Wednesday, November 13, 2013

The Stench of Second Hand Smoke

20 long years...
for that length of
a burning cigarette,
I surrounded myself
with a cloud of
menthol carcinogens,
or some other flavour
of smoky seduction.

I rolled my own death
in wafer-thin paper,
extinguishing a burning candle
all to a haunting Drum beat,
inhaling with fear,
exhaling with purported

We were Players,
all the cool kids in
this game of life...
even Dads and Moms
took their turns at
the pipe.

Surgeons in general said it was
bad, they even gave us free
pictures on flimsy cardboard.
But we still drove our muscle
cars, loud music forcing smoke
out of open windows,
pulsing to beats of 80's music...
we were the heads, greasers,
even the jocks and brains
fell for the lure of false bravado.

Nobody was impressed.

Today's age comes with wisdom,
knowing of the frailty of life,
even one not scarred by active

Lungs heal slowly,
whereas the nose never forgets
the stench
of second hand

Saturday, November 2, 2013


A road less traveled winds it's way
through beastly hot
desert waves of sand,
leading to
the mountain.

Air shimmers before squinted eyes,
mirages of escape routes
turning straight narrow trails
away from the craggy rocks
everyone must climb.

We hide behind pale
moonlight so no one
sees us struggle past
whippy branches of
dying trees, praying
we don't get our heads stuck
in the forked boughs of

Beacons of trust urge us forward,
onward (Christian soldiers!)
upward...our summit
calls Kyrie...mercy awaits
like soothing oil on weary

Cresting the peak,
grueling paces behind us,
dangers calling us back,
our future lies in deep valleys ahead,
shadows hide what we have yet
to see.

We kneel in thankfulness...
Safety is ours. For now.
A gift has been given,
embrace it, for it is
right passage out of our
'leading to nowhere'

Thank you. For alone
I could never have managed
to climb
my mountain.