Ramblings (Pt. Cuatro)

The time comes when every person must decide if they will stay as who they have always been or as one the must become.

To be the one not last picked
To be the one who doesn't make the error
To be the one with the game on his shoulders
To be the one with the ball in his hand
To be the one to give it all
And win or lose, keeps respect.

Walden had his pond
Frost had his road which made all the difference
Dickinson had her death
Whitman had his Captain, my Captain
Collin had his forgotten poem
Max had his Rachel
What do I have?
I have this journey
I have this trail before me
I have followed some
And I have blazed new ways
This what I have tonight.

Ramblings (Pt. Tres)

Shades of grey lack color and clarity.
The brightest of colors brings out the humanity of life.
I wonder how our world would be if we lived in a world of grey days.
I think I like this world of color more.
Don't you?

I have hiked the hills.
I have explored the dales.
I have climbed the tree.
I have tasted her fruit.

Not everyone who wanders is lost.
Not everyone who sleeps is dreaming.
Not everyone who stumbles is falling.
Not everyone who leaves is gone.

I remember yesterday when I walked past the wren. He sang for me a wonderful tune. I stopped, and I listened. His heart sang, not ashamed who was around. And for a moment, I heard him cry. It was early in the morning, before the city awoke.

Rambling words are like a bubbling brook. Sometimes it is good to listen to while passing time by. However, given enough time, the will erode away the will like a river to rock over time. What's my point? Choose your words wisely. They can nourish, and they can devour.

Ramblings (Pt. Dos)

The life of a leaf ends
ever so silently with a
gentle float below.

She can't quite
understand her holy
purpose in this
modern age.

Fluent is the bird who
flew to far to come
back home to help
her heir.

Jack became the greatest
ballplayer in the world.
Perry became the father
of the greatest ballplayer
in the world.

I ski the slopes with a
slight touch of a finger tip.
I glide over the hill and
end at her hip's lips.

Everyman dies alone.
No mortal can ever
usher another through
death's gates. Not even
with they close their eyes
together.

Five monkeys sitting
on a wall.
White fur.
Humped backs.
They will win the
staring contest.

In weakness arrives strength.
In distress comes peace.
Through pain, comfort reaches in.
Tears wash sweet relief.

My mind is tired tonight.
I can't see straight.

Rambling Words of a Traveling Man (Pt. Uno)

***Just a quick note before you begin. I wrote these over several days on a road trip through the Coffee Fields of Colombia. Some make sense to me and others do not. Don't fret if they are as clear as mud. A reminder there are a few morsels of tastiness below- SO BEWARE!***

There is a tree I see that dominates the skyline
-king among the urban forest.

I can see the airport strip from here
-a bare patch in the urban sea.

We think not for nature.
It is true.
Tell me what you see right now.

The buzz of a saw ends the life of a noble hardwood.
Decades to build what seconds
of coffee
destroy.

I like the way a bosom
slightly bounces when
a step is taken.
Nature's enchantment.

Chemistry is man's cookbook
to taste what we cannot see.

I was heard a tale of a boy who
snowboarded off a church roof.
He was the pastor's son.
It must have been fun.

Skin to velvet
a kiss with my wife.

Times they are a changing.
Changing all the time
now that a baby is on the way.

I love the mountains
I love to dive
I love her nipples
My head between her thighs

It is a simple question-
Do you believe in God?

We are a colored, glorious people
So what have I become?

Touche my friend, touche

Leper

there's a change
underneath this leprous skin
this numbness
this failure to feel
how can this sting
how can this burn
deep within my soul
for the ones in poverty
for the ones in hell on earth
a warmth invades
the numb goes away
pain increases
it hurts, twists, grips
takes time to heal
but can't stay here
must move
must go and change

Silence is...

...as slow and silent as a tree.
...me sleeping waiting to wake up.
...a tree spreading its branches to the sun.
...spiders spinning their webs, it's like a silkworm making its silk.

...a reminder for me to take my soul with me wherever I go.

Lord, help me to know when to be silent.

-K. Norris, 1998

Imitators

All the Masters are
but imitators
nothing but
apers

There has only been
one Creator
nothing but
One

All others are
following Him
nothing but
before

Who can make light
fly and who
can beat light
at its
game.

Who came up with the
plan the
man
only the masters
can chisel,
can paint,
can copy.

One Creator
all others
Imitators