GarGoyle-Design

What excess I have I give gladly
This overflow, this abundance
I freely trade for a tiny respite
From the mundane day and sleepless night

My cup of ruin overflows
But I will happily share
If but a happiness is returned
And a joy measured out to me

I will eagerly exchange these
Plentiful sacks of sorrow
For a pittance of sunshine
Or a meager pint of passion

With fervor I will deliver
These crates of torment
In fair and welcome substitute
For the slightest hint of love

"See what you've done. See what you cause when you say stuff!" was the angry challenge I received as I walked out the door and noticed our neighbor walking back toward her home. I had been about to ask "would you like a frosty beverage?" Instead I'm greeted with what equated to "YOU MORON! DON'T SPEAK!" So I slunk back into the house, the offer of a frosty beverage withdrawn.

The Equation That Explains Everything

Well this is it! My first ever book cover. It's a small publication but momentous in the fact that Andy chose me to be the one to put a face on 20 years of his life's work. Wow, what a great compliment, that he could trust me to do something so important. I'm excited about the cover and the work.

I've decided that most people unknowingly express love in greedy ways. They make an assumption that love is X and X is a finite resource. Not only that but that there are grades of love in different levels of abundance. Grade 12a is for the unwashed masses, there's plenty of it and it's mostly worthless, while grade 99z is a rare commodity reserved for the romantic elite, that one most special person in the world - the soul mate. In between are the various grades of love measured and metered for friends and family, siblings and offspring.

I am here
forever with you
and so happy
that you love me

You are mine, love
and I am yours
but mostly
you are mine

I love you most
and then mostly
when children
change priorities

But you will love me
the same each day
with your generous heart
as I measure out my love

You will give infinitely to me
and I will return all of it
when the time comes
and I can focus on just you

Because you are mine, love
and I am yours
but mostly
you are mine

We've been struggling for awhile with my oldest son and with his sense of entitlement. It finally came to a head after he had stolen his mother's iPod and we had assumed it was lost for a couple of months. One of the other kids finally found it in his room. Mind you that he had his own mp3 player and his own phone with mp3 player and web browser, but none of that was good enough. So he got grounded and lost some privileges. But none of that stopped him or his bad attitude. None of that stopped his belligerence towards me or his mother.

Susan looked over the edge of the bridge to the cold water far below. She came here thinking she was resolute, that today would be the end. But the distance gave her pause. For a moment she was afraid she might remember some reason to live, but too late. Maybe half way down she'd remember that friend that's always been there or maybe as she drowned she'd catch a glimpse of some forgotten conversation with her mother.

Anxiety exchanged for a smile
Courage presents herself in black sheer
Flaws hidden in shadows
Doubts put aside, but not the fear

A momentary happiness
But the mirror reflects the mix
An eager smile returned
A frown for what she cannot fix

How easy it had been
To lay her heart out bare
But not so with her body
So why would she dare

But the deed is done quick
And with loving intents
All that she is and is not
To him she presents

Then courage is rewarded
With his eyes joyful and warm
His arms open in welcome
To her lace covered form

"Is that okay?"
Of course it's okay
They're only words
Not promises
Not hopes
Not dreams
Just words
Words are okay
Without meaning
Without action
Word's can't hurt
Without intent
Forget them
They're just words
Who cares
Of course it's okay
I have words
I'll use my words
They're okay too
They're only words
Not promises
Not hopes
Not dreams
Not effort
Not love
Not useful
Words don't do laundry
They don't pack a lunch
They don't tuck a child in
They're useless
What do I care for words
Without meaning
Without action
Without intent
Empty words
I don't care

A scene through the window, dust covered pages strewn across a table. The stains of drinks spilled indiscriminately across the pages and the crumbs of dinners long since past, left sprinkled here and there. Then for a moment there's sign of order, pages lain so perfectly that you look in wonderment, and then just as quickly, in fury, you wish to shuffle those pages, crumpling them, tearing them, making them lose their perfect shape, staining them with yesterday's coffee and this morning's breakfast.