Bridge or Fall (A Poem)

I’ve walked to the ledge
fears shout from the edge
but my faith holds my hand
I’m ready for a fall
or the invisible bridge.

I know I may fall.
What if I do?
Wings will sprout from shoulder’s ridge.
If there be a bridge
my feet will firmly walk.
However my future unfolds
I will breathe.
I will survive.


Musical Romance (Short Story)

Your best friend, Beth, invites you to an open mic night at a local coffee house. It the first time Beth is going to sing one of her original songs in front of people, besides you and her cat, Meowers.

You are thrilled to go and support your friend.

After your shift is done at the call center for a tech company you rush home to get ready. You change your clothes and redo your hair. You do this in record time and meet Beth at the cosy coffee house.

You can smell the beans roasting and the coffee brewing from outside the door. As you enter the coffee house you look around the warmly decorated room. It has two large couches facing a makeshift stage area and wood tables that are only large enough to sit four people each. 

Beth finds you and greets you with a great big hug, the way she does when she is nervous. As she is still squeezing you Beth stated, “You made it.” She lets go and tells you, “The first person is about to start. I’m fifth in line.” She straightens her red and brown floral dress that flows over her slender body.

“Of course, I made it. I wouldn’t miss this.” You look at your friend and ask, “How are you doing? Nervous?”

Beth tried to smile. “Nah, no, no. I’m fine.”

You look blankly at her and her face drops, fully revealing her nerves. “Yes, I am. I shouldn’t be, the crowd isn’t that big, but it’s my song. What if they hate it? What if I mess up? What if I can’t really sing?”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll do great. Meowers and I love the song. Plus you’ve sung in front of bigger crowds than this.”

Confused Beth asked, “When?”

“Our middle school recitals and more recently karaoke.”

Beth shakes her head as she states, “Those don’t count. Karaoke isn’t really performing and middle school ended like half a lifetime ago.”

“Still, you’ll do great.”

Just then the first performer takes the stage and taps on the mic. He is a large round man with little hair on the top of his head, but plenty white hair coming from his chin. He starts to sing an old blues song as he strums on a guitar. He is good and the crowd applauds him when he finishes. The next performer is a woman with pigtails and a banjo. She can’t seem to play and sing at the same time, but struggles through the full song anyways. The following two performers get progressively worse and the audience hardly even claps for the last man, who leave almost in tears. It is obvious that his nerves won.

It is Beth’s turn. She is nervous and starts by fumbling the first notes on her simple acoustic guitar.

You mouth “Breathe,” to her. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. She starts again and plays her song perfectly. It is beautiful. The crowd cheers for her at the end. They are very thankful that she was a wonderful singer and the song was beautiful.

Beth makes her way back to the table where you are sitting with a giant smile on her face.

As she sits the next act gets on stage. He has perfectly curly brown hair and sits on the stool, but keeps one leg on the ground. He smiles a nervous yet cute smile as he places his guitar on his lap. He clears his throat and say, “This is my first time here too, and I also have an original song.”

He starts singing and your eyes meet his sparking hazel eyes. You hold eye contact with him and smile. It feels as though the room melts away and he is singing only to you. Towards the end of his song he looks down to make sure he is playing the right notes, but is grinning widely.

At the end of the song he thanks the audience, but is looking at you when he does so. The crowd applauds him as he leaves the little platform that makes up the stage.

He walks directly to you. “Hi, I’m Matt.” He says with his hand out.

You shake his hand as you tell him, “Hi Matt, I’m Lucy. You were great.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to be too forward, but can I join you two lovely ladies?”

Before you can answer Beth does. “Of course, we would love that.”

The conversation quickly dies down as the last performer takes the stage. She resembles an jazz singer with her hair pined in curls and a black fit and flare dress on. She sings a slow and soft song. It is a very loving sweet  jazz song. After she finishes the audience claps, but starts to leave.

Matt, Beth, and you continue to talk. After half an hour Matt buys both of you teas and you help him carry them over to the table.

You do not realize the time passing. As the coffee house closes Matt asks for your number. Smiling you give him your phone number and he sends you a quick smiley text, so that you have his.

You can tell that this is the start of something new, but after a long day at work you are ready for bed.

You say goodnight to Matt at the coffee house and walk with Beth to your car, which is outside of Beth’s apartment. You say goodnight to your best friend and get in your car.

When you get home you see that you have an unread text message from Matt. It says, “I’m really glad I went to the open mic night, tonight.”

You smile as you respond with, “Me too. Goodnight.”

As you get ready for bed another text from Matt pops up on your phone. “Goodnight.”

Pig Pen (Journey To Me)

From my birth to age 10 I grew up across the street from a pig farm. It was my family’s fame and my uncles ran it.

My sisters and I would run an play up on the farm. I remember climbing up on the stacked hay and talking with my sisters. We would pet the goats and watch the pigs. When my uncles, dad, or another adult was around they would pick up the little piglets to let us hold them.

Even after my family moved a town over we would visit my memere and the farm. We would still play and pet the pigs whenever we visited. We had farm shoes over my memere’s house that we would wear when the farm was muddy.

One day, when I was in middle school I brought a friend over to the farm and we played in the pen with the pigs. Most of the pigs stayed away from us. We still had fun in the slippery pen. We slid and fell many times, which to a child is a fun time.

By the time we had enough fun we were both covered in what we though was mud. We cheerfully went back down the hill to my memere’s home. She informed us that it was not just mud and she hosed us off before we could enter her house to fully get cleaned. Typically, we just had to take off our farm shoes. This time was different we were too messy to be allowed in the house.

I smile at the memory still. My memere still reminds me about the time my friend and I got covered in pig manure.

Cardboard Box Poem

Stepping into the box
I close the cardboard door
calling it prison.
Putting weights on top
I dragged to-dos inside
until there was no room to breathe.

When I heard no new box would come
I saw the disarray of my prison box.
The to-dos were holding the weights at bay.
There was no escape.

Then I saw my heart cracking,
Then I knew I had to slumber,
Then in the morning’s light I saw
I had put the weight on myself.
I could release the to-dos.
I found my breath and joy
watching my troubles prance away.

Swan Attack (Journey To Me)

It should be known that I hate birds. It is partly out of fear and partly is because I think at least fowl and larger birds are evil. I can handle smaller birds and can stand pet birds, like cockatiels. Roosters, swans, and geese are not okay in my book.

I have had a few negative run-ins with birds in my life. The first one I remember is the swan that attacked me and my now step-sister.

Until I was 10 I lived across the street from my uncles’ pig farm. They also had goats and chickens. I would always go over there and one day I went with my step-sister.

We went into the goat’s area. It was a fenced in patch of land that was a bit rocky, but grass still grew.

I did not realize that a swan made a nest and laid eggs in the grass, until I got too close. The swan chased my step-sister and me. We scrambled up some rocks, since we could not get back to the gate. There was a thorny bush on the other side of the fence. There was a short argument about leaping the fence, since we would be jumping into the thorns. The evil swan was ready to attack, but no major injuries occurred. I believe we jumped the fence or one of my uncles came to chase the bird away.

I want to say my uncle chased away the massive bird with a shovel in hand, but I can only remember the terror of the swan’s attack with its flapping wings and the feeling of being trapped.

My Heart (a song)

Here’s my heart
please don’t break it
It’s all I have
even though I didn’t make it

It was made
by the ones who love it
It was made
by the ones who tore it
It is made
by the smiles you give it
It is made
by the tears that heal it

So, here’s my heart
please don’t break it
It’s all I have
even though I didn’t make it

It’s built by
the walls of protection
It’s built by
the gates of trusting
It’s made by
fear of more rejection
It’s made bu
acts of affection.

So, here’s my heart
please don’t break it
It’s all I have
even though I didn’t make it

Thank you for reading this song. I hope you enjoyed it. 

Left On The Bus (Journey To Me)

On this journey I must look at where I’ve been and the stories that shaped my life. I believe it is important to look in the rear view mirror every so often to see the path you are on a little more clearer. The first story I’m reflecting on while on this journey of self discovery happened when I was a child.

When I was 5 I would ride the bus to kindergarten. One day the bus driver dropped all the kids off at school, but did not check the seats. She left the school and parked the bus in her normal bus parking lot, but was in a rush. She had to take her grandson to the doctors or meet him at the hospital. Again she did not check the seats on the bus.

I stress this point, because little 5 year old me was asleep in one of the seats. At that time I could sleep anywhere and apparently through anything.

I snapped to consciousness in an empty bus parked in an unfamiliar location. I still remember the location. It was a packed dirt parking lot filled with buses somewhat close to the town’s blue water tower. It was almost a sky blue and looked like a mechanical ellipsoid.

After leaving the bus I made it to the road. I did not know where to go. I was only 5 and did not know where I was.

The only thing that I could do was sit on the curb and cry. I’m not sure how long after my tears started that a lady, in what I remember as, a brown boxy sedan pulled up. I only remember that she did and offered me a ride to the police station.

At first I did not want to go with this stranger, but she seemed nice and there were car seats in the back of her car. To 5 year old me that meant she was a mom and safe.

She did bring me to the police station.

I cannot tell you what questions were asked once I was there. I’m not sure many people could understand me well, since I had a speech impediment. That did not inhibit them in finding where I belonged.

Soon I was asked if I wanted to ride in the sergeant’s car or a cruiser. After they explained the difference I picked one. I honestly cannot remember which one I actually picked. I do remember that I didn’t really care. I just wanted to be somewhere familiar.

I was brought back to school where I believe my mom picked me up.

From that day on I have been a lighter sleeper, especially while in a moving vehicle.

I Can’t (a song)

You wonder and you ask me
Does your hope fly up in the sky?
Do you need your dreams to hide from reality?
Can you stop now from chasing your wants?

You see
I could give up and I could lie down.
I could turn away if you showed me how.
I would watch t.v. or read the whole night long
my time would be only all mine.

I could give up and I could lie down
I could turn away if you showed me how
My nights would be free, my weekends filled with sleep.
And Alcohol, well it would be my best friend.

I really could give up and I could lie down
I could turn away. Please showed me how.
Life would be much easier, easier for me.
Easier to catch a breath, easier to do anything,
but that’s not me.
That cannot be me.
I am my dreams, not this reality.

I guess
I can’t give up and I can’t lie down.
I can’t turn away, I simply don’t know how.
I have to stand up and I have to fight.
Have to stay my path, that only seems right.

I will paint my thoughts and write what’s in my heart.
My time will belong to my dreams.

I can’t give up and I can’t lie down.
I can’t turn away, I simply don’t know how.
I have to stand up and I have to fight.
Have to stay my path, that only seems right.

My nights will be filled, my weekends hugged by hope.
And I will dance where my dream may go.

I can’t give up and I can’t lie down.
I can’t turn away, I simply don’t know how.
I have to stand up and I have to fight.
Have to stay my path, that only seems right.

I don’t typically write songs as you may know, so getting a finished song done is tricky for me. I believe the words are almost there, which is why I’m sharing them with you. I am still working on the tune and notes. 

Please let me know what you think of it. Any and all feedback is welcomed.