No reason just rhymes

Poetry written by me and other inspiring inspiring individuals

If you’re looking for more poems like these ones check out the full book of my poems on

“Give” 11/17/2016

The other day I was drawn to a tree it had been calling for me but this was not not just any tree. Her trunk was thin enough that my two hands could embrace her in a miniature hug. Her limbs that sprouted about half up her trunk were equally as thin but they were bare, save the few leaves that clung to the tips of her boughs, brittle and afraid to let go.

I had been wandering around, looking for an answer to a question I have been grappling with for days upon days. I thought maybe she might have the answer, so I sat beneath her, my back facing the sun, my hands planted firmly in the grass behind me, and I tilted my face upward catching the sun on my cheeks while also embracing her fullness. And not her literal fullness, she was sparse and seemingly fragile.

But her full personality, was what I could sense. And I asked the tree, “Am I doing enough?”

There was Silence…..

Okay, now I’m frustrated. She is ignoring me. Standing straight and tall, looking over the top of my head as if I was not even there. Maybe I need to clarify what I mean, I thought.

“Okay, by doing enough, I mean, am I doing as much as I have the capacity to do for the people I love? Am I giving enough of myself to them?”

At this I heard a heavy sigh. “Ahhhh now she understands” I thought and how could she not? I looked at her and saw the scars, the ridges embedded in her skin. All she has done, her entire life is give.

But how can she give all of herself to the world around her and still survive for much longer than I ever will.

I felt relieved that I no longer felt insane, searching for answers that I could not find within myself in a being of nature.

I thought it was silly at first, but I was desperate and desperation can lead you to take actions you would not normally take. I had to wait for just a moment before the tree responded. I could tell she was contemplating, her words deliberate and purposeful.

She finally said: The world asks of you one thing, my dear friend, and that is “to find your gift and give it away”, as Picasso might say.

Watch the Moon, her gift is light in the darkest part of your day. The grass, gives shelter to the tiniest of beings. Think of the wind giving his breath to support the wings of birds or the flight of a kite. Feel the rain…to you it might be a nuisance but to every other living thing in this world, rain is life. The ocean is a salty home for many creatures The rivers give life to the land they run through. Smell the flowers blooming in the spring and embrace the beauty they emanate

But pay attention most importantly to the sun, she gives away her warmth and light and nourishment everyday to help us grow. Do you have the images in your mind?


Now, think of yourself. What do you give? Is it light, love, or laughter? Maybe it is courage, compassion, or curiosity. is all of the above. But make no mistake, my dear friend, do not think that if you give all of yourself that you may change the world.

Look at me…I am smaller than the others yet I have just as much purpose. I give as much as I am able to, and that is the best I can do.

My gift is protection, my gift is sometimes food, and always air. I give to the earth, as the earth gives to me. And I hope that one day you will be able to see

You are enough, as long as you give even the tiniest bit to love and life and happiness

Delusional Optimism 12/08/2016

I am running, running, running. My legs can’t seem to stop. My heart beats are frantic and my nerves are tense. Hate and despair are closing in around me.

I am running. Searching for any way of escape but there seems to be no end. The beings of hate and despair reach for me. Their scarred hands are tentacles curling towards me. They haven’t caught me yet, but they are tugging at my shirt.

I have an overwhelming sense of hopelessness entering my body. It infiltrates my thoughts and my memories that once were full of colors.Now flashing before my eyes, as I continue to flee are feelings of dread. My legs are heavy, my movements slow, the hands of despair almost have a fistful of my shirt clenched between their fingers holding me back.

But wait…there is hand reaching for me that is not like the others. It is in front of me, not behind. It’s movements are gentle but urgent and suddenly…Something inside of me shifts. I start to move my legs with purpose, my right hand outstretched, desperate to grab a hold of this hopeful being. And when I finally do I shudder at it’s warmth and I am wrenched from my anxious reverie.

I am dreaming. My mind begins to crawl back into reality. I roll from my left side to my right, sheets tangling with my early morning movements. And my gaze rests on my love lying beside me. The nightmares visit me from time to time. And when they do, his hand is the hope the wakes me up before the sunrises. Urging me to watch the new day arrive, to fall in love with the colors that greet me.

“Good morning beautiful” he says, brushing the stray strands of hair from my cheeks. “Are you ready to change the world today?” he asks

Optimism, he is my love. And he rolls out of bed and shuffles out the bedroom door in his superman boxers and bare chest and bare feet. He is off to make two cups of tea as he does every morning. I can hear the tea kettle screeching, him humming, “It’s a Wonderful World.”, his favorite Louie Armstrong song. And I lay encompassed by the safety of our blankets and the remnants of his warmth and wonder how I got to be so lucky.

Optimism has the tough job of loving me, of deluding me into believing that this world can change and let me tell you… he does a damn good job. When I see violence, he shows me love. When I see children being convinced of their insignificance, he shows me that one child that has read his first novel and shares it with his friends. When I see people feeling beat down and broken, he shows me them five years later, living a life that is full and happy.

Every once in while he will pick up his glasses from the bedside table and give them to me. “Why don’t we try seeing the world a little differently today?” The world is blurry when I first put them on, but I blink once or twice and I can see what he sees.

So on this morning where the nightmare is still lurking in the back of my mind, he continues with our morning, as we do everyday. We sip our tea, We laugh, We admire the sunrise and then he asks “Ready?”

“Ready” I say “As ready I will ever be”


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