To be there and witness the magic in person was a true honor.
Worth the Wait
Inspired by Sara and her marriage to Todd
For some, it visits more than once,
For others, not at all.
The rarest form of blessings is
When true love comes to call.
The young take it for granted,
Knowing it will come their way.
Their youthful, cheerful, hopefulness
Keeps fear and doubt at bay.
But as the years accumulate,
Uncertainty sets in.
A doubtful inner voice appears;
The waiting game begins.
The dream we planned to live by now
Remains only a dream.
With youth no longer on our side,
It won’t come true, it seems.
Our doubt builds a strong case against
What hope remains inside;
Resulting in despair, unless
Something can turn the tide.
As we’re preparing to give up,
And put our dream away,
An unexpected circumstance
Reveals another way.
The path we walked took many turns
On which we hadn’t planned,
But through the clearing in the trees
Showed us this place to land.
And though it didn’t follow
My expected time and date,
I’ve no regrets at all, for
It was truly worth the wait.
Poem 32
(2021)
A year after Dad’s passing, I felt the loss just as much as I had at the start. The careless, selfish way many people chose to live their lives and exercise their “freedom” frustrated me.
Colors
Inspired by the first year since Dad’s passing
While it’s my favorite color,
Blue is also how I feel.
A year to mourn the loss
Was insufficient time to heal.
Dad still should be here with us,
And his absence makes no sense,
But time insists we move on
And discuss him in past tense.
At low points, I grow angry
Until all I see is red.
It’s hard to make sense of
A world that’s turned on its head.
I dreamt the world rallied ‘round
Those most needing protection.
Instead, it turned its back
And walked the opposite direction.
It’s John Deere’s green and yellow
That remind me most of Dad.
I see him on his tractor
And recall the fun he had.
Parading ‘round the county
And out ploughing in the field,
Or hoisting grandkids on his lap
To let them take the wheel.
All colors of the rainbow
Shown through Dad’s soul here on earth.
He lived life with great purpose
And knew what this life is worth.
I’ll try to take my que from him
Approaching the new year,
And maybe, through my actions,
Help his spirit reappear.
Poem 31
(2020)
We lost Dad to COVID right before Christmas, only a couple months before the world slowly opened back up when vaccines became available. Being forced to mourn the loss while still isolated from family, and without experiencing the ritual of a proper funeral proved very difficult. Writing this, and other tributes, to Dad became therapeutic and provided solace.
Dad
Inspired by and dedicated to Bill Bride (March 24, 1943 – December 7, 2020)
I was very blessed to have
A dad I loved a lot.
Yes, when it comes to fathers,
I myself, hit the jackpot.
They say nobody’s perfect,
And I guess that may be true,
But Dad, you came darn close,
And that’s why everyone loved you.
At heart, he was a farmer,
And a car salesman also,
But most of all, he’s Dad,
To me and Phil and Monte Joe.
His favorite place to sit was
On a John Deere tractor’s seat,
And from that perch, his happy place,
Dad’s world was complete.
He had a devout spirit
Centered upon God above.
That spirit shown through every day
And showered us in love.
As easy going as they come,
Dad rarely raised his voice.
When in a jam, friends looked to him,
If given any choice.
Our life without him in it
Absolutely makes no sense.
I may pretend I’m dreaming,
As a form of self-defense.
He will be with me always,
Though his time on earth is done,
And nothing makes me prouder
Than to say I’m Bill Bride’s son.
Poem 30
(2016)
Though I didn’t often voice them aloud, I held pretty lofty dreams in my youth. Prior to experiencing any of what adult life had to offer, I simply assumed they’d all come true. I gradually realized otherwise. Eventually, I nearly stopped dreaming altogether. I didn’t entirely lose hope though. I’m now working to reawaken some unrealized dreams.
Dreams
Inspired by the gradual loss of my ability to dream
It wasn’t very long ago
That dreaming came quite easily.
It never crossed my mind to doubt
Each dream of mine would come to me.
I know it was naivety,
A constant presence in my youth,
Which held reality at bay,
And shielded my heart from the truth.
Such dreams no longer come to me.
My head is filled with other things.
The youthful dreamer from before
No longer operates my strings.
Now in his place sit fear and doubt,
Two guideposts on my current path,
A path on which I walk without
The drive to dream or dare or laugh.
It’s foolhardy, I’m aware,
To quit this early in the game,
But sparks that used to stoke my fire
No longer can ignite a flame.
I try to summon from inside
The will to launch my dreams again,
But nothing stirs, my dreams subside,
And fear, as always, scores the win.
I haven’t found the strength, thus far,
To take responsibility
For all the choices I have made
And where those choices landed me.
But when I do, a turning point
Will finally be at my feet.
I’ll find the will to seek my dreams,
And work until they are complete.
Poem 29
(2015)
When the touring company of Pippin visited the Peabody Opera House, it so impressed me, I saw the show two days in a row. In the role of Pippin himself, Kyle Dean Massey, brought the house down. I was also lucky enough to see him in the role of Tony in the Muny’s production of West Side Story. When he brought his solo cabaret act to St. Louis, I saw it twice as well. I presented him with a copy of this poem, inspired by his performances, and he kindly returned a signed copy of my Pippin Playbill.
Purpose
Inspired by Kyle Dean Massey
It truly is a blessing
When you know what you’re to do
With the years the universe
Entrusted unto you.
For we can’t know, will those years
Total many or a few?
For some, they spend a lifetime
Trying this and trying that.
They play with different options,
Trying on hat after hat.
Each time it’s not a perfect fit,
They fear they’ve fallen flat.
Others seem to find their mark
Within the opening scene.
They trust their heart to guide them
Though the path’s not always clean.
It seems to me that is the route
Chosen by Kyle Dean.
When watching him on stage, it’s clear
His talent’s born from love.
He’s living out his purpose
Written in the stars above.
Which isn’t always quite so simple
When push comes to shove.
You have to tap your courage,
And connect with your true source.
You have to conquer fears and doubts,
Or they’ll throw you off course.
You have to look ahead with hope,
And not back with remorse.
So if the path you’re walking
Cannot totally be seen,
And if you’re swaying back and forth,
Unsure which way to lean,
Just follow his example,
Trust your heart, like Kyle Dean.
Poem 28
(2014)
Until I started seeing more and more examples of it, I didn’t fully appreciate just how important it is to see people like me represented positively in the world. YouTube creators, Mark and Ethan, used to post about their daily lives. The simple act of displaying their life experience as a happy, well-adjusted gay couple was incredibly inspiring.
Every Day Is a Great Day
Inspired by Mark and Ethan
It’s easy to impress with feats of strength that you have done,
Or gain some admiration for the prizes you have won.
You might inspire awe by flexing pecs beneath your tank,
Or by placing large amounts of money in the bank.
However, to impress with smaller acts is rare indeed,
And it’s those kinds of acts of which this world is in need.
I know two guys who offer inspiration just that way.
They inspire others, simply living day to day.
They grant a glimpse into the lives they live from week to week,
And they inspire countless souls by offering that peek.
They make it clear that life should be an utter joy to live.
They do this through the simple act of all the love they give.
Embracing every moment just by living in the now,
They demonstrate how best to live. Just watch, and you’ll see how.
By simply living as themselves, the guys they’re meant to be,
They give the gifts they’re meant to give to everyone they see,
And that is quite a treasure they provide to you and me.
Poem 27
(2013)
Chance encounters with a handsome gentleman working out of the same office building as me always brightened my day. I developed a crush on him as well.
Jimmy
Inspired by a special guy
How lucky to have joined you
In the elevator now.
I’d like to share my thoughts,
But circumstances won’t allow.
So I’ll spill them on paper
Where it’s safe to bare my soul.
Safe from prying eyes and ears,
So I might be consoled.
You simply were perfection
In your snug, form fitting shirt.
Each time we meet I curse that
I am unable to flirt.
You know that your eyes twinkle,
And they sparkle when you speak?
I noticed that just now.
Your eyes could make my knees go weak.
Your smile, when you grin at me,
Ignites a spark within.
That spark cannot be fanned though,
And a flame cannot begin.
Our present situation,
Will not allow you know
How fond I am of you,
So on this page my thoughts must go.
Perhaps one day you’ll learn of them,
Though doubtful that you will.
Yet on this page and in my mind,
These thoughts will exist still.
Poem 26
(2013)
One warm, summer evening, a group of friends and I gathered for dinner. Our waiter’s undeniable beauty inspired this poem.
Perfect Paul
Inspired by a perfect waiter
Your chiseled face,
Your sun kissed skin,
Your perfect, dimpled smile.
Flawless features,
I would love to
Gaze upon a while.
Biceps gently
Peeking out from
Underneath your shirt.
Piercing eyes glance
Into mine so
My gaze must divert.
Greek godlike
In your perfection,
Exhibit not one flaw.
I, in dumbfound
Admiration,
Stare at you in awe.
I’m not shallow,
Though this rhyme
Quite makes me out to be.
I admire
Beauty, and in
You that’s what I see.
I can tell that
In you it is
Not only skin deep.
My memory
Of meeting you
Is one that I will keep.
Poem 25
(2012)
My crush, Kyle, and I once enjoyed a suspenseful movie together, which inspired this fourth and final poem in his honor.
I’d Have Held Your Hand
Inspired by a movie shared with someone special
Shoulder to shoulder,
We sit and we stare.
While the screen flashes,
I hide my despair.
Sitting this closely
Is thrilling and new.
Nowhere is better
Than right beside you.
Leaning into you
I sink in my seat,
Hoping I’m able
To feel your heartbeat.
Feeling the rhythm
Of your every breath,
Rising and falling,
It thrills me to death.
Your grasp on my arm
As the suspense grows,
Though it excites,
Also adds to my woes.
I cannot hold you,
Since you’re spoken for.
Shying from you,
I must gaze at the floor.
If all the heavens
Were at my command
For these two hours,
I’d have held your hand.
Poem 24
(2012)
While ringing in the new year at the end of 1999, I remained a spectator most of the evening, watching the rest of the crowd celebrate. I feared looking too foolish if cavorting about the dance floor in wild abandon, so I retreated into myself.
Heartache
Inspired by loneliness while surrounded by friends on New Year’s Eve 1999
Bright balloons cover the table.
Silver streamers hug the door.
The party’s just beginning,
And it’s hard to keep from grinning
As the drinks begin to pour.
Happy smiles surround the table.
Hearty laughter fills the air.
Glad faces begin shining
As the revelers start dining.
There is music in the air.
Clinking crystal tops the table.
Food and drink enjoyed by all.
Each glass is raised for toasting.
Father Time will soon be boasting,
The New Year has come to call.
Empty chairs pushed to the table.
Shuffling feet hit the dance floor.
We will welcome in the year
With special friends we hold so dear,
Yet I’m missing something more.
Cheers erupt around the table.
Lovers share a New Year’s kiss.
Wrapped in one another’s arms,
They so enjoy each other’s charms.
I’m just a spectator to this.
Coats and bags grabbed off the table,
Guests beginning to depart,
Couples walking hand in hand
To final notes played by the band,
And an ache within my heart.
Poem 23
(2011)
I frequently lose the daily battle with my inner critic to live as genuinely as I’d like, but I’m confident I’ll do so eventually.
Wake Up
Inspired by my hope to live my dreams before it’s too late
The clock ticks on.
The days pass by.
I won’t wake up.
I don’t know why.
I dream the life
I’d like to know,
But don’t grab hold.
I let it go.
My life remains
Just as it’s been.
I seek a change.
I wonder when?
Each day I think
A change will come.
Just down the road,
All will be won.
No actions stir.
I remain still.
I do not move.
I lack the will.
Wishes and dreams,
So far away,
Unless I act,
Starting today.
I say I will,
But fear I won’t.
I want to move.
What if I don’t?
Tomorrow is
Not guaranteed.
If I delay,
I won’t succeed.
This fear inside
Builds prison walls;
Leaves me to roam
Its empty halls.
What will it take
To wake in me
The dreams that are
Not yet set free?
Poem 22
(2011)
I wasn’t built for a corporate job. I’d pursue my creative interests if given another chance. I began writing this poem within the first year or two after graduation, but didn’t finish. Roughly 20 years later, I returned to complete it.
Suits
Inspired by corporate stiffs and my unhappiness with a corporate job
They march before me to and fro
All neatly cleaned and pressed.
Draping starched souls in blue and gray,
They always look their best.
They’re rushing here and there while they
Work hard to earn some green.
Though most of life, it seems, is spent
Just staring at a screen.
That hard work helps support a life
All smooth and buttoned down.
A life that’s neat and orderly,
A life of beige and brown.
It’s on that track, I find myself.
I joined the corporate team.
Each day is quite predictable –
A perfect, boring dream.
It’s not the dream I wanted though.
There’s nothing here for me.
If I was stronger, I might try
To set my real dream free.
That takes more courage, I’m afraid,
Than I have got to spare.
So back to work I’ll go each day,
To put in my fair share.
Quite clearly, that’s the safest way
To navigate this road.
Though forfeiting life’s highest highs,
I’ll dodge its lowest lows.
And I could stay resigned to this –
My life of apathy,
But that would cost me something more
Than I am willing to pay for,
Something I treasure and adore –
Your deep belief in me.
Poem 21
(2011)
If I ever do put myself out there and tempt the universe to make my dreams come true, this is one of those dreams.
Lips
Inspired by a dream of mine
They whisper an, “I love you”
On a warm and gentle breath.
The warmth encircles my ear,
As it thrills me half to death.
Pepp’ring my ear with kisses,
Softly tugging on the lobe,
Slowly gliding down my neck,
Senses all on overload.
They offer a, “Good morning”
As the daylight filters in.
Then quickly peck me on the cheek,
And a new day begins.
Gently bent around the rim,
They sip a glass of juice,
Then ask me what I’m staring at
Before my eyes break loose.
“It’s nothing,” I assure them,
But they do not seem convinced.
They form a crooked smile
Followed by a playful wince.
Throughout the day they regale me
With stories of our past,
And visions of our future,
Knowing how it’s meant to last.
And as we stand here hand in hand,
Beneath this sky of blue,
They speak the words I’ve longed for most.
They simply say, “I do.”
Poem 20
(2010)
Bradley made it into this world but battled terrible obstacles from day one. He fought valiantly but eventually lost the battle. His brief life taught us valuable lessons.
Lessons
Inspired by Bradley’s brief life
God graced us with a blessing,
The most precious kind of all –
A gentle soul whose loving heart
Taught us to heed this call…
Love with everything you have
Every single day you live.
Although it may be broken,
Your heart still has love to give.
You wish you could control it all,
But that’s not in the plan.
You’ll need some help from time to time,
So let God take your hand.
Cherish every moment spent
With those you love so dear.
Let them know you’re happiest
At times when they are near.
Realize that life’s worries
Raining on you from above
Shouldn’t be your focus.
You should concentrate on love.
Bradley’s brief life taught us this,
And although he is gone,
Through Tom, Amy, and Gregory
His lessons will live on.
Poem 19
(2010)
My sister-in-law lost her mother to cancer. She was way too young with far too many life experiences still stretched out in front of her. I tried to make sense of it but could not. I wrote this in a hopeless attempt to uncover some kind of meaning.
Gentle Grace
Inspired by Beth’s soft-spoken, gentle soul
What are we supposed to do
On such a senseless day?
Yesterday the life we led
Seemed charmed in every way.
Trying to make sense of it
Is not an easy task.
I have just one question, so
To you, I turn and ask…
Why, when she was still so young
And had much more to do,
Why is that the moment she
Was called back home to you?
You know how much she enriched
All of the lives she touched.
How can this make sense to you
When it hurts us so much?
No amount of reasoning
Will help me understand.
Therefore, I resign myself
To leave it in your hands.
Maybe we’re too close, and we
Must seek a wider view
To see the bigger picture –
The plan at work through you.
Though we may not understand
Why she’s no longer here,
We know where to look to find
The one we held so dear.
We see her in Aidan’s laugh
And in Sophia’s grin.
Lauren and Elena’s touch
Reveals her there within.
Beth lives on in every soul
She touched while in this place.
Thank you for the chance we had
To know her gentle grace.
Poem 18
(2009)
Sara asked if I’d write a poem for her. So I penned this dandy inspired by her vibrant spirit.
Sara’s Song
Inspired by my lovely friend, Sara
In the way her laughter
Brings a smile to your face,
And makes you, for a moment,
Overlook life’s frantic pace.
In the way her smile
Quickly melts your chilly gaze,
And warms the cold demeanor
You had planned to wear today.
In the way her eyes
Look in yours, without a word,
And hold a conversation,
Although not a sound is heard.
In the way her voice
Speaks with passion from the heart,
Expressing inner thoughts
That she is happy to impart.
In the way her heart
Opens up to let you in.
From the moment you first meet,
The connection will begin.
In these ways and others,
She can brighten days gone wrong.
This is where you look to find
The light in Sara’s song.
Poem 17
(2008)
My crush, Kyle, has a wonderful pair of hands. They inspired this third poem dedicated to his beauty.
Hands
Inspired by a wonderful pair of hands
Rough and callused,
Dingy nails,
Laboring day to day.
Gripping slender
Bottleneck
When set free to play.
Weathered knuckles,
Crooked, bent,
Weary at first glance.
Earning a new
Scratch or scar
When given the chance.
Reaching further,
Grasping more,
Building a career.
Laboring always,
Never rest,
Purpose: straight and clear.
Extending a
Warm greeting
Every time we meet.
Each encounter’s
Stolen glances
Quicken my heartbeat.
Reaching now to
Fold my hands
In their tender touch.
Guide me down this
Path, which I’ve
Longed to walk so much.
Poem 16
(2008)
Quite out of character for me, I finally found the courage to express my feelings to my crush, Kyle, who inspired Poem 12, Better Than My Dream. It turned out to be an unrequited crush, but I wasn’t devastated. The simple act of voicing my true feelings was a win.
No Regret
Inspired by a big infatuation
Cluttered though my mind may be,
You dominate my thoughts.
Though I try to set them free,
The effort is for naught.
Sometimes granted a reprieve
From dreaming of your face,
My anxious heart enjoys relief
And beats a slower pace.
Then the thoughts of you return,
As they do every day.
Racing through my mind are all
The things I want to say.
I choke on words that never come,
And settle in despair.
I’ll not express the way I feel.
You’ll not know that I care.
But in a moment’s clarity,
I make another choice.
A sudden burst of courage
Helps me choose to raise my voice.
The music trapped inside of me,
At last is set in song.
You’re hearing my heart’s melody;
A tune trapped for too long.
Unhappily, the song I sing
Falls silent on your ears.
You do not feel the same for me,
So, softly fall my tears.
Though saddened by the outcome,
I will harbor no regret.
At last I opened up my heart –
A thrill I won’t forget.
Poem 15
(2008)
I fully realize that until I put myself out there, it’s not possible for me to meet anyone. However, when I do, I hope to live out the last four lines of this poem.
Hopelessly Romantic
Inspired by movie visions of love
I am hopelessly romantic.
There’s a vision I dream of.
It’s a lifetime spent residing
In the arms of my true love.
It’s so easy in the movies,
Where fate plays the perfect part,
Bringing boy and girl together
Just before the screen goes dark.
Growing up, I took for granted
That the years which lay ahead
Would see this fairy tale come true
And find me happily wed.
As the years continue rolling,
And I find myself alone,
I wonder if true love’s a dream
That won’t be mine to own.
Let’s pretend that life’s a movie.
We’re almost an hour in.
We await the soaring love theme.
Will the music soon begin?
As this film’s title character,
I’m free to guide the plot.
Some paths will be worth following.
My current path is not.
Instead, a path with wedding bells,
And one with skies of blue.
The path I choose to follow is
The one that leads to you.
Poem 14
(2007)
When the touring company of Spamalot visited the Fabulous Fox Theatre, the cast’s soulful performance truly spoke to me. It was very apparent each company member found their true calling in performing live theater, just as they were meant to do.
Share Your Grail
Dedicated to the touring cast of Monty Python’s Spamalot
Inspired by your incredible talent
When God bestows a talent
It is meant for us to taste.
While it is ours to run with,
It is also ours to waste.
Electing to explore it
And pursue it to extremes
Is what we must commit to,
If we want to live our dreams.
For some, the path before them
Seems laid out right from the start.
For others, their long journey
Seems forever in the dark.
My own was cast in shadow,
Until your light came along.
What was resigned to fear and doubt
Awoke to hear your song.
To watch you work the magic,
Which God chose for you to know
Proves why it’s so important
That we never let it go.
To let it sleep for too long,
Is a habit we must end.
We all must tap our talent,
And it’s time that we begin.
Thank you for what you’ve shown me,
For the courage you display
When you bare your soul each night
And thrill us with your play.
Poem 13
(2007)
After dinner one evening, Sara and I stopped by the Chocolate Bar for dessert. I thought our handsome waiter gave me the eye, but Sara and I weren’t completely sure. I returned a week later in an attempt to catch him at work, but I chickened out and raced back home, never to return again.
The Chocolate Bar
Inspired by a missed opportunity
It’s been a week since we first met.
I counted every day,
And racing through my mind
Are all the things I want to say.
I felt the way you looked at me.
Did you feel something too?
I wish I’d had the courage
To speak up and talk to you.
It’s really nothing new to me,
This feeling of regret.
But ours is not a meeting
I am likely to forget.
I tried to visit you again,
But fear got in my way.
I walked up to the front door,
Then I turned and walked away.
I hope to make another trip,
And this one I’ll see through.
I’ll find in me the courage
To step in and speak to you.
Until the day, when I return,
I hope you won’t forget
That quiet evening from before,
When you and I first met.
Poem 12
(2007)
When my friend, Sara, and I both worked in downtown St. Louis, we lunched together often. Sara befriended Kyle, the hottie behind the counter of her building’s lunch spot. He’s ever so dreamy. The enormous crush I developed on him inspired this, and three subsequent, poems.
Better Than My Dream
Inspired by my dream and your reality
I’ve dreamt of who I’m searching for.
I almost know his face.
He’ll soon arrive to free me from
Heartache’s lonely embrace.
I’ve pictured him with wavy hair.
It’s dark and soft to touch.
He’ll let me run my fingers through.
He’ll like that very much.
His pale blue eyes will seek me out,
And light up when we meet.
He’ll ask where I’ve been all his life
Then sweep me off my feet.
His voice is soft and soothing as
He whispers in my ear
To tell me that he loves me, and
He’s glad to have me near.
His laugh, so loud and echoing
That strangers stop and smile.
It’s clear that we were meant to be.
We’ve known it for a while.
This dream, I fear, is fantasy…
My lonely heart’s ideal.
And no amount of wishing for
My dream will make him real.
In silent patience, as I wait
Hoping he’ll still appear,
You quietly step into frame.
Your smile draws me near.
But you don’t have dark, wavy hair.
Your eyes are green, not blue,
And you do not fit all the traits
That I described to you.
Though that smile bowls me over.
You’d melt glaciers with your grin,
And I’m thrilled each time I see you
By the charming soul within.
I realize now my dream was not
As perfect as he seemed.
You’re not who I’ve been searching for.
You’re better than my dream.
Poem 11
(2005)
I watched interior designer, Nate Berkus, every time he appeared on Oprah. After losing his partner, Fernando Bengoechea, to the Indian Ocean tsunami on December 26, 2004, he appeared again, not to discuss interior design, but to discuss his heartbreaking loss. Around the same time, I lost my friend, Ashley, to a drunk driver. I channeled my feelings of loss for Ashley into this poem as a small, inadequate attempt to imagine the loss Nate felt for Fernando.
Nate’s Poem
Inspired by love cut far too short
You were just here, right beside me.
We were safe, and you were here.
A whole lifetime lay before us.
I remember it so clear.
There was no reason to hurry.
We had endless days ahead.
I was sure we had forever.
So I left some things unsaid.
There were countless more I love yous
Simply waiting to be heard,
And tales of how you changed my life.
I’d have told you every word.
I still need some more convincing
That it’s true, and you are gone.
Can it be that now, without you,
I will have to carry on?
No, it feels almost as easy
As just pressing the rewind,
To erase that awful moment,
So I won’t be left behind.
But I’m sitting here without you.
Trying hard to make it through.
I am going through the motions.
There is nothing else to do.
Now another day awaits me.
Heading toward the door, I think,
“How on earth will I get through this?
Where will I summon the strength?”
As I pass the mirror and catch my gaze,
It’s then that I’m surprised to see,
The man you were while here on earth,
Is in there, staring back at me.
Poem 10
(2002)
My brothers and I were very close to Grandma Jones. She watched us every day after school while Mom and Dad worked. When she passed away, I began writing this poem, planning to recite it at her funeral. I didn’t get very far though, so I finished it later and gave it to Mom as a Christmas gift.
Grandma’s Love
Inspired by Grandma Jones
Where should we begin? What are the right words to impart?
How can we adequately tell you of the love in Grandma’s heart?
I remember Hershey’s Kisses found each day, right after school.
Three Kisses for each grandson, on the table, was the rule.
She watched us every afternoon ‘til Mom and Dad came home.
As Grandma watched us, toys in tow, around the house we’d roam.
I remember Christmas Eve every year at Grandma’s house.
She’d spoil us with goodies, and from us, she’d get a blouse.
She fed us pumpkin pie cake each year, that special night.
Then we’d pile in the car and tour Christmas lights.
I remember planting flowers every spring in Grandma’s yard.
I dug the holes and plopped them in. It really wasn’t hard.
She loved her red geraniums and tulips by the door.
Beneath the front room window, we would plant mums by the score.
I remember each Thanksgiving, after Mom had helped Dad cook,
“Now someone go get Grandma,” she would say with a stern look.
As Grandma tip toed up the stairs, her driver close behind,
Tucked in her arm were cookies, usually the no bake kind.
I remember Grandma’s slippers, almost worn through at the toe.
I remember mowing Grandma’s yard with help from Monte Joe.
I remember word search puzzles. I remember Mountain Dew.
I remember singing songs for her when she was feeling blue.
There’s much more I could tell you of how Grandma made life fun,
But no amount of words can say
How much she touched our hearts each day.
She had a very special way
Of loving each grandson.
Poem 9
(2002)
At my younger brother’s wedding, he and his bride recited their own vows. Monte ended his vows to Melissa by saying he’d make her laugh every day, because he loves to hear it so much. That touched me greatly and inspired this poem.
I Do
Inspired by Monte’s wedding vows to his bride, Melissa
I’ll hold your hand. I’ll kiss your cheek.
I’ll hug you when we part.
I’ll share with you my dreams and doubts,
And open up my heart.
I’ll hold the door, pull out your chair,
And help you paint the town.
I’ll be right here to pick you up
Whenever you fall down.
I’ll sing you songs and write you poems.
I’ll whisper in your ear
To tell you in each way I can
How much I love you, Dear.
I’ll get to know each little quirk,
Those things that make you, you.
And when I think I know them all,
I’ll learn of something new.
I’ll cherish you each minute and
Thank God for you each night.
And every day you’re in my life,
I’ll know that all is right.
I’ll help you raise a family –
Our two boys and a girl.
The boys will have their dad’s blue eyes.
Our girl will have your curls.
I’ll live and learn and love with you,
And as the years roll by,
I may not make things perfect, but,
Please know that I will try.
There’s one more thing I’ll do each day
To add the perfect touch.
I’ll make you laugh, because,
I love to hear it very much.
Poem 8
(2001-ish)
My second job out of college was at Mercantile Bank. My first boss, Andréa, was phenomenal. When Andréa left the bank several years into my time there, it was hard to say goodbye.
Ta-ta for Now
Inspired by Andréa, the best boss one could ask for
These seven years have come and gone
In the blink of an eye,
And as a new year starts to dawn,
You have decided to move on.
How can we say goodbye?
It’s been a pleasure knowing you
For these past several years.
We just can’t find enough words to
Sufficiently describe to you
Why this time was so dear.
A consummate professional –
You’re blessed with grace and poise.
But, what will we miss most of all?
Your laughter ringing through the hall.
It’s such a happy noise.
Andréa, may your dreams come true.
And if you will allow…
We wish you luck in all you do,
But we can’t say goodbye to you.
So it’s ta-ta for now.
Poem 7
(2000-ish)
The Grandel Theatre in St. Louis used to produce an annual cabaret series at which it featured cabaret artists from New York City. I attended many of them, but one performance soared high above the rest. This poem is over the top, but so is David Campbell’s angelic voice. I was lucky enough to see David perform two more times, both in NYC. I’ll never forget it.
The Golden Voice
Inspired by the soulful voice of David Campbell
Soft words emerge from deep inside,
And when set free, give birth to song.
As if on wings, the music glides
Around me, where its hug provides
The comfort I sought all along.
At moments when life seems to be
So worrisome and hard to bear,
I let his voice wash over me,
And find within its melody
The hope to fight, to dream, to dare.
How can the voice of one lone man
Inspire such determined aims?
Just listen, and you’ll understand.
His voice does what few others can.
It lifts my spirit above life’s strain.
The words begin in whispered tones
Then quickly burn with energy
And passion, like you’ve never known,
Until all sorrow’s overthrown.
That’s what his music does to me.
When searching for such gift of song,
There is only one perfect choice –
One artist whose fire burns this strong.
The talent to touch hearts belongs
To David with the golden voice.
Poem 6
(2000-ish)
I was very shy and reserved in high school, then blossomed a lot in college and came out of my shell. Since then, I gradually retreated from that outgoing college persona. Far too often, I let my harsh inner critic win the day.
Empty
Inspired by my inability to open up and be myself
A soul that can’t share
A voice that can’t speak
A passion that burns,
But in one who’s too meek
Two arms scared to hug
Two lips scared to kiss
Too many years lost
Never learning to risk
A hope unfulfilled
A dream undefined
A heart wrapped in fear
Of each mountain not climbed
The nights spent alone
The beds never shared
The yearnings for touch
From somebody who cares
Each room full of toys
Each day full of chores
Each minute spent craving
A tiny bit more
A life lived in fear
A life lived in doubt
A life lived avoiding
All one dreams about
Poem 5
(2000-ish)
It took me a long time to come out. America in general, and the rural Midwest in particular, doesn’t warmly welcome the LGBTQ+ community, or any diverse community. I tried to avoid the truth as long as possible. I read a book titled, “You Don’t Have to Be Gay”, and I met with a representative from an ex-gay ministry. Eventually, a shift occurred. I stopped seeking guidance from those who condemn my gay identity and sought support from those who affirm it. I was very fortunate to be accepted by friends and family when I came out, and I know how lucky that makes me.
The Question
Inspired by an agonizing personal battle
There’s a question that begs answering;
An answer that’s unknown.
I’ve toiled with it for years on end.
My torment’s grown and grown.
I’d like to find the answer,
But the answer’s what I fear.
I’ve wrestled with it for so long,
What’s another year?
No, it can’t go left unanswered.
I’ve put it off too long.
Why continue running?
Why not face it and be strong?
A voice keeps screaming at me.
“You shouldn’t dig too deep.
They may not understand you.
Just let this question sleep!”
That’s how I’ve coped so far.
That’s how I’ve gotten by.
But getting by will only help
Me live within this lie.
It’s such a simple question.
Can all this doubt be real?
It can if a heart’s shielded
From the deepest things it feels.
Until I face the answer,
Until I know what’s true,
It seems to make more sense for me
To hide my thoughts from you.
But what if that’s the problem?
By keeping this inside,
I seem to further cloud my thoughts
And force the truth to hide.
Is it best to just express it?
Might the question, said aloud,
Begin to ease my heartache
And lift this heavy cloud?
Is there any harm in trying?
Will it make things worse to say
What’s been troubling me all along?
God, please help me now, I pray.
Am I gay?
Poem 4
(1999-ish)
Not long after moving to St. Louis, I developed an intense interest in the performing arts. I enrolled in a few acting and singing classes and took part in several community theater productions, both behind the scenes and on stage. As a member of the stage crew for the Hawthorne Players production of Tom Jones, I was blown away by its talented cast.
The Play
Inspired by the talented Hawthorne Players cast of Tom Jones
The music starts.
The lights come up.
The cast waits in the wings.
The curtain parts
As anxious hearts
Await what tonight brings.
All voices dim.
All eyes are fixed
Upon the patient stage.
The actors enter,
Hit their marks,
And set the night ablaze.
Emotions soar
As words collide,
And souls are bared to all.
Heroes fight,
And lovers kiss.
Wonder fills the hall.
As action mounts,
The villains flee.
Our hero saves the day!
Then friends unite
For one last bow.
That magic is the play.
Poem 3
(1999-ish)
I struggled to find my footing after graduating college and moving to a new city on my own. Frequent telephone conversations with my friend, Tony, provided comfort. I admired Tony’s confidence, and his welcome advice greatly inspired me.
My Friend
Inspired by my amazing friend Tony
I try my best to talk to you, but there’s much I don’t say.
You’ve no idea of the thoughts that I would love to share.
I have so much to tell you, but my pride gets in the way.
It’s hard to spill your soul when you fear that your words may scare.
The words flow easier on paper when they’re set in rhyme.
It sometimes feels like someone else is speaking with this pen.
But have no doubt, the sentiment expressed here is all mine.
These are the words I long to share with one of my best friends.
I hope you know by now how much your friendship means to me.
I’ve been amazed to witness how you’ve grown in recent years.
I love the way you open up and set your feelings free.
It gives me hope I’ll do the same once I conquer my fears.
Our friendship’s been a welcome blessing in my life so far.
When we first met, I saw you as the class clown spinning jokes.
I gradually discovered how incredible you are.
Your tenderness showed through in all the heart-felt words you spoke.
My admiration and respect run deep for you, my friend.
You have a talent for achieving every goal you set.
You believe in yourself with a conviction that won’t end.
That’s one important quality I haven’t mastered yet.
The courage you display when you’re expressing what you feel
Inspires me to reveal the emotions I hold in.
I’m driven to express thoughts I would normally conceal.
It’s seldom said, but you should know that I love you, my friend.
Poem 2
(1998-ish)
Senior year of college, my friend, Jason, died unexpectedly. We met only a few years earlier during freshman year at a community college but became fast friends. We hadn’t spoken in a while, so I called night after night until we finally connected. We had a great conversation. Jason died the next day. Something made me keep calling until I reached him, and I’m eternally grateful for that.
Unspoken
Inspired by a far too brief friendship with my incredible friend, Jason
The night before you left, you said, “You’re special to me, Kent.”
I heard the words, but doubted they were really what you meant.
I lacked the self-esteem, which would allow me to believe
The love and caring thoughts you offered were mine to receive.
I’m trying to forgive myself for keeping it all in.
The words I’m saying now are words I couldn’t speak back then.
I’m learning now that life’s too short to bottle words inside.
I must say what’s inside me, even when it hurts my pride.
I love you, Jason, you’re the one who made me realize
I still don’t know who I am. You could see that in my eyes.
I’m trying to find out, but it’s a complicated task.
I often wish that you were here, so I’d have you to ask.
I turn to God and picture you there speaking in his ear.
You’re telling him to guide me when my life becomes unclear.
I know you’re watching over me and all your friends on earth.
You realized, before I did, what a friend is truly worth.
I’m looking forward to the day when we will meet again.
I’ll walk into your outstretched arms to hug my cherished friend.
I know too well how your departure left me heartbroken.
When next we meet, be assured, I’ll leave no words unspoken.
Poem 1
(1998-ish)
I wrote my first poem about several chance encounters, which I considered missed connections.
Regret
Inspired by my frustrating inability to seize the moment
I sat beside you on the bus while riding home from class.
My knee brushed up against yours, and I thrilled at the brief touch.
I glanced into your eyes hoping the moment wouldn’t pass.
With fear and insecurity, I quickly faced the glass.
Trapped in my throat were all the words I longed to say so much.
Your curly red hair draped your shoulders that October night.
I asked you for directions and got lost inside your eyes.
I thought of asking you to join us before we took flight.
The words I could have said to you would not have come out right.
It’s just as well I simply thanked you and said my good-byes.
One bright and sunny Saturday, I came into your store.
I browsed through books and music, never knowing you were there.
As I approached the desk, I saw the one I missed before.
We shared a love for Ella, but as I moved toward the door,
I choked on words that would not come and vanished in despair.
I noticed you while grocery shopping Sunday afternoon.
My cart approached you, and your smile caught my weary gaze.
I tried to smile back, but your eyes pulled away too soon.
I’ve never been the kind of man who makes the ladies swoon.
There were no words to tell you how your smile made my day.
To all you lovely ladies, I had no words to impart.
The things I could have said to you are trapped inside me yet.
In certain situations, I am simply not too smart.
I haven’t found a way to fully open up my heart.
Until I do, I will continue living with regret.