I dream that you are
in my arms
just like we talked about before.
The cool breeze blankets our bodies
and my heart races until it finds its pace
in sync with yours.
My eyes wander
to catch a glimpse of you every now and then,
until I drift into a peaceful sleep.
My mind drifts into a hall of mirrors
and echo this image
over and over.

Truth is I’m crushed inside.
Tears well up, but when I try to cry,
they hide, and I….
I’m stuck in limbo.

It might be pain that’s passed,
re-lived in slow-mo, happening so fast,
I gasp, I grasp….
and come up empty.

Please, Lord, please, fill me up?
Emotionally, my love tank is stuck;
It sucks… yeah it sucks….
I’m stuck on empty.

Don’t fret, I am okay.
It’s not a lie. I’ve always felt this way.
That day…. Oh, that day
was just a slap in my face.

Time for me to wake up
from this nightmare, but I am out of luck.
I’m stuck… I’m stuck….
It’s Groundhog Day.

Romance is a pipe dream;
belief in love is wind beneath my wings.
I’d sing! Oh, I’d sing!
The Nearness of You.

True friendship escapes me.
I’m driving down a one-way dead-end street
and I, oh my….
I feel so alone.

My pen is my soul friend
as I bring this monologue to an end.
God, lend, please send
a vessel of blessing.

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.

Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. “Just a minute”, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened.

A small woman in her 80’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, and then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. “It’s nothing”, I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated”. “Oh, you’re such a good boy”, she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?” “It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice”. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.” I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.” We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. “How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse. “Nothing,” I said. “You have to make a living,” she answered. “There are other passengers,” I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.” I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.

Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance. Every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift.

Memories serve as a reflection of ourselves.
Do you remember your first kiss,
or your first time behind the wheel of a car?
…and then of course there are those
embarassing and rebellious times,
you know, like that time you stole that thing
or the fights you got into.
It’s the little things that really make a difference though,
like the child who melted away
the lock on your guarded heart,
or those few and rarely spoken - and even more scarecly heard -
words of encouragement that inspired you to
keep the faith
just a little longer.
I wonder how often I’ve been
the bearer of those gifts
to others in my life,
because my goal in life isn’t to simply
enjoy memories, nor is it to be memorable,
but to show others that they are important
to me,
to the world,
and to God, above all.
Isn’t that what life is about?
After all,
we were made in His image,
and are constantly reminded
that “we were”, when we need
to focus more on who we are,
and who we are going to become.

People keep asking why this was password protected. First of all, I’m not married, or even have a girlfriend so the thought of having vows is a little akward lol. Second of all, these aren’t my vows per-say, but they would be if I was in this situation.

I heard someone once say that his daughter’s boyfriend was “waiting until he could afford her” to marry her, and he said that would never happen. He didn’t say it to put down her boyfriend, but I think he meant that his daughter was priceless, and so I put myself in the boyfriend’s shoes with that in mind. With that explanation, I don’t feel so weird about this poem anymore

Not long after I proposed to you,
I realized that you deserve the world
and I can’t give that to you.
I thought about it,
and decided that I would not marry you
until I could afford you.
And now, here we stand at the alter.
So what has changed?
I am, by no means, a wealthier man
(especially after I get the bill for this wedding!)
All joking aside, what has changed is
that I realize how foolish I was for
trying to put a price tag on something
that my heart knows is priceless.
Even if I gave you the world,
I would still be in debt.
So here I am, offering you all I can,
and all you asked for in the first place.
I offer you me.
I may never feel worthy of your love,
but that is no reason to deny you, my love,
so, for richer, or poorer, I vow to love you,
all the days of my life.

Twenty-four inches of confidence,
determine to conquer the world,
immesurable continents,
behold this bold boy whirl.

There’s nothing that this boy can’t do
and nothing he won’t try.
His adventures prove quite dangerous,
but he won’t idly stand by.

It’s not the danger that he loves,
but the wonder of the world.
Life is worth living as he learns
and treasures every pearl.

Each moment of each precious day
bursts at the seams with purpose.
Each smile, each inaudible cry
holds more beneath the surface.

I don’t pretend to comprehend
or even know their meanings,
but I do know one thing for sure,
he’s living what he’s dreaming.

I long for
an ear to listen,
to show the slightest interest;
a hand to leave the lightest touch;
a mind to lend the briefest moment;
a soul to spare our selfish nature.

Just an instant,
long enough,
that a word might be heard
or my needs noticed.
Perhaps, my body’s stress soothed
or my feelings considered.

My pen cries out
and I fear that these tears
might be blotted out,
but I still take joy
in being that ear, hand and,
whatever else God allows me to be,
hoping, knowing, that one day,
He will provide a vessel of blessing
just for me.

I had a dream that I was in some kind of, wide open space. It was weird. There were tons of people around, and it felt like I was in a silent movie. The camera panned over the scene, and moved closer and closer to the crowd, until I became the camera.

I was sitting at what seemed like a picnic table. The table was packed with people who I assume were my friends, although I knew none of them. It looked like almost everyone was talking, but even with the masses of people, not a voice could be heard. I was sitting at the edge of the table, and I had my arm around some woman. I don’t know who she was, and I don’t remember seeing her face, but I remember feeling anxious. On a whim, I asked her out on a date, but she rejected my offer.

Next thing I know, we were alone (I assume I pulled her aside), and I ask her out again. She seemed reluctant at first, but I could tell that something in her just couldn’t say no this time.

The next thing I remember was being in frenzy, thinking that all I have to wear are hand-me-downs; I’ve got no job, not a lot of money, and I don’t know where to take this woman out on a date. It isn’t like me to act that way, but come to think of it, I am beginning to see less and less of my conscious self in the dream.

Then comes date night. At that point, I was no longer an actor in the dream, but an eavesdropper, spying on the action. I saw the woman and I in a restaurant, talking. I asked her a rhetorical question about her why she dates and I go into this winded explanation of why I think it is important that we talk about our expectations.
“I don’t want to waste your time or mine,” I said. “If we’re looking for something different, we can still get to know each other, but without the romance…”

Even though I still didn’t have a clear view of her face, I could tell that the woman is intrigued that I raised the issue, and I seem equally impressed and quite amazed that it came out of my mouth.

I was still the camera man in the next scene, but I found myself even further away from the action than before. We were behind Stevens Institute of Technology enjoying the clear view of New York City. It was apparent that we were enjoying each other’s company. We walked and continued to talk for what seemed like hours. It is the kind of experience that happens, well, only in a dream.

The dream ends with me coming home, overwhelmed with the feeling of… of… satisfaction. The woman in the dream never really spoke; I never really saw her face. When I woke up, I woke up feeling extremely content and happy. I don’t know if she was like me, and her reason for dating was to find her lifelong partner, or if she was just dating to have fun.
I don’t know if, in the next episode, we became romantically involved, or if we just started a friendship. The dream I had is full of holes and opportunities for embellishment. I don’t know whether the dream is figurative, or literal. I don’t know where to even start to interpret it, but I can tell you this much. I am looking forward to meeting the woman of my dreams.

High above the Atlantic
we met on a cool spring night.
High off of caffeine
while everyone lay asleep
we talked.
The words are now a distant blur
but the memory,
the picture in my mind is crystal clear.
It surprises me that no one’s sleep was distrubed
by the light of your smile.
I’m shocked that they remained at rest
throughout your beautiful song of laughter.
Your smile opened my eyes
and your song opened my heart;
the whole experience blew my mind.
The memory ended
with you falling asleep
safely
in my arms,
but the painting begins with us.

Thursday afternoon
she came home early from work
stormed into her apartment
checked her answering machine – no messages
plopped herself onto the couch with a thud
kicked her feet onto the coffee table
knocked magazines onto the floor
spotted a movie review from the corner of her eye
smiled at the thought
snarled at her beeper – her leash
100 hours a week for work is no fun…

Thursday evening
she dressed in her slack ware
strolled out the door
strode down the street
stepped into the theater
bought a ticket and overpriced buttery popcorn
observed the passersby instead of the coming attractions
marched into theater 7
scanned the hollow room for the best seat
thought twice about sitting in the back
and looked towards the front…

A minute passed
she tiptoed down the aisle
and turned into the row
bumped over seated silhouettes
she felt her way through the row
using armrests and rested arms as her guide
halfway through
she crouched and sat down…

Soon thereafter
the movie began
on her left many couples confided in arms
lusty looks misty eyes exchanged by him and her
on her right she saw large men and large women too
popcorn, caramel candy, and Pepsi
rested safely on their laps as they lay back
she sat and ate popcorn
as twinkles from the canvas shed light on her subjects…

A minute passed
she watched the animation transform and morph
while the movie was playing
*BEEP* *BEEP* her leash barked
she sighed
and the movie played on…