Planet Ahead

You Are My Bright Side

You are my bright side

the one who turns the tide

hope has taken shape

words now carry weight

these walls are sure and safe


You are my bright side

contentment’s peerless guide

forgiving all my lack

picking up the slack

your palm upon my back


You are my bright side

a horizon open wide

I love the precious shorthand

that we both understand

a softer place to  land


You are my bright side.

The God of the Long Term

An exegete called Him the God of the long term.

Is it a name that conjures all the temporal spirits,

aloft in Dickensian foreboding?

Dare we approach, seeking a crown

from One simply enduring?

Or is He a state

impervious to Fate

and all its stars,

where our plan-making may cease

and our ceasing will ease?

While we look for a refuge

from these recursive days,

the questions grow,

and the longing stays.

The Pessimist

If you’re a pessimist,

you want to be right

if you’re also a martyr

or a masochist.

An attention-hungry jeremiad

who relishes the negative.

A frill of sunlight through the drear

stings brightly;

a trill of gospel through the fear

rings off-key.

Now in an echo chamber

of grievance and dread:

How will you know

if it’s all in your head?

The Gap

Between you and me

Between the truth and set free

Between what this was supposed to be

and what I now foresee.

The pesky incongruity,

maddening humanity.

And it only now occurs to me:

Between born of the Virgin

and suffered under Pilate,

before the reckoning–

wasn’t that almost everything?


Turns out it’s an adjective that means

we had no idea,

and we have no idea.

It’s everybody’s best guess

when best is frighteningly relative.

What was shiny now has a sinister slant,

an apology that doesn’t land.

Copping to innocence, a sneaky excuse,

today it feels like a tightening noose.


When I learned that trees communicate

wordlessly joining roots

to share food and water

whispering down the lane

so every one can bloom in unison,

I wondered about the numbness

of my feet on this ground,

and the silence to my right

and to my left,

and I recognized my inferiority.


The efficacy of resurrection

is that it’s not

a corpse reanimation

but a brand new incarnation.

Not just borrowed breath

but newly fashioned flesh

and bones that hold the knowledge of death.

Sinewy power and fearless grit

A mind reset, perfectly fit

to remember before, and still overcome it.

I Recently Read

I recently read that

shame is useless.


not in a ha-ha way–

’cause I’ve somehow made it work as

a weapon I can’t lay down

a cloak I don’t shrug off

a tool that never dulls

a boulder that won’t budge.

And I also read that

regret profits no one.

But that doesn’t mean

there are none.

‘No regrets’ rings hollow

rather delusional, in fact.

How do you learn from mistakes

if there’s nothing at your back?

Belief becomes words become practice–

if I ever can make sense of this.

It’s On Me

I’ve gotta stanch the bleeding

of minutes from the clock.

We need to make the most of this.

At each turn, I whisper a prompt:

What’s next, and then after that?

Something’s gotta take shape.

Today is a series of doing,

and so will tomorrow be.


We used to move through the hours;

our comings and goings stacked up nicely

and put the shine on a life.


It’s frightening to watch the pot never boil.

Will the calendar begin again today?

These seams may burst, the fabric fray

I can only hold so much at bay.



One Arrangement of a Life

An assortment of four corners

to pinball on and off

to frame moods

and the actions they birth

the words they pen

and the thoughts they unleash.

There’s yet a destination

though you don’t feel motion now,

and the scenery standing still

is a different kind of vertigo.