When you are a poet
you don't place yourself on a pedestal
don't spit venomous hate
think fellow writers are dismal.

When you are a poet
you don't feel a superiority
fellow writers you gleefully berate
make yourself perversely witty.

When you are a poet
your heart is a little more wide
you don't fume and fret
readers are not on your side.

If you are a poet
you know better than to be arrogantly vain
don't carry ego's sinful weight
but let your art pour through your pen.

Where do I find a poem?
In the space of a blink,
Between heartbeats,
When idle or moving,
With family and friends,
In a cemetary,
At school,
On a beach,
On-line,
On a bench, sitting beside me.
In the four seasons,
Beneath the blue, black and starry canopy,
In the wild, sapian or worldly,
In the arts and prophets,
Crawling on the floor,
When I'm cooking;
And, when I'm not looking,
A poem will find me.

when you see so much -
anger, hatred,
despair, greed,
selfishness, neglect,
loss,
pain, hunger,
the ugliness that is in this world -
and you know you're too small to fix everything.
you have to choose-
to ask what gets your attention today,
what wrongs get righted,
what pains get eased -
what torment you can live with because the choice you said "yes" to means you had to say "no" to another one.
and then, you choose to take a moment - just one - for yourself,
because you're empty,
hollow,
a shell of a person going through the motions,
dead inside,
and you feel guilty, because there are still so many in need.
Always the choice.
Always the pain that comes with it.

One day I'm going to be old and droopy
And your ears are going to be huge and hairy
My cheeks are going to sag and so are my arms
And you won't be able to move like you used to

One day I'm going to be grey and naggy
And your hearing aids won't work and you'll complain
My eyes will steadily stop seeing as well
And you'll never remember what day it is

One day I'm going to be confused and deaf
And you're going to be elderly with dementia
I won't be able to walk, but I'll crawl to you anyways
You won't be able to speak, but you'll love me the same

One day we're going to be nostalgic and cranky
And we won't understand our grandchildren's technology
We won't understand why these kids listen to such garbage
And we'll be forever together, in love with each other