PoetryVideo Poems

Little Drummer Boy – Musical Poetry Version

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My favorite Christmas song has always been The Little Drummer Boy. But because I can’t play any instruments or sing, I never thought I’d be able to do a “cover” of it and was always a little jealous of those that could. Just like the boy in the song, I never felt that I had a gift that’s fit.

But also like the boy, I realized that I could just give what I had. It may not be a traditional gift or what the world deems acceptable or worthy, but it’s mine. It’s me. My way of honoring his birth and expressing gratitude for the atonement.

I love the line “then he smiled at me”. After everything our savior has done for us, all he really wants in return is our hearts. If we offer the gift of ourselves he will always smile at us. No matter how unworthy we feel, we will always be enough.

Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. Merry Christmas!

Lyrics:
come they told me
there’s a new born king to behold
a new royalty
bring your finest gifts
to lay before the throne
to honor him

but I told them
I’m not a shepherd
or a wise man
I have no gift that’s fit
I can’t sing like Adele
or rap like Lupe
I have no treasures of gold
but I don’t suppose he has much use for those anyway
I’m just a poor boy too
I only have these words
shall I say them for you?

Mary nodded her head
Kimberly tickled the keys
my 3 cats kept time
and I said my piece
I said my best for him
tore my heart straight out of my chest for him

told him I knew how he felt
when they detested him
and falsely arrested him
I thanked him for the truth
that they scolded him for
told him what the atone-meant to me and the impor-
tance of scorching blood so hot
that he had to sweat me through his pores
for getting through gethsemane on all fours
for the scourging he absorbed
and the thorns
of that barbed-wire halo
for walking on water
when my feet were cemented to the shores
for not only showing me the way home
but getting me through the doors
for becoming like me for a moment
so that I could become like him forever

I told him how these wars and afflictions
were so much more than I envisioned
I mean, I knew about the battle
but not about the scars
I knew about the gamble
but not about the cards
this is hard
these burdens are burning, I’m laden with them
these aches and pains, I feel forsaken with them
then he opened his arms and I saw his palms
I was graven in them
he had scars too
and he saved me with them
changed me with them

my eyes were opened to the liberation in him
and I saw how all these lonely stars
could become constellations in him

true as the noon sky’s blue

I thanked him for the courage
the hope
the ways of wisdom
to navigate every sacred day that I’m given
the amazing grace within him
the favor of forgiveness
when I wavered in suspicion
while they scathed him in prison
and bathed him in crimson
for breaking the system
so that today I can say with conviction
that because my savior was risen
I can rise too

for that
 I gave him all that I could give him

and as these vowels glided across a life time I implored
you were my consonant constant
the figure of my speech
my life line through the storms

it was full of awkward pauses
mispronounced words
stuttered and forged through a discord
of a thousand failed metaphors
I know it’s not much
but every syllable of this discourse
was just me trying to make my life rhyme with yours

my vocal chords were hoarse
and broken
and I could speak no more
I looked up
and I saw my reflection bouncing back and forth
through tears that traversed time and eternity

he said
your words are enough
you are enough

then he smiled at me
me and my poetry

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PoetrySocial Commentary

We’re all Browns

By Posted on

You work 50 hours a week at a job you hate. You’ve got family problems. The Bills are piling up. The sour smog of politics fills the air. It’s more than you can Bear. All you wanted was a few hours on Sundays to escape, and now even that’s gone. I feel you.

But understand, for millions of people in this country every day is a Lions den and there are no Sundays to escape through. And it’s been that way since the first Patriots engaged in the slave trade. Every day, every hour, Ravens circle oppressively above with memories like Steel traps.

Also understand that when you kneel or don’t show up for the national anthem, someone feels that their son, or their sister, or their grandfather died for nothing. That all the years of blood, sweat, and tears that got us here aren’t worthy of a few minutes of gratitude. I know you’re not protesting the anthem, but you’re still stepping on graves.

So whether we stand for the brave and ignore those who aren’t as free, or kneel for the less free and ignore the brave, we’re both right, and we’re both wrong. It’s complicated. I don’t know all the answers.

But I do know that when contention wins, we all lose, no matter what the scoreboard says. One by one, things that used to unite us are now dividing us, and that’s the Cardinal crime here. This week it just happens to be football. What will fall next?

Our Chief concern should be for that flag to mean the same thing to every person on this roster of 323 million. And that’s not going to come by burning it, or through snarky remarks on Twitter, or by shouting at each other with signs and pepper spray. It’s going to take work. It’s going to take Charging out of your comfort zone to do something for someone you normally wouldn’t have. Or better yet, having a conversation. Find out how life is hard for someone else. Because it’s hard for all of us, and sometimes it’s more important to understand than to be understood.

So whether you relate more to a Cowboy or a Redskin, know that neither of them were Saints, and none of us are perfect. We can’t change bad calls made in a game that was played decades or centuries ago. But we can change the next play. And at least for now, we live in a country where we’re free to do just that.

Look down at your skin. Do you see black or white?

We’re all Browns.

So may we remember the Titans that paid the ultimate cost to buy us a country where we can get paid millions of dollars to play a game, and millions can happily pay their hard-earned dollars to watch it.

But more importantly, may we be Giants of humanity.

May we be Raiders of the dust
and may we be Eagles
and bring someone to the sky with us.

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PoetryVideo Poems

Nine Twelve featuring Jennifer Thomas

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Remember 9/12?
the day after the crashes 
the aftermath when
the skies were quiet 
the only tweets came from birds that were confused by the reverence 
they looked on as we held hands at vigils of remembrance 
we were scared but the fellowship vanquished the fears
because when the candlelight lit up the tears  
we saw our own reflections in each other’s faces 
and we mourned, together
the only races were those to get help for someone that needed it  
someone we probably didn’t even know
people said hi to each other, and smiled
just walking down the street
all religions came together to pray
the non-religious came together – to pray

tales of heroes started to leak into our collective conscience
like flight 93
when that plan was hatched  
there was no time for Facebook flaming because there were already flames
down on the ground
through the ashes and the panic
firemen didn’t stop to ask if 
anyone was republican or democrat
or what kind of life they thought mattered
there was only one kind of life, and it mattered
every burning body deserved to live
every cry for help deserved to be heard
nobody was fixated on reposting or commenting on fake news
because they were asphyxiated
breathless 

and what, a decade and a half it’s been
here we are, gasping again
the air is black again
it’s like we’ve been attacked again
choking on the smoke in our throats and noses every night
only there are no sirens or yellow coats or firehoses in sight

so what do we do 
standing on the front lines of civil war 2
guns drawn, the skies are violent
we’re desperately trying to ascertain
umbrellas to shelter us from all the acid rain
every direction a maelstrom 
every election is a hail storm
walking softly through a minefield of ballot boxes
and no matter which hole we punch, we’re knocked unconscious 
there’s no stopping the brawls
we’re not even talking anymore 
it’s just a cacophony of cannonballs
never content un…less there’s contention
so much energy to scream we lost our energy to dream
we lost our memories… shortened everything to memes

what happened?
we were the most united as americans
when they hijacked United and American
we were still as different as red and white
but we took the stripes and stood under the stars
told our stories in the moonlight and we discovered the same plot
woven in old glory we saw sisters and brothers made from the same cloth
an eternal fabric 
we don’t need terrorist attacks to remind us of that
because every day someone crashes 
and every day someone can be rescued
someone right next to you
because as we all know, this life can be hell
we’re all just trying to find heaven in it
and there’s a chain of deliverance that only works if we’re linked together in it
if hurt people hurt people, healed people can heal people
that’s the real appeal of people
only as the sum of our parts do we ever really feel equal
and peaceful
we don’t have to be the same, to be one
to find truth in truce
in this mess the only solution we have left
is love, compassion, and union
to cross that line in the sand, grab somebody’s hand
and stand together at the vigil
in remembrance of what it was like to be… human

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PoetryVideo Poems

Wanderlust

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I had that dream again last night
no, not the one where I’m in college and I can’t find my class schedule again
the other one, where I’m living in my dream house
it was a little different this time, but not different
still spacious, modern but cozy, nice furniture
and there’s always a hallway that leads to a part of the house i’ve never seen before
and it’s really clean, pristine
and it’s like, how did I not know about this? this is amazing – bonus square footage
but I hesitate to go
because once I emerge from the other end of that hallway
and make footprints on the silky white rug
once I put my dinner plate on the coffee table
and once I lay on the couch and do everyday couch things on it 
it’s not new anymore
and what if there’s not another undiscovered hallway to go down
and that’s it, and I’m out of new places to investigate
and what if… well, usually about then i wake 
and in my half-conscious state
I try to think about any rooms in my real house that I might have missed
like a brick that I can twist in my living room and the whole thing will switch
or a window that I haven’t looked out of recently
or worst case, some furniture that I can rearrange
so that it doesn’t feel the same

am I odd to see life like an odyssey?
why am I still browsing open houses on Zillow a year after I bought one?
how is it that sitting under a perfectly fine roof on a perfectly comfortable chair that I still feel like a vagabond?
aimless
like i’m trying to write soliloquies on a keyboard with no return
just an empty space above the shift key on the right
i have no way to start a new line, or a new life
so I wander in the wilderness
through the wayfaring I crave bearing
the drifting hurts to the bone
never quite sure of a moment
that’s why I keep trying to recycle words into poems
like if I could reverberate the tone
enough to turn nouns and verbs into stone 
i could subvert the loneliness 
but maybe the reason we’re prone to this thirst to roam
is because this earth… isn’t… home

and this whole human existence is like summer camp
we’re just here to have experiences away from our parents
yeah there are mosquito bites and the bed isn’t very comfortable
and we have to cook our own food but
didn’t we find part of ourselves in that camp fire?
was it the sparks or were we the little glowing souls floating in the smoky purple haze
and that mountain we climbed
with every step we took we left an older version of ourselves behind
there were stray branches, we got some scratches
and JJ got poison ivy
and the sunburns, those were probably the worst but 
we’ll never forget the sun shining off the lake like a prophecy of light
we’re a little sore from learning to water ski but tonight
anything can happen
we might laugh until the sky turns bright
or stumble into a first kiss under the moonlight
either way
we’re gonna remember these days until we’re old and gray
and when the summer’s over we’re gonna go home and say
you’re not gonna believe what happened

I’m not the first person to feel like life is an exodus
I suppose it’s like Moses for the rest of us
I know the promised land isn’t listed on Zillow
and tonight, when my head hits the pillow
i’m probably going to dream of more new houses with secret passageways and unexplored rooms
but i can rest, assured that the only thing better than real estate
is a real estate
and I know the trust is mine to own
so I’m gonna keep throwing wood on the fire and blazing new trails and turning over stones every day
until i’m on the bus ride home

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