The ascent of Stan

It started as a poem, about a tree fort, on a leaf, but turned into stomping grounds for my new caterpillar pal.

Down the Loxahatchee

An early morning launch
with paddle and kayak,
she arrests seclusion.

Caught up in the current,
she purely steers
through the interwoven river trail.

The mangrove roots,
like bare flamingo legs,
relax inoffensively on the bank.

Sable palm trees bow
toward her,
giving shade.

Up ahead, an alligator
bathes in sunlight,
cautious of her presence

She ducks below
the golden gate
of a bolstered fallen cypress.

To take her seat
upon its throne,
this river’s sacred empress.

Creation

Ocean, clouds, and stillness
stretch out the expanse,
like spotless and untouched canvass,
this sole pair of eyes the brush.

Creatures, sun, and newness
ooze from heart and mouth and hands.

A picture painted
Life created
Nature welcomes man.

Winn Dixie's Gethsemane

I toss as I sleep
like a visitor unwelcome,
haunted by the image
of the man who didn't eat.

The man whose hair was matted
his finger nails dirt filled
With neck deep stained by blood spilled
poorly hid by an unseasoned jacket.

The cashier said, "I'm sorry sir
this credit card won't pass.
The picture is to much defaced
and we can't take that here."

He possessed his grocery bags
like a child to an early mother.
One could feel his hunger pangs
as he surrendered each one over

"Run home; grab your check book sir."
He nodded hesitatingly;
exiting encumbered
by lost hope and false identity.

I wanted to scream my confession.
I'VE GOT THE EXACT SAME PROBLEM SIR!
But instead guarded my wallet
and the cheap grace I keep hidden there.

I kissed him on the cheek,
betraying my own flesh my blood.
Now thirty dollars tie a noose
and overhang my bed.

9/25/08

I was the third person of six in an isle 7 pile up at the Belvedere Winn Dixie late last night. The hold up being a confrontation over a raggedy mans credit card, not totally matching up with his driver's licence. Both cards had been considerably defaced, enough to raise suspicion from the hesitant cashier. Other isles began to open up, and customers began to file into their vacancies. I stayed, content to be in the middle of the ordeal.

The man wore a bright purple ring and his finger nails were dirt filled. He wore no socks with leather slip-ons and his hair was rough and frayed. His over-sized tan jacket contained wrinkles of a likely nighttime pillow. He repeatedly called the cashier mama and stammered when he spoke, his hands shaking spastically at his sides. He mentioned running home to grab his checkbook as if he had something to prove, possessing his three bags of groceries like an early mother. I could feel his hunger pangs as he finally relinquished them from his grip to the apologetic manager.

It was at this point that he looked at me and shrugged his shoulders; began walking toward the door. And it was at this point that i affirmed my selfish and dead faith. "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," I said silently, as he walked out the entrance, his shattered hope and false identity evident in the way he hung his head. And there i stood, holding my hand over my back pocket, guarding my wallet, along with the cheap grace i keep hidden inside of it.

I turned as i slept, cringing at the realization that I had betrayed grace for thirty measly bucks. Now I play Judas, and would give anything to buy that man his groceries. What will it take before my greed costs me far more than a few dollars.