No superheros
I had no Santa Claus,
Easter bunny super imagined
rescuers that could take me out
fancy flight of my
everyday exsistence. I know
the score. I lived reality. I learnt
early, so I did.
When I needed a hero, I needed
someone who could live through
the confusion of my world.
Who wouldnt have to fly off in 
a silly cape to fight enemies
but could stand strong and live with grace
right here.
In my world.
You know who I found?
Who became my hero?
Who I loved more fiercely, believed in
most highly, idolized unbelieveably
he was that good
My da. I’m serious. Not in a corny
way. No. My da was my hero.
My da could handle it all.

On the lifetime of a hero

Before one transcends into myth and legend
one must live alongside others. There is
something about the hero living people cannot
tolerate. Only in death is sainthood
awarded. Until then the road to martyrdom
diverts through knee high mud,
low hanging branches, gutted holes and
sharp stones strategically placed.
Occasionally a sympathetic soul will
clear an easier path, but it is not long
before natives, wary of change, 
do what they can to sabotage and
distract: there is no final destination
reached in triumph, although the hope 
for respite under shaded oak near 
soft brook helps drive onward. Heroes,
contrary to popular opinion, do not
march forward on a specific quest but 
instead do everything they can to get
safely from point A to point B
without compromise.

me, a while ago

Good Morning

At this hour
All the birds should be singing
the little ones that shimmer the 
rush of leaves as they to and fro
the black and yellow that hop their 
destination, squawking
a cacophony of crows -
What about the sun
making his wingless soar across the sky
sets the tongues wagging?
In the trees it is a
beaked babel
in this morning rush 
to divulge the dreams of last night
and the hopes for today.

- me, a long time ago