Inspiration vs. Inception

You know why I'm sad?

I'm sad because I haven't forgotten

how to take the elevator down to level 18,

to  face my fear every chance I get,

to talk to her while she sharpens knives.

Meanwhile I have a close friend close by,

to help my shoot

my fear and guilt and shame and anger and regret before

she stabs me in the heart.

My friend, before she leaves,

is there to tell me to go back,

to wake up,

to move on.

Grave Diggers

Each of the four buttons beeped as he punched in his code. The machine spit out a receipt with a squeak. It read Employee #5, clocked in 5:00 p.m. He stuffed the receipt in his apron, and adjusted his blue baseball cap as he headed to the sink. Squeezing some soap onto his hands he scrubbed for ten seconds, and then washed for them for ten.  Within another half a minute he stood behind the fountain machines, clipboard in hand.

“Susie! You’re doing outside trashes.” “Carl! You have drains.” “Mike! You have windows.” “Louise, you have menu houses.” In a more mumbled voice, Bill glanced down and read. “And I have everything else.”

As the proud team-leader he was, Bill headed over to the drive-thru window, drawing the envy of all his fellow employees. He put on his headset with a flourish. Bill snapped to attention when he heard a faint beep, followed by the rumble of a customer’s engine. “Welcome to Burger Princess!”

“Uh yes. I’d like the Happy Cow Shake with a Fat-Cow Burger.

“Would you like some mad potato fries with that sir?”

“Uh…sure.”

 Bill grinned. Only one more suggested sale and he would break his personal record. He already left his fellow employees in the dust weeks ago. Soon enough that manager would notice him. Soon enough he’d have his promotion to manager-in-training. No one would laugh at him then. Deftly he punched in each piece of the order, then read it off. “One Happy Cow Shake, one Fat-Cow Burger, and one Mad Potato fry. Would you like to super-size that order?"

“Sure….” The customer paused.

Sweat trickled down Bill’s jaw. “Sir?”

The customer replied, “I think I forgot my wallet. Sorry. I’ll be back later.” He drove off.

Unfortunately, the customer also forgot to come back.

When Bill went on his break, he went to the lockers with his head hanging. He towed each foot to one of the empty folding chairs, and collapsed in it. Bill ignored the looks of the other employee on break. Pulling off his baseball cap, he stared at the logo. Could Bill possibly move on? Would he have to quit this lousy job and get one that actually paid his rent? What would his father think? The very father who owned the franchise wouldn’t necessarily get angry over this…but he would be severely disappointed.

But my visions are in verse

I opened my eyes to my dining room.

My laptop, painted in cherry, sat on a crisp tablecloth.

No trash had found the table yet.

_________

She stood at the crossroads of

the sunny kitchen,

the cloudy family room,

and the crimson dining room.

_____________

I backed away from my dead mother

who stared at me,

breathing with her eyes wide open.

_____________

"Oh honey."

Her arms drooped slightly

while halos found her chocolate curls,

clinging to her head.

____________

Slowly, as all people do in dreams,

I walked.

____________

Then I ran.

____________

I wrapped my arms around her,

and clung to her silk and pearl nightgown.

______________

Her arms  wrapped around me,

warm and dry for the first time

in five months.

___________

We wept,

and our smiles shook.

Prayer

"Hey Dad?" She bobbed on her heels, the curls in her pigtails bouncing. Her small pink hands grasped onto the corner of his armchair as she leaned towards him.

"Yes Princess? He glanced down through the narrow passage between the newspaper and his face.

"Would you pray for me?"

The newspaper sank a little, crackling slightly as it wrinkled in his hands. "What's wrong?"

Princess beamed, her curls bouncing a second time. "Oh, nothing's wrong Daddy."

"Oh?"

"Mommy says that when two or more people pray, God's with 'em."

"Mm-hm." One of his eyebrows stretched to the ceiling knowingly. "And what are you praying for?"

"A pony."

"A pony? But Princess...."

"Would you please pray for me? Pretty please?"

"Of course. But don't get mad at me if God says to wait."

Why I stay up all night

Some people stay up to save the world. Firefighters keep the city from burning down. Doctors and nurses stay up all odd hours of the night to save lives. Counselors prevent suicides, and teachers fulfill roles they never receive pay for.

Some people stay up to get hard work done. Students make up for time procrastinated. Parents wake up at odd hours to defeat the evil side of the sandman, mop up floods of tears, and deal with messes they long forgot about. Businessmen stay up past heavy eyes and aching limbs to punch and crunch numbers on a calculator their minds struggle to wrap themselves around. Creative eyes pry themselves open to watch the brushstrokes reach toward a nearly non-blank canvas.

Others stay up to do things they wouldn't dare get caught doing during the light of day. Thieves break into places they shouldn't. Male and female eyes rove  city streets watching things they wouldn't bear witness to in the morning. Otherwise good people sink to temptations they'd be embarrassed to talk about.

As for me? I stay up for absolutely no reason. I count ceiling blemishes because they exist. The sheep I count every night all have names, and different colored bows. I suppose I could say I have a sleeping problem, but it seems more like an addiction to staying awake.

A Post-It Note to My Angel

(After Charles Wright)

Lead me away from nightmares

And lead me away from pipe-dreams

That was over my head at night.

Take me away on the morning tide

And guard me with your angel wings

Against sneaker waves and spastic drivers.

Remember me when you report to Heaven,

Michael, God, and my older other.

Tell them not to worry about the fall I had this morning;

The bruise'll heal soon anyway.

Familiar Secrets

Something said my name

From underneath my bed,

As I grew still beneath the sheets,

In the spreading shadow of the night light,

And the sliver of light under the door.

But the door seemed leagues away

And the monster that much closer,

Underneath the law of nothing but dark of night and the call of hunger.

When I heard my name again,

It sounded far,

Like the name of the next child had been called by his mother,

To his room three houses down.

Or maybe the teddy bear I lost that day had come to me, from

Fighting bigger monsters in a darker land,

That grown ups had forgotten.

Friend to friend, I called back,

Past my bedtime,

And my teddy bear told no one.

My Dream House

Is a house of kaleidoscopes,

Solid colors,

Stairs and stairs and stairs, that sometimes lead nowhere but

Down.

Windows always show partly cloudy days,

And a living room is nothing more

Than a stepping stone

To exploration.

At least one room is filled to the brim with balls,

But I've yet to discover Randall Munroe.

And the neighborhood?

Don't even get me started.

When Opportunity Knocks

The other day she knocked on my door. I glanced through the peep hole and didn't recognize her. She never came often, and it had been quite a few years. Knocking with a smile on her face, she seemed to sense my interest. This had to be a door-to-door salesman. She couldn't be coming to me.

I turned the knob and glanced at her through the crack. She seemed...nice, but in an unnerving way. When she asked to come in, I hesitated. My house didn't seem right for her, so we went for a walk.

She led me across the street and down a few blocks, and we talked about my life. Strange, for she hardly talked about hers. The whole world felt different with her around. Every scent, every sound, every sight seemed to overwhelm me. Did opportunity make everybody feel this way?

She led me to her house, opened her door, and invited me in. Again I hesitated. Frowning slightly, she motioned me in. I stuck my foot in the door. Tapping her foot impatiently, she waited. Still, I didn't go in. The time didn't feel right, the place didn't either. I left, hoping she didn't lock the door when she closed it.

Spotlight

See me? No...look over here! Gah, not there either. Over here. There, finally. Hey, I look just fine normally, it's just that this light is blinding me. I hate attention, and yet I crave it. My entire life I've been caught between the need to leave the curtains and stage fright, the need to belt out the notes and the fear of being heard.

What's in it for us that want attention, but don't? Is this what normal is? Being stuck in between anonymity and celebrity? Failure and greatness? I think the light can be turned off now, it's blinding my eyes.

Near Take Off

Ever wonder about the exact moment someone dies? I know when it happens. It's like flying in a plane, right when the wheels leave the runway. I can see the world outside the small window passing faster than a train...and I feel like I'm about to pass through my seat because my back's pressed against it so hard. And then comes the lurch.

It's probably the most scary, and yet the lurch is the most exciting. I feel my stomach turn in one and a half circles, and for a split second, I break free from gravity. But with dying, I just keep rising. Well, I guess if I was going to hell, I'd probably sink at the same rate, but thankfully I don't know what that's like. When I get high enough, I see more people and in more detail than less. And since the rising takes so long, (or at least it seems like it, maybe it's just that heaven's so far away from earth) I have a lot of time to talk with all these people. And they have so much to say!

They'll tell anyone who'll listen all about their lives. Amazingly, it's as if they've been freed from telling all the boring details, and every story and every detail leaves me breathless and craving more. Even better, it's as if everyone wants to listen, the story will never go unheard.

There's different types of risers. Some shoot straight to heaven like missiles launched from an angry country. Then there's others that zig zag as if they want to savor every moment of the journey in case they miss something important. I see a few that drag, but rarely, since most others willingly pull them up. Floaters seem to move nowhere, but just stay in one place, but I've heard that it's just the effect of them moving so slow and the observer moving so fast. Most important out of all these groups are the bouncers.

They've shot to heaven so fast they've bounced back. Though everyone has an amazing story to tell, the bouncers have the most important information of all. They know about Heaven, and then can tell anyone anything about heaven , as long as it doesn't take too much detail. Most importantly, they know something most people don't:

 Dying's easy, it's coming back that's a rocky landing.

A Poem of Hope

by Christopher Ian Hill

Here I live in the city of abandoned dreams
Where no one thinks positive and only screams

A place where sin is consumed day and night
There is a spiritual battle that I must fight

A place where put-downs echoes from my past
Why can’t I let go, and forgive and move on fast?

I need to break the chain of what’s holding me back
Show no lack of confidence and show no slack

Now, I see the rain and clouds clearing away
The sun peaks through the clouds trying to shine today

The sad sky of gray dissolves out of sight
Letting in the joyful sky of blue shine bright

The sound of celestial music plays in my ear
Giving me hope, the sound of no fear

And what once was an expression of sadness
Now cheerfully changes into the expression of gladness

A place where people once hurt and now hurt no more
The sound of their laughter and bliss galore

My heart and soul now finding warmth and peace
Bitterness, anger, and depression now decrease

And where once was this city of abandoned dreams
Is now a place where dreams fulfilled and sins redeemed

Seven A.M.

The alarm sleeps,

With only an orange eye cracked open,

As it relays passing moments and dreams.

Ink inside blinks

Numbers tiredly,

Another eye steadily opens....

Then closes.

Arms writhe, dragging themselves

Across unmade bedsheets

Fighting to awake the connected body

Dark sleep holds on tighter,

Not yet ready to release its willing

Prisoner.

Don't Quit Your Day Job

I've jumped 20 feet in the air,
over fences, through yards,
and past streets corners.I've battled aliens in academic buildings floating down
pollutted rivers,
fleeing from terrorists.

I've escaped the imprisonment of
a powerful sorcerer who lives
down the hall, soaring away
on wings of prism light.
 
I've corralled 50 house cats
all equal in appearance
all in equal in want of my
attention.

But then Night punches
his time card for the
last time, and heads
home to rest.

Day takes his place, ushering
 gypsie dreams
from the steps of my pillow.

I have relived the same day
five times,

 



I have saved the world 10 times,
died 20
 but only during Time's
night shift.