Hometown Rot

I visit my youthful stomping ground less and less each year. Somehow, the place seems damaged to me. Like a ripe apple that has fallen into the grass. It might be shiny and delicious looking on the top, but when you bend to pick it up, you can see it’s mushy and bruised underneath.

don’t judge fallen fruit
by the color of its skin
rot begins inside

On the Breeze

on a mountain top 
in a cathedral of trees—
god speaks through nature

Monoku#16

Hipster Invasion

At my favorite bar,
the one I hate the least.
I don’t know the music,
drifting out to the streets.

I have to sit outside,
cause I can’t stand the crowd.
Don’t know what they’re saying,
the music’s too damn loud.

Over in the corner,
playing the hipster scene.
There’s two twenty somethings,
hitting on a prom queen.

Sipping their microbrew,
trying to impress her.
All the while their eyes are,
trying to undress her.

But the sun warms my face,
this beer is good and cold.
Sitting at this table,
watching the day get old.

My youth may be gone now,
but I don’t have regrets.
I lived the way I want,
that’s as good as it gets.

~Going Home~

I pulled to the side of highway B and walked to the center of the bridge that spanned Wakenda creek. I stared in disbelief at my childhood playground. I spent countless hours here hunting, fishing, throwing smoke bombs at passing cars, fighting make believe wars, exploring life and learning about love. Now just an impersonal ditch cut through unrecognizable farmland. Gone are the grain elevators that in my childhood seemed to touch the clouds in the sky. No more houses with white siding and green shingled roofs. No childhood home, no trees, no life… Nothing left except the tears in my eyes.
time must move forward—
leaving only memories
to fill up my heart