can’t carry a tune in a bucket…

the brown bag prophet
was humming
a little tune
as i walked by
i said
that’s an interesting song
he said
it’s my version
of
wade in the water
but
you probably couldn’t recognize it
seems
like
i’ve always been singing
out of tune
guess
i’m not one to harmonize
to
the chorus
of
social expectations
nor
to clap my hands
to the beat
of others
preferring
an off cadence
of course
leaving the close-order drill
to success
results
in some failures
so
my
failures
were
my own fault
as
a number of folks
have been quick
to point out
to me
saying
you should have seen that coming
i did
but
chose
not to compromise
who
i believed myself to be
in order
to leave
parts of my soul
spread across
a lifetime’s journey
as
breadcrumbs
to follow back
from
society’s definition of success
to
where
my identity
still
resides

 

questionable evidence…

aunt bea
was
looking through
some old photos
when i stopped by
to bring
her mail
from
the post office
she said
isn’t it interesting
how the mind
recalls those
in your life
that have
passed
i asked
what do you mean
well
she said
i would have sworn
that
your mother
was much taller
than
in this picture
perhaps
true stature
isn’t
a physical attribute

​no promises…

death will not
call out
your name
and
await
for you
to acknowledge
it’s presence
it
will arrive
pry
your hands
from
life’s plow
and
leave
tomorrow’s seeds
of
anticipation
rotting
in the field
there will be
no extension
to
this
terrestrial loan
of
life
nor
assurance
of
anything
beyond
the
moment
of
death