He gave me a typewriter

With clackity*clack keys

And a chime that rings

When I’ve gone too far

And need to



This sort of typing

Feels more like writing

Fingers flexed

Ink on the page

Uneven, imperfect

And glorious.


Strike the keys

Stamp each stroke

Hard or soft

It’s up to you

The writer, the typist.


He gave me a typewriter

With ribbons blackened

And linkages yellowed–

All things considered…

I suppose he really is a

Decent sort of fellow.


The Sojourner’s Song


Sunrise in Arlington, Texas. – R.H.

Here I’ll stay a while
Here I’ll rest my head
Here I’ll spread the canvas
Here I’ll drive the tent pegs

No walls to guard me at night
No city gates to keep me safe
Only cloth between me and the sky
A City is promised, but not yet

Sojourner, traveler, I wander
Through these lands
Promised but not fulfilled
Promised but not yet

Not a city of earthen walls
Not a city made by hands
I wait for something sweeter
A Holy City in a Promised Land

Promised, not yet fulfilled
Promised, but not yet
Still waits the consummation of
A people, and our place of final rest

Reader’s Gaze


Just once

I’d like to craft some lines

That mean nothing at all

That will perish with time

Just once

I’d love to form an empty shell

Hollow, devoid

So read into it what you will

And infer as you like

It will be similar

Yet not the same

And in doing so

You’ve made my words your own

To you they belong

For you ascribed meaning

But for you

They’d be dull

Tedious scratches

Just ink

Nothing more

But you give them life

You grant them meaning

Words have weight

By the might of the reader’s gaze

From Gray to Blue

Sometimes I think too hard
Sometimes I don’t have room to breathe
Sometimes I run too fast
In the pursuit of hollow dreams

So I pour another cup of coffee
Jot another line or two
Praying that tomorrow
The sky will finally be blue
‘Cause I can’t see past
All these dreams that just won’t last
They cloud my day
With bitter gray
And lock my soul away

Sometimes I don’t think hard enough
Sometimes I forget
Sometimes life just passes me by
As I remember how to live

So I sip a bit of coffee
Jot another verse or two
Cast my heart to tomorrow
When the dew’ll be fresh and new
‘Cause I can’t help but dream
Of all the beautiful, terrible things
That make up life
Both joy and strife
In the end combined

Slowly, oh so slowly
I begin to see
Finally, I understand
That there’s a difference between
A check marked list
And the truly important things

On Life and Laundry Tags

Laundry Care Label

Remember when you were a kid? Life was simple and uncomplicated, much like a tee shirt whose care label read “machine was cold, tumble dry low.” Now you’re an adult, and life’s care label is more like “hand-wash cold, with your eyes closed, on the night of a full moon, while balancing on one foot, and singing opera.”  –R. Hiller

… today’s philosophical moment is brought to you by an over-tired college student doing laundry at midnight.

Little Toy World

I have a pretty little world that I’ve carefully made—

I’ve crafted it, molded it, and put it on display.

It’s the little world and the little life

That I’m comfortable with, and think people will like.

I have a pretty little lie that I like to keep

A little toy world that’s full of nothing.


There are two worlds that I live inside—

One is my little world and the other is my real life.

You only see the spotlights, the glamour and the pride

That are only little spots in the middle of all my tries.


Somehow I fancy that our lives are much the same—

Seemingly dull with bits of sparkle in the rain.

I can say this because my life’s not all glitter and gold

I know the façade that I’ve put up and try to uphold

But to tell the truth, I’m not so sure about you…

Because it’s hard to see you, for your own little world.



Picture perfect

Magic world

Web of lies

Deadly whirl.


Faking life

All disguised


Full of pride.


Rubber face

Empty stare

Just skin deep

No one cares.


All shallow

Hide away

Tucked inside

Past today.

Dead Sprint

You think you’re through

You think you’re done

Stop kidding yourself

You haven’t begun.


This is but the start

Of a marathon

You thought sitting was hard

Now try to carry on.


It’s a long run

And a flat out sprint

Duck your head

As you charge the wind.


One more step…

A race is only strides

One step right after the last though

Your lungs are burning inside.


So keep on running

Carry on and don’t quit

Duck your head down low

And charge into the wind.


Your head is pounding

In sync with your feet

Just keep running

Don’t give up or admit defeat.


Life isn’t a ray of sunshine

Beaming over a daisy field

It’s more like a marathon

Run with blinders and all uphill.