The mind does not always wait

For pen and paper

Nor computer

Nor phone

Nor wall

The words come and go

Flitting through brain matter

Sparking into words

Need to write it down

Need to get it out

Let the words pour out

Over the hands

Onto the page

Or the digital screen

Or the wall

In my bag

I keep extra paper and pens

A small journal

Filled with words that have no meaning

And words that do

Just bleeding into the pages

In my pocket

My phone keeps notes

Of thoughts through the day

Of ideas I need to keep

But barely glance at

Unless the mind’s

pools of thought run dry

In the shower

I keep washable crayons

For when the inspiration hits

For when the ideas are too loud

They just have to get out

The mind does not always wait

For pen and paper

Nor computer

Nor phone

Nor wall

You win without trying

The test ended

When you strut but don’t stumble

Still you tremble

When you meet the one

Love of your life

When you fly over trouble

Never touching the ground

When you succeed on your own merit

Trust in yourself

When you’re true to yourself

Forever you must be

When nothing can touch you

Bless him forever

When you’re free to be you

I’m free to be me

Is it luck or something else?

Limbs heavy

Head stuffy

Vision blurry

Thoughts sluggish

Yet racing

Can’t move

Can’t act

Can’t respond

Trapped inside my own body

Invisible weight

Crushing me down

Just light twitching

Can’t move further

Need to snap out of it

Need something to ground

Something to startle

Something to change

Pull me out of the haze

Have thoughts

Dreams of the future

Regrets from the past

Fond memories I laugh at

Sad memories that make me cry

Nowhere to go, nothing to do

Just me and my thoughts

Thinking of you

Imagine your handsome face

Your pretty eyes

That look on your face

I’d happily die

Just to keep your smile

And hold you close

Until my last breath

Not yours, never yours

You must keep breathing

Keep living on

I can meet up later

Just don’t be the one

Who leaves first

Let me go

I don’t want to hold on

Meet me later

Don’t make me stay

I can’t bear such heartache

Don’t make me

please

Coat of colors, Joseph can find

The answer to every dream

Today, so can we

One such dream,

From days past

I can still recount

A meaning I have deduced without doubt:

Afraid of silence, of being left behind,
Longing for arms that promise shelter.
The tender ache of children

so open, so fragile
Soft hearts mirror the risk of my own.

To rise beyond the weight of waking walls,
Yet roots hold fast, growth denied,
Truth waits, unwelcome, at the door.

Could grace come from the unexpected?

Craving escape, a shift in skin,
But mistrust coils beneath my ribs;
To trust is to risk the fall.

Am I running toward freedom
Or simply away from the ache of the day?

To fly is to feel the soul stretch wide
Freedom, power, breath without boundary.
But the plane shakes, falls
My burdens haven’t learned to stay grounded.

Losing the wheel, the fear returns:
What if I fail again?
But the craft steadies
Terror faced, and courage found.

A new place waits, horizon unknown,
Yet the old longing lingers
For safety, for stars to follow,
For a voice to say, “You’re enough.”

I seek the warmth you once held,
A bowl of light for a weary spirit.

But doubt creeps in
Feeling small, steered by others, unsure.
Still, life doesn’t pause for fear.

So press on, feet dragging or flying,
Refusing to surrender what I’ve dreamt

She was ninety-eight

Gray-white hair

Pale and stiff

She was lowered down

Far below

Only three memories of her remain

She was in bed,

Her daughter-in-law feeding her

Still in bed,

Being cleaned up

Her in the coffin,

No life left.

Now here lies her son

His body is not here for viewing

He’s a cadaver

For med students to study

We gather still to pray

His wife is still here

Surrounded by their children

My dad among them

Will grandma be cared for

by one of her daughters-in-law?

Will the cycle repeat?

We’ll have to wait

and see

Grandpa loved to tell us
the story of his childhood,
a boy in Britain,
always in trouble
with the nuns who scolded,
Grow up, they’d snap.
No, he’d grin, not yet.

The boys’ bathroom stood
half-destroyed,
renovations underway
so off to the girls’ he went,
and there he saw
what the boys never had:
doors on the stalls.

Why no doors for us?
he asked the nun.
Boys don’t need doors,
she answered curtly.
But he thought otherwise.

The next day, a scream
they rushed to the girls’ room,
no doors in sight.
Dragged to the office,
he faced their fury.
Where are they?
Not with me

They searched his home
top to bottom,
no trace,
no doors.

They bought new ones,
installed them fresh,
and by morning
gone again.

This became the rhythm:
new doors,
missing doors,
nuns at his house,
coming up empty.

At last,
new doors arrived,
but this time
they went first
to the boys’ bathroom.
By morning,
all doors remained.

Still, the nuns watched him,
narrow-eyed,
knowing,
though proof eluded them.
And he,
with that sly grin,
held the truth:

Each night,
he had unscrewed them,
quiet as a whisper,
stacked them high
in the attic above the garage,
where no one thought to look.
His parents?
They never said a word.

And then,
one day,
the nuns stormed into the office for work
there on the desk,
every last door that had been missing
and a note atop:
That wasn’t so hard.

I remember that story
because he’s not here to tell it now.
So I tell it
to family, to friends,
to anyone who’ll listen.

A small act of mischief,
a spark of defiance,
a lesson passed down:
how to shape the world
with laughter,
how to carry stories
and make them live again.

Syllables

Count them all

What to do

What to say

No one knows

Skip a line

No luck there

Endless words

No meaning

Just stay here

Words on page

Fill it up

Go away

It was white and blue when we bought it.

A large oak tree out front.

A pecan out back.

A jungle of weeds on the side by the fence.

The metal wire gate for the backyard.

A tall rusty black box meant for barbecue

leaned against the back porch.

A green metal swing-set with faded yellow seats.

The first house I remember.

Grandpa lived with us.

We made up stories on that back porch.

We painted it all.

The house became green with red windows and porches.

The garden replaced the overgrown weeds.

A peach tree planted for me,

an orange for my sister,

a tangerine for my brother.

I held the nails as dad put up the wooden fence.

We updated every room in that house.

The kitchen, the dining room, the kid’s bathroom, the master bathroom.

I held tools, I painted,

I kept the younger kids entertained.

Added a trampoline.

Got our first dog.

Gave her puppies away.

She ran away.

Brought in our first three rabbits.

Built the first aquaponics.

Made my first holy communion in that house.

My three brothers were born in that house.

Met my best friend in that house.

Started making up stories in that house.

Lived in that house longer than any other.

No other house experienced that much change

while we lived in it.

No other house has been the same.

I passed by that house the other day.

It’s been painted since we were last there. It’s white and blue again.

She’s pawing at the door again

I can hear the whining

The sun’s not yet up

She doesn’t care

Nothing new

Dragging myself out of bed

Her whines increase at the sound

The door barely opened,

She jumps up at me

So excited to be held

Ready for food

I prepare her meal mechanically

Yet when I see her eat

The bowl on the floor is gone

Instead sits a plate at the table

A child sitting, stuffing her face

Eggs smearing every surface

She blinks up at me

With my hazel eyes

My freckled cheeks

My fair skin

My dark hair

My own baby girl

She must be real

In a blink she’s gone

Replaced by the puppy

The little chihuahua who won’t shut up

Still scarfing down the kibble

Never satisfied enough

Nothing new, nothing changed

Just the whining

From a dog

Not the child I crave

But someday soon

I’ll change that

I’ll still hear the whining

Never expect that to end

I’ll still prepare food

But it won’t be for a dog

Belonging to my Aunt

It’ll be for someone new

A baby girl wrapped in blue

For now I’ll practice on the dog

Just as I have before

I’ll feed her

and clean her

and hold her close

Until I can wait no more

A child someday soon

Whether adopted or blood attained

She will be mine

To care for, to love, to hold dear

Just a moment more

and she’ll be here

Just a moment more,

and she won’t disappear.