Category Archives: Poems

Photography, Poems

Bridge Over Water

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Shot with an iPhone 12

There is a river that sloshes against the man made bank. There are waves that crash against the pillars. There is a family of ducks that has learned to call this place home. I’ve seen them and watched them grow.

There are lines here that were meticulously crafted. That were designed and left behind and now they sit here overlooked and abandoned. How can something so important be lost and disregarded?

I hear the sounds of the car engine as it passes over me. I hear the echoes of the wheels going over pavement bouncing off the walls. I watch as it disappears down the street and I wonder if they thought of me too.

I listen as the waves crash on the man made bank, as the waves crash against the pillars. I feel the cool morning breeze against my face and watch as the sunrises over the city scape. I wonder if I can call this home yet?

Photography, Poems

The Clouds Roll in at Midnight

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And as I watch the clouds roll in, I’m hopeful for the rain. I’m hopeful for the change they will bring and the new day ahead.

It is easy to get hung up on the small inconveniences life brings. Like rain or having a bad day. It’s even easier to waste time trying to control every aspect of life seeking perfection, but life isn’t perfect. Life is as unpredictable as a Summer storm and the truest test of character is having the ability to roll with fates unpredictable flow. Adapting and persevering is part of the human experience.

Be hopeful and keep moving forward.

Shot with an iPhone 12

Photography, Poems

Today is a Fireball

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Lately I’ve been contemplating my own mortality. A natural step in the human experience. It unavoidable truth that forever looms over us the moment we step out of the womb and despite trying to forget it’s existance, it is a truth that is forever present.

I wonder if animals ponder on this too. If in the late state of their cycle, they sit and reminise on the good times and count the days till it’s all over. They say when cats know they are about to die, they find a place to die in secret. I wonder if they do so to spare loved ones from knowing loss.
 
And I’ve known loss, as you probably have. I have known the pain of not having someone around and it broke me. And I think about my aging family. I think about how they can no longer run after me or toss me in the air. I watch as they go in and out of hospitals. Every surgery or diagnosis weighs on me heavily and I wonder each time if this might be the last time.

I wonder what our last memory will be. Will I get to say goodbye? Will it be recent? Will anyone be there to remember me?
 
A man I know once said:
 
Tomorrow is not garanteed. The health you have today may be gone tomorrow, so make sure you do what you have to today.
 
 I think he may be on to something.

Today I will wake up and watch the sun rise. I will watch as the family of geese feed on grass and bugs. I will hug my family. I will watch the sunset. Tommorrow? Who knows about tomorrow, I’m just sipping my coffee and enjoying today.

Image shot with an iPhone 12

Photography, Poems

Grass in the Wind

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A single blade of grass.

Watch as it flows with the morning breeze. Watch as it is wisked away by outside forces. It’s future is predetermined. Its expiration date has been set and yet it still stands tall, uncaring or unconcerned.

 Today it waits for the sunrise. It enjoys it’s majesty. Tomorrow it could ffall and disappear under an emerald current. Or be carried away to make a home for a bird. Gone, leaving in it’s place an empty seat for all who remember it.

Soon a new blade of grass will come to replace it. One with new memories, ideas and dreams. And although it might share the same fate, this one will be different. But this one will stand proudly too.

Shot with a Nikon D90

Photography, Poems

Morning Routine

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Shot with an iPhone 12

When I was younger I used to rise before the sun. I would hear the ringing of the alarm clock in the other room and listen to the shuffling that followed as the house filled with the sent of instant coffee. I would pretend to sleep as my mother would come and gently raise me from feigned slumber. It was time for work.

I remember as we drove through cold streets lit with sickly yellow light from old lampposts. I watched as my mother wiped the sleep from her eyes as the radio played the local Spanish station.

I liked to watch the houses. I watched as the army of those who woke before the sun sit in their cars. Watched as the smoke of the exhaust floated up and mixed with the morning mist. I wondered if they also had a sleeping child in the back seat.

I remember pretending to fall asleep as we turned the corner to my grandmothers house. I liked when my mother would carry me in. I used to watch as her headlights disappear as I drank hot chocolate that was always waiting for me as the kitchen filled with the scent of handmade tortillas.

That was years ago. Today I still rise before the sun does. But today I sip on black coffee as I watch the sunrise reminiscing on the good times had.

Photography, Poems

Morning Lakewater

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The world is still at 6 am. The water crashes on the bank and the light breeze brushes up against the flowers as they open up, ready for a new day.

The sun reaches over the horizon. It kisses the clouds first. Corresses with a warm and loving touch and colors them pink and orange and red. The sun streches over the clouds and fills the sky with purple and red and orange.

The birds come out, they scavenge for food and sing to sun and thank her for the new day.

The sun reaches down to gently touch the water, the earth, and those crazy enough to wake before the sun does. And as the day warms, as the streets fill with people and cars and skys with birds and planes, remeber that the joy of life comes from apprciating the little things.

Shot with a Nikon D90

Poems

In the Box My Grandfather Made

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I’m going to tell you the story of how I caught lightning in a wooden box my grandfather made

It is a simple wooden box,

Carefully stained in pretty cherry and on the front cover,

He carved his initials.

My grandfather is a meticulous man and each day he would spend hours completing his first incision until little by little, the box was made. Some day’s he would only carve at it once and leave it on his workbench to sit idle underneath the hot Mexican sun. Sometimes it would sit there idle and untouched for days while he worked, drank, and lived his life away. There are a lot of untold stories sewn into the streets of that little Mexican Village.

My grandfather spent years working on that box,

Slicing at it piece by piece until slowly it took the shape that I now hold in my hands.

You see, this box is magical.

But its not due to some ancient Aztec spell infused into its wooden fibers,

We aren’t Aztec. Nor is it magical because it can hold lightning.

It’s magical because mixed into the lacquer and the glue is mix are our history and traditions. It’s magical because within these tiny wooden walls house more love than I could put into words. It is magical because he gave it to me to hold.

He probably doesn’t think it’s magical. He probably doesn’t even remember giving me the box. To him it was a gift for me when we had nothing. To me, it was everything thing.

To me, it is everything.

It is just a wooden box with small fading initials in the front. Along it, the scars of a life well lived.

Oh right. I was telling you the story of how I caught lighting in the wooden box my grandfather made.

The other day, emboldened by its magic,

I climbed to the peak of Mount Olympus. With the box in hand, I looked up at Zeus and with my clearest voice I yelled

I am here too. I dare you to forget me.

Zeus looked down from his thrown and with a look that I thought was anger he thrown down one of his bolts of lightning.

In self-defense I raised the wooden box in self defense and waited under its cover. It landed with a loud explosion that shook the world and crumbled the mountain into nothing.

When the smoke cleared and the dust settled,

I stood there with a wooden box full of lightning and a cool story to tell.