Tag Archives: death

2 Dinosaurs: a bedtime story

2 dinosaurs died long ago.

1 was humble, and meek with a stretchy neck he’d show off to nervous birds while eating leafy roofs. 

1 was bold, and stealth. A hunter. He’d never show his strength to anyone unless it was too late for them. 

The leafeater saw the world as a great mother. Trees of every size and shape filled endless dreams. Without thorns of bark and buzzy bugs in his eyes, the leafeater had only friends, and sun, and creeks, and a lust for leaves in his face, and naked gratitude. The leafeater knew only how to be a boy. He felt everything he lived. He didn’t believe in dying. 

The lion saw the same world as a buffet. Nothing fancy or special. Just enough to live. Everything is bought with blood. The strong of his type are the coldest. They hide in plain sight. They strike alone and finish! There are liabilities and threats. He had stinging teeth and claws like rocks. 

They both died long ago

When a fireball exploded

And sent a shockwave across the forest. 

And set fire to the skies.

The leaves bit back, giving birth to smoke and ash, determined to rest on the ground or blow free in the red, gray wind. 

The victims, like the leafeater, went hungry.  They cried, and cringed and got old fast with fists in their stomachs. 

First, it was a windfall for the lion. New meat. Then, the meals dried up. He felt nothing. The dinosaur died hunting in search of prey he’d never find. 

The lion outlived the leafeater. But they both died in the end. And Life is not a contest to the dead. 

They both only served the future. And their dreams lie in mud. All hearts are meant to be broken; their secrets food to the soil, who raised us all here alive now, children. 

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The Bar Formerly Known As…

“Things change, and that’s how they become our own.” This was my first thought coming out of a dream, and I wanted to write it down before I forgot. 

I was standing, in the dream, in a pizza place where I’d worked. And the full kitchen had been remodeled. It was laid out in a square before, and now it was L-shaped and more closed in. It was a whole different vibe. I think I was sad about that, but I hadn’t said anything to anyone. Then, the above mentioned thought came to me clear and whole. A group of younger kids was there, early 20s I’d guess, and it was a bar. I hadn’t really been interacting with my environment, but at one point a song played and everyone knew it, so everyone sang it. I got caught up myself and was singing too. This was their bar. It was no longer my workplace. 

And that’s how life goes. We get Mr. Gatti’s on Battlefield or LaMar’s on Campbell or Parkview laid out like a pitchfork until we don’t anymore. Only so many people in the world know those places like I do, and some of them are already gone. 

I’ve often wondered how people from 200 years ago or 1,000 or 5,000 years ago would see our world. The answer is they wouldn’t recognize it. They’d say: “there used to be a barn here, or a creek bed, or a path with trees and a hill,” as they stood next to a Bed, Bath & Beyond. Change may be the hardest thing to accept, but it’s what makes our world unique. And the world can’t be about us for long. For we are fleeting. 

In the parking lot of a Bed, Bath & Beyond in Sunset Hills, Mo.

The truest words I think I’ve heard in my life came from an artist who has now passed: “Life is just a party, and parties weren’t meant to last.” Someday, I’ll tell my grandkids about him and it’ll get confusing fast. “He had one stage name, and then he was a symbol before he took the old one back.” And they’ll tell their parents, “grandpa’s stories are crazy.” And their parents will smile and nod. ­čÖé

Sky in the Water

Reflecting on reflections,

Neglecting rejections,

Walking around the little lake,

Buzzing bugs hover and hide

Behind oak leaves and Bermuda grass,

Tucked safely in bark grooves,

We sing synchronized to Father Sun

and Mother Moon. 

Step, swoon, step, sween.

The lake wears the sky.

The green embankment calms 

A heavy mind.

Gratefulness swells with sadness. 

Too many gone from a path shared.

They hide too. 

In the willows and wind. 

Death to Dinosaurs 

This poem was the inspiration for the Death2Dinosaurs blog. After months of neglect — I took a job as an adviser with three local cemeteries and thought the name seemed disrespectful — I’m jumping back into blog action. Enjoy! 

———-  ———  ———  ———  ———-  ———- 

Death to dinosaurs is what I see

in my dreams, and it seems 

fair to care why they die.

Large and leathery, wheezing,

stumbling, falling, and then

melting away. Vanishing.

They chased me, and I hid one of

the dogs they wanted to eat.

It felt like the right thing to do.
I don’t know how to make sense

of these places, these dinosaur

faces, fading away over 

entertainment centers. 

They’re random, they say. 

They’re the future, they say.

It’s gray to me, and still it seems

to be something I somehow knew. 

A place no less real than you.
In a land where dinosaurs die, or 

tornadoes fly, or a land where

I’m still in school, how do I know

where my home is? What a home is? 

What is true?

And if that passes as a home there, then

how do I remember to care?

 In those places, with those faces. 

Fading. Dying now.

In Tandem

And this is life: Forward motion.

Time passes and erases heroes with villains, farmers, families, foes. And when they vanish, they are never more we — this preposterous pirate’s crew. 

Loss is our language, our final expression. When friends meet their end, we cry to honor what was, and sign to own the note of their vacancy. 

Many veer off course. We dismiss debt knowing our own anchors too sit on silt. 

So ‘Rest in Peace’ we say. The laughter we shared in the valley’s shadow always proved we could. 

Ahead, we’re broken in tandem. Into the sea that swallows the sun we sail. Full speed!! 

Should, for some silly reason, all possibilities arise, I’ll chose your faith in me to find you.  

And bolstered by your confidence, I will. Lounging on shore. Waiting. Giggling with the good news we hoped for. 

A Quiet Glide

The hard part about
Getting old
Is watching
The whole world
Gray along.
The ground limps.
The sky
Shares a lost thought
In the glint on a wave.
Teachers and preachers
Loose teeth with the moon.
They break
With cragged rock
Stretching for a violent sea.
Brown polka dots
Scare children
Who sleep to wake
And wear them.
Can we see with aging eyes
We take a quiet glide
Around a vibrant sun
That too will bloat and burst?
On a canvas of mass,
A clockwork
of light and heat,
Slowly dying,
Your eyes lose heart.
Your girl’s breath labors.
I follow you.
Stuck in a groove
Circling a star.
Effortless.

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