Sometimes, I listen to music,

That makes me feel destined for great things.

Sometimes, I look at the sunset,

And wonder what tomorrow will bring.

Sometimes, I feel the wind on my skin,

Like a gentle push towards fate.

Sometimes, I stop, and I cry,

Because you’ve made life so beautiful.

You are my destiny, my chosen one,

You are my tomorrow and every day after,

You are the happiest of fates.

We are bound by Love,

Bonded through memory,

And, sometimes, all you need

Is some time

To live happily ever after.


A Gentle Breeze

The summers are hot and the winters are cold,

But during the interim seasons

I’ll brave the morning air on my porch,

To see if a gentle breeze calls for a jacket.


Mind you, spring breezes and autumn winds,

Are of no comparison,

Except that they signify the changing seasons,

Nothing more. A reminiscence upon these,

Fills my soul with emotions

From the seasons of my life, long since past.


The spring breeze…

How it brings warmth into the timber,

Patiently waiting behind my house,

Waking the vines in my vineyard.

Life finds pleasant surroundings again,

Where swift updrafts carry frisbees and footballs

Into the mouths of dogs or the arms of children,


This invisible current, ever so slightly

Shifts your hair out of place,

Just so I can fix it and be repaid,

With your never ending Love.


The autumn wind….

Chilling the air, telling the world,

Go to sleep, as it creeps. Lulling trees and vines

Into a gentle winter respite.

Death clings to the life summer has brought,

And the wind gently caresses tufts of fur

On deceased beasts and overpriced coats.

Seemingly out of respect,

This brisk zephyr, in a beautiful fashion,

Makes the flowers on my family’s graves dance,

As if my reverence overwhelms their spirits

And their souls flit in the wind.


I think I’ll bring my jacket today,

Just to be safe.


Together in Love

For the lonliness, my life has brought me

Acceptance and regret indefinite,

Until the ends of this brief temporal span,

Until the ends of this world intertwine.


For the Love, seen in her eyes every morning,

Means more than words, more than emotion.

And an unending bliss lights my soul,

And her light shines through as would a keyhole to heaven.


And I miss you, I say, knowing the inadequacy,

Of the words in their quaint little order,

Of myself and my love and my strength.


I miss you too, she says,

Not implying a greater emotion,

Not feeling pity or lament at the distance,

But to be with me, in word,

And to be with me, in spirit,

And to be together, in Love,


Bored Games

My wife hates strategy games.
She won’t play risk, or chess, or checkers.
She won’t discuss poker tournaments,
when you should bet or call a bluff.
When she does play,
She claims to have no strategy,
to let chaos and whim
rule her every move.
But when it comes to our relationship,
when it comes to serious matters,
she plots.
She strategizes ten moves ahead of me.
She’ll pull in my mother,
just to win the argument.
She has perfected the guilt trip,
And will convince me that
Beauty and the Beast
beats out any werewolf movie.
She’ll convince me
that I need to make all the decisions
regarding money and food.
My wife hates strategy games…

…but loves to strategize.

by Josh Glasson


I’ve misunderstood,
Since I was but a babe,
The concept of commitment.
Thinking it was a word
Rather than an idea.
Willing something to occur
Is not that thing occurring.
Agreeing to a contract
Is not fulfillment of the small print.
Believing in our being together
Means for all time.
Not just when our names are signed,
Not just when it’s convenient.

by Josh Glasson

Crying at 3 AM

Crying at 3 AM
Alone and in pain,
My heart falters.
I grip my chest,
Waiting for the moment to pass.

But it stays,
And I intently grasp
To find the exact spot,
As if knowing
Will somehow put my erratic mind at ease.

I just want it to end
And I feel my eyes well
And my extremities tingle
And all I can think is
“Oh, God, what have I done?”

My chair gives way
And I view the world askew,
Wondering if this is it.
Hoping these ragged breaths
Would somehow keep me alive some more.

A minute passes
And several more
And the pit in my heart weighs me down.

A tear falls
Without a splash.
It merely soaks into my frayed carpet.

I wake at 6 AM
And wipe my dry eyes.
I breath deeply
And place a hand
Over my still beating heart.

Thump. Thump.
It hurts no more.
But I know it will again.
A tear forms
And is shed for my future heartache.

Title courtesy of MaryJo Kolze