The Ocean Sucks as a Lover 

What a selfish lover

The ocean must be

To the shore

To crash violently into her

To run himself all over her

To reach for her as lovers

Often reach with tenderness

To kiss every piece of her

To fill her with thoughts

Of only himself

To linger far too briefly 

And leave her 

Far too soon when she was

Just starting to get wet

Only to return 

And do it all again


Soul Food

The water moved very slowly. As if the cold made its movement take more effort. Strained. Even painful. It’s dark shades like bruises on the surface. It’s occasional white caps, few and far between, a hint at the strength it would muster if it could only find the warmth. 

I’ve not experienced winter on the lake. My winters were usually a tundra of desolation when I lived at my parents house. Surrounded by empty fields, the snow would drift endlessly like a white dessert. Isolation would settle into your bones and make itself at home along with the ache of cold. Your joints would protest each movement as you ventured out. Each return to the doorstep would come with the frozen burn of entering warmth followed by a quiet numbness as you rested. Breathing would eventually take less effort and heat entered you, but your core would take much longer to expel the chill. 

It wasn’t until I moved closer to the lake that I experienced the beauty of such a different and unsettling natural phenomenon. The water was thicker. Not like slush and not frozen, but moved as if it were overwhelmed. Overtired and weary. Wanting desperately to crawl out of its self and clawing at the ice surrounding its edges. Keeping it from its chaotic and failed attempts to escape. The color of its surface so much darker than the warmer days of summer. It was like the water had a sickness. Like the cold of winter and sucked the life from it. As if it were on the brink of death. Starving and trapped in its place. Waiting for summer to feed it again. 

In that moment, the lake and I shared a deep desire. To have our souls fed and to feel alive again. 

One Liner

“You coming down for your sandwhich?” My mother hollered up the steps. His mumbling voice responded and she returned to the living room where we had all been huddled to watch tv and eat our subway. An occasion since I was visiting them that afternoon.   

“He’ll probably come down later.” She informed my father and I as we ate. A conformation that she didn’t understand a word he said either. 

“You ever feel like he’s is like Wilson from Home Improvement?” I asked my mother, knowing she would completely understand the reference. 

“At least Wilson would show his eyes over the fence. He’s just a voice from upstairs.” She said bitterly. 

My father looked into the distance dreamily for a moment, then said “More like Wolowitz’s mother.”

I thought I was going to choke on my Italian BMT and die of laughter. 


Flitting about 

Like a nervous little sand piper

You tethered on the edge

Of a little less than sane

But I assured you

Warm cup in hand and

Prophetic sight in my mind 

That you were going to 

Be just the exact amount

Of courageous as you needed

And you quieted from sand piper 

To mourning dove

Cooing your mournful sound

To comfort yourself 

Not Here

You are no longer here

You are frosted 

Torn from the place of my comfort

To the white sheets of suffering

Dearest you are not here 

Though your body lays in satin

A shallow place your head has made

My body recognizes yours

But my soul searches for you

And senses nothing

You are not here anymore

Yet I desperately wish you were

I had hoped you would wake 

That slumber now reaching 

In the far recesses of the past

Nearly forgotten

But friend

My blessing granting friend 

You are simply no longer here

You are no longer here

Gregorian Chants and Painful Successes

It’s been a very long time since I actually sat down at a computer to type. Like a legitimate computer. This is a beautiful and odd feeling, since much of my life is conducted via cellphone. Including all my blog posts. Which, has been the case the last few months since moving to my apartment.

Presently I’m visiting my parents for the day, though the visiting has become more of a quiet separateness involving my father searching real estate on his Kindle and my mother watching old re-runs of “Grace Under Fire” which she has become fond of since being an empty nester. My younger brother, who had insisted months ago that he move to Florida, is now back in the cold midwest weather to visit, and hasn’t really been at my parents house since he arrived, which we all agree is for the best. Still I wish his visits involved us seeing him more.

I spent my New Years Eve as you all had heard in one of my previous posts: with my cat, reading, introverting, and going to bed by 10pm. Not that I didn’t want to stay up late and touch the first moments of New Years Day, but it just felt more appropriate to treat it like any other day I would treat the rest of the New Year 365…asleep by 10pm.

My New Years Day has been as one would expect as well. I spent it at my parents house, with the people I love and have loved me in return. We cleaned the house for guests that would arrive on Saturday for a day visit. We went out to lunch at McDonalds so as not to dirty the kitchen since we spent our afternoon cleaning. Then we returned home. Cleaned more, rested, and after all was said and done my parents whipped out their Kindles to read and I sought out to use up the rest of my $30 dollars worth of iTunes credit and discovered covers of contemporary music redone as Gregorian Chants. Score!

In light of my discovery of top-40 Gregorian chants, I came to realize (rather to be further affirmed) at what a stinking odd duck I truly am. I had suspected long ago that I was odd, mainly because I struggled to relate to many of the people in my age bracket. I further felt this was affirmed when I realized I had only 5 people in my life that were close to my age that I called “friend” and the rest of my friends were mostly middle aged women and men who were beginning to become empty nesters. It took another step further when I realized the people I spent the most time with…were my parents (who are pretty cool for older folks).

This year I have been contemplating my oddity a great deal. Not in a very insecure way, but rather in a way that makes me appreciate my unique personality. It was the same personality that drew my current boyfriend’s attention, who was also an old soul with young blood, seeking another kindred spirit. It was the same personality that learned how to face my failures head on and push through to realize, they were not so much failures, as necessary falling-outs that resulted in freeing me from poisonous people. It was the same personality that sought to pursue new ventures and creative outlets. In turn it was the same personality that in a strange way, changed into a sadder, but wiser one, and then suddenly to a quite appreciation for the struggles and frailty of life. It was the personality that survived laying several good friends to rest, and still came out alive, but very changed.

This year has been a painful success. There is so much more to learn, and so much more to protect myself from. More questions to ponder. The same questions to ask in search of new answers. There is growth to come. Monotony and routine to build and cherish. Books to read. Posts to write.

Have a painful and successful New Year friends.

Love Struck Scholars

Widely scattered

Are scholars who seek

An iron love

Built in a stronghold

Mostly they find 

False-fronted stores

So abnormally normal

So uninventive 

Lacking in the abstract that

The mind only wishes it could grasp

But is left to simply marvel at