I’ll Have Another: Part 2

Here again, are situations that I have found myself thinking things like:

I really would like to do that over.

Did that just happen?

I wish I could repeat that experience.

I wish I knew then what I know now.

Thank you God.

That was amazing!

We all have experiences we want to do over, or we want to repeat. Good, bad, sad, happy, “I’ll Have Another” pays homage to the human experience. I hope you drink long and drink deep the life that was given you. I’ll have another.


I’ll Have Another

I’ll have another.









Another question,

Answered for the 50th time

I can’t stand those who ask questions before the explanation

is finished.

Who knows you may hear the answer.


Another smell,

I’m reminded of something lost

But for the life of me I can’t remember what it is 

There it is. No it’s gone again.


Another turn,

Clockwise goes the doorknob

Same closet, same clothes. Why can’t I step out into Narnia?

My heart longs for adventure!


Another stormy sky

Thunderstorms are my glory

They teach me rage, and the fear of God

Fear is not always a bad thing.


Another mistake

It would seem I’m a collector

I like my mistakes smooth and rich, with just a hint of

the bitter

The longer they age the better


Another rule

My first thought is how to break it

My second is breaking it and hating myself for it

And third staring sleeplessly at the ceiling at 3 a.m.


Another test

I hope they use a curve

The top of that bell is the place to be, not bad or good enough

to be despised

To far left or right will get you beat up.


Another dollar

To help sedate anxious thoughts

My money buys me security, great big walls with barbed wire on

the top.

A personal Jericho with harlot spies.


Another page

Ink scratches screaming their meaning

Another world is built and torn down with the turning of a page

Imaginations breathing life to words


Another smile

As big as the morning

It breaks on her face 

And like the sun lights my world. 


I’ll have another.


I want to start this post out by saying “We are all messed up.” We all have flaws, scars, broken places. We are all as C.S. Lewis would say “Bent” or warped. None of us have reached perfection, and if you think you are closer than others, that just proves your not. But having stated this, I will also say their is beauty in these scars, in these messed up places.

Life is long and rough, and there are many places where you are going to fall down, or feel like falling down. There are many times you are going to endure a hurt that you think you will never get over. But, and thank  God there is a “but, (that’s what she said) we don’t have to face these times alone. Most of the time when you are hurting, there is someone close or beside you that is feeling strong. When you are naked, bloody, bruised, and left for dead, there comes along a good samaritan.

We are a mosiac picture filled willed with a lot of rough edges, and swirling colors. We have no idea what part we are playing because we only see our surroundings and not the entire picture. The hardest part is trusting that the artist creating this mosaic is a master, and he can even fix the mistakes we have made, to make any even better masterpiece.

As someone once said, “the beauty is in the flaws.”

Beautifully, Broken Mess

She was a beautiful broken mess

Of stress, and loneliness. I must confess,

I marveled in the beauty of each broken piece,

And how tears would not come to bring release

To dried out eyes and even drier bones.

With no words words to say her spirit groans.

Such a beautifully, 




He was a study in angles, quiet, and pain

Looking for answers were none remain.

With quiet indifference he hides his eyes

In fear they will see, he doubts his life.

Is he living, or striving, loving or lusting

A heart like metal with holes that are rusting

A study in angles,




They create a mosaic work of living art

That others see and hear, because they stand apart.

If they could only see the beauty inside the pain

And find joy in not knowing what in future lays.

To find, their struggles are colors forming the patterns,

And patterns, the patterns, of a new creation.

A mosaic work,

Beauty in pain

Lives create


Paths are seldom straight.

Lives are not easily lived.

Love is never cheap.

Hope is beauty for the living.

Kavi Stories

Kavi, in Sanscrit, simply means a poet or sage. I’m not saying I read Sanscrit or anything like that. I just happened upon this word and liked the sound of it. I felt better about calling myself Kavi than a poet, because calling yourself a poet, in most circles, is like giving people free reign to make as much fun as possible. Regardless of the fact, that David was a poet, as well as a warrior. 

In the coming months, I am going to try my hand a storytelling. It will be mostly short stories I have written, or fables that I have adapted for a more modern audience. I will be trying these stories out on some of my students at school, while I am teaching them about the process of writing and what makes a good story. I’ll try to include some of the feedback I receive from the students to give you a laugh. Did I mention I teach 7th and 8th grade Language Arts. Yeah, enough said. 

I hope to record some of these stories and add a video section to my blog, as soon as I find some extra time. 

The following exert is an introduction to Kavi Stories. I like to think of Kavi, not just as a title but as a character I will play. Someone with a bit more gusto and a zeal for life than the average Joe. Someone that makes stories come alive and dance in our imaginations. Kavi is a character much like Puck from A Midsummer’s Night Dream. 

This is just an introduction and not a story itself. Think of it as a opening number with more to follow.



     There are places you should not go, and would not know but I will take you. There are people you should not meet, you should not greet, but I will introduce you.

These will be the stories of miracles, and there will be a miracle for every shade of color the sky has ever had, and we will see them all, both great and small. So come with me and I will take you.

This will be a great day! Truly, a great day!

Will let the wind bite our faces, and the sun blind our eyes. We will run even faster, with arms stretched a’ wide. I will teach you to laugh like the Thunder, and shed tears like the rain.

We will love like the Sun shines, and break like oceans waves.

We will pit ourselves against lions, and champion a bear. Out fly the eagle, and out run the gazelle.

We will pour ourselves like water to a dry and thirsty ground. I will teach the whisper, small voice, the I am.

We will test our fragile hearts with heavy things, and look for cracks along the seems. We will not fear the breaking, and the dark night of its taking, and though it may take along time to get back to sunrise our hearts will not tremble or break. No matter how long it takes. We are warriors.

So Burn! Burn! Burn! Like sparkling showers in a mid summer night sky, and hear the oohs, and ahhs that erupt from a far. Oh what fools we mortals be, to be content to watch one who is alive! Alive! And we ourselves dare not to breathe, dare not to dream. Oh but take up that cup, partake that drink, for life is yours for the taking.

When I am through, it’s back to just me and just you. While the colors are fading, and our memory begins its erasing. Let us hope that we hold on to joys, more than the fears, to the laughs as much as the tears. Until we meet again.

Be patient, oh, the hardest of words!

The stories are coming!

Dark Water: 150 Word

     Silent tears are falling on my angry cheeks.  A teenage heart is broken from baring a weight designed for an older heart.  I’m coming in an out of dark water just long enough for a breath. 

(A silent dad, troubled by indecision, beholds his son.)

“What are the words? God, please give me the words!” he cries. Yet, no words will come.

(Spark! )

“Hey!” he says excitedly. “Let’s go buy you a car!”

My swollen eyes look up and meet my dad’s. We both stare at one another awkwardly, kind of embarrassed because of the state of man’s soul.

I smile not because of the prospect of a new car, but because of the absurdity of it all. My dad pulls me out of the dark water and embraces me. I feel the love of God pouring into my soul, repairing the broken, giving wisdom, and revealing His mysteries.



I wrote this “150 Word” remembering a moment I had after breaking up with my first real girlfriend. It was an unhealthy relationship to say the least, on both mine and her accounts, but there was love there to a degree. So in saying that, know, that this was also my first real, broken heart. You know the kind that has you doubled over, I don’t want to get out of bed, cried until there were no more tears, kind of heart ache. 

We were both very selfish, as young people usually are, only thinking of our own desires and needs.  We were treading in water designed for a much more experienced swimmer (preferably a married swimmer) and we were beginning to drown, so to speak. When we decided to break up. 

I remember in very vivid detail lying in my upstairs bedroom. Not crying because I didn’t have anymore tears. Just staring at the wall with a kinda throbbing numbness beating inside my chest.  (As adults, we make light of this calling it things like “puppy love”,  but “puppy love” or not it still leaves very hurtful wound and scare.) I really don’t know how long I lay there, but I’m pretty sure it was most of the day. It was like I just didn’t have the strength for anything. 

The next thing I know, my dad is yelling at me from downstairs. He wants me to come outside and do something, anything with him. I took creative liberties on my dad’s thoughts, but I’m pretty sure it was something close to what he was thinking. 

What dad wants to see his son in this state? What dad can think of the right words to heal a wounded heart?

Anyway, I remember yelling, with a croaky voice, something very teenagerish like, “Dad, you just don’t understand!” I’m sure it was very dramatic, knowing myself. I probably threw myself on the bed with a very southern belle type sigh, and thrashed around in the covers. 

The next words out of my dad’s mouth, i’ll remember with perfect clarity until the day I die. He said, I guess without any other option, “ lets go by you a car.” I remember sitting up in my bed after that and just laughing. Not because I was excited about getting a new car, but  I felt the love of God in my dad’s gesture. Weird huh? My dad was willing to go to the lengths of buying me a car, just to help me cope with one of the hardest lessons we , as a people, have to learn. With this I knew he was telling me, without telling me, that he just wanted to be near me during this. He was telling me “life will go on” without saying those same words that would have sounded so idiotic to my teenage mind. 

With his words playing in my brain: I set up in bed, wiped tears and crust from my eyes, pulled myself out of that dark water, and went downstairs. With my dad’s hand on my shoulder, I stepped out into the new days sunlight and felt my broken pieces begin to mend. 

Quick side note:

     I really like figurative language, as you can probably tell if you have read any of my other writings. So “coming in an out of dark water” is used to represent any type of bad situation were it feels like you are drowning.

Ode to You: Wherever You May Fall

An Ode is a lyric poem that is used to address a particular subject. In the past, this type of poem was usually sung, but I’ve never tried to sing this poem so Im not sure if works. 

     In my poem “Ode to You: Wherever You May Fall”, I have tried to capture life and the people who live it. Life weather we like it or not has it’s goods and bads. Sometimes we are the reasons for the good things and sometimes, the reasons for the bad. The title may seem a little misleading. I am not referring to a “fall” as to the ground, or from a “fall from grace” or anything. Just simple the line of the poem that you most identify with is where you “fall.”

     I wrote this poem almost as if I were giving a “toast” at a wedding, or some meeting. As you read this poem it might be fun to pour yourself a glass of champagne (apple juice if your not of age), hold the glass in the air and then read the poem aloud. Try it and let me know how it turns out.  


Ode to You: Wherever You May Fall


To the lonely hearts in the crowded rooms

To the broken dreams that broke too soon

To the little ones, who grow too fast

To the old men in bars, who live in the past

To star struck lovers, whom the world hates.

To broken fisted brothers who can’t control their hands

To mute mothers, in their silent tears

To grim faced fathers, holing fast nights fears

To grinning fools, in their slipping nooses

To the wise man’s feet and the path he chooses

To kisses that tingle from head to toe

And leave both culprits caught in a glow

To the morning sun that fills with envy


To shine even brighter the love that is in me

To the teller of stories and the stories he tells

To the gypsy queen’s dances and in the freedom it dwells

To laughter alit by fire of a friend

To the answers waiting, just around the bend

To giving and loving and singing out loud

To dancing with my love, all alone in a crowd

To the wounded soldier, and the soldiers he wounds

To the burned out pastor, who berates a late groom

To grace born, through loves last breath

To the spark of hope in the darkest of depths

To the heavens and stars that light a night sky

And carry you to places never seen by mans eye

To the wind that howls, and chaps the cheek,

tears the eye and gives wing to feet

To the whisper of glory form cancers deathbed

To the few gone before, shinning like stars on our heads

To the sparkle in the eye of those lost in thought

To brave new worlds an author has wrought

To the whispers on mountains and the crashes on seas

To the trickle of laughter that’s found in a spring

To the sweetest calm, and most violent storm

To the smell of roses, on a summer morn

To the silence… oh, the silence that speaks

To the burned out, torn out, sold out, loved out,

To the smallest of gestures, unseen by man’s eye

To leaving of this world, and to saying goodbye


I’ll Have Another

“I’ll Have Another” is a series of writings using a type of poetic form. I’m not sure it ascribes to any particular poetic formula, but they definetly have a rythym to them.

“I’ll Have Another”  is basically meant to be my thoughts on life.  Sometimes good, sometimes not, but either way “I’ll have another”. Another day. Another moment. Another sunrise. Another whatever. To me, life is a series of events that move us towards God. We can take these events and learn, or not. Move forward or try our hardest to stay the same. But the ketch is with ever moment we are changing, moving;  in one direction or another, weather we choose to move or not.

I hope you enjoy these. I will be adding to these, over time, because with new experiences come new words to tell. I will simple call this one “I’ll Have Another: Part 1” and continue on with “part 2”, and so on, as the words come.


I’ll Have Another: Part 1


Another day,

Waking to uncertainty

Walking in hopes that I’m going the right way.

Just walking







Another moment,

Brushing my teeth in habit

Memorizing the shade of color under my already tired eyes

I’ll call this shade “purple mornings”


Another observation,

In front of the mirror

Practicing my cheap smiles that I can afford to give strangers

We are in a recession, ya know. 






Another memory,

It’s a good one

My baby laughed and said “Da” and it coursed through my veins

The best things are free


Another thought,

She’s pretty in any weather

Especially cloudless nights, all shooting stars and soft glows

I think I could get lost, and wouldn’t mind it. 


Another fight,

I’ve lost count 

It’s not right to have to lose more times than you win. Is it?

Is it?





Another Choice,

The rode less traveled

That poem just made me feel lonely, I don’t want to walk alone.

Alone is never good no matter the destination


Another Sunrise

It’s golden

I take hope in its light

God I’m thankful for the mornings


Another drink

To be brave

Or maybe the brave thing would be, to not have another

I really want to be brave






Another tear

To chase its brothers

Tears are like potato chips, you can never have just one

Is it true you collect them?


Another goodbye

Like sunsets, they happen

Sometimes their beautiful and just a little sad

Others just leave a hole.

I’ll have another   












The Deep: In 150 Words

     My next writing sample is what I like to call “In a 150 Words”. It is basically expressing an idea, or thought, in exactly 150 words, no more or less. Sounds simple enough, until you try it. All of the “150” words that I have written have to do with my experiences with God. How I have encountered Him in seemingly unlikely places. 

     I am also interested in hearing your on experiences with God, in of course 150 words. If you send them to me, I would love to post them on my blog. I already have 2 that my friends have given me that I will be posting at a later time.  I think it would cool to compile all of these “150” words into a e-book, or perhaps even a regular book called ” 150 People in a 150 Words”, but of course I need 150 people to submit something in order to use this title, and you have to admit, its a really great title. So get to writing people.  

     I have written a number of these “150” words, so in the future if you see the “title/15o”. Well it’s self-explanatory. 



All asleep on the road except for me and the sun. She and I were racing for ground, and I was steadily losing to the day. The world was in that lonely time between night and the new days dawn.

100 Portraits were jamming rhythmic worship of unashamed love and the need to dance from my car speakers. I was happily singing along and enjoying the perfect shade of “early morning blue”, when the Deep entered my car.

The Deep, the fathomless depths of God, came pouring in. The depths of my being reacted with such fury, to be one again with its creator that the pain of its longing brought tears to my eyes. Longing, the depths of man and God. God in need of nothing, longing to be with man. Man in need of everything, unknowingly longing for God.

I sang! I wept! I loved and was Loved!

A Beginning




This will be my second attempt at the world of blogging. I hope to post at least twice a week, but will see.

The words will fall in many different formats: poems, short stories, essays, etc. I hope you enjoy. I hope you are inspired. I hope you find that words have power, because after all, it all began with a Word.

So as you read my thoughts, both sweet and bitter, I hope you are inspired to pick up your pen, pencil, typewriter, or computer and may your words too, fall like rain.