drift driftwood and drifter

driftwood in the sea
finds new land
that no other tree where it came ever will see
and I, a drifter among men floating to new land
hope to happily return
with stories to share
and perspective, a new
with a better knowledge for Him who made us
and stronger devotion to him.

Four Word Letter Pt 2.

"I wrote a four word letter... with post-script in crooked lines,
"Though I'd lived I'd never been alive."
And you know who I am... you held my hem as I traveled blind,
Listening to the whispering in my ear, soft but getting stronger,
Telling me the only purpose of my being here is to stay a bit longer.
Stealing a bicycle chain as the handlebars crashed to the ground,
And the back wheel detached from the frame, it kept rolling, yeah,
But aimlessly drifting around.

Oh, doubters, let's go down... let's go down, won't you come on down?
Oh, doubters, let's go down... down to the river to pray.
"Oh, but I'm so small I can barely be seen... how can this great love be inside of me?"
Look at your eyes.... they're small in size, but they see enormous things.

Wearing black canvas slippers in our frog-on-a-lily-pad pose,
We sewed buttons and zippers to Chinese pink silk and olive night clothes.
If you could someday stop by somehow we'll show you the pictures and fix you some tea...
See, my dad's getting a bit older now, and just unimaginably lonely!

Oh, pretenders, let's go down... let's go down, won't you come on down?
Oh, pretenders, let's go down... down to the river to pray.
"Oh, but I'm so afraid" or "I'm set in my ways"
But He'll make the rabbits and rocks sing His praise.
"Oh, but I'm too tired, I won't last long."
No, He'll use the weak to overcome the strong!
Oh, Amanda, let's go down... let's go down, won't you come on down?
Mama, Nana, let's go down... down in the dirt by the river to pray.

(A wick to fit the wax... wood to fit the wire)

You strike the match... why not be utterly changed to fire?
To sacrifice the shadow and the mist of a brief life you never much liked?
So if you'd care to come along, we're gonna curb all our never-ending, clever complaining,
As who's ever heard of a singer criticized by his song?
Though we hunger, though all that we eat brings us little relief,
We don't know quite what else to do;
We have all our beliefs, but we don't want our beliefs...
God of Peace, we want You."

-aaron weiss

cakes and paintings

oh compromise, foul compromise
iv paid homage long enough to your gods of deceit
i have heard it's the small stones that cause the greatest falls
ive told myself a thousand times for 7 years
"let bakers bake and the painters paint."
Oh, but "I'd die to present my own cake and paintings!"
but the apron chokes my neck
and paint fumes are brutal killers
so maybe i dont mean what i say!
im no baker, and im no artist
but this itch will never go away
...so I guess I swear I will be someday
if the apron never chokes
and paint fumes arent so bad
its the small stones that make us fall
and the little foxes that steal from our souls
but maybe cakes taste sour and paintings are worthless
unless there's a price to be paid to scratch this itch

Messes of Men

"I do not exist," we faithfully insist,
Sailing in our separate ships and from each tiny caravel.
Tiring of trying, there's a necessary dying,
Like the horseshoe crab in its proper season sheds its shell.
Such distance from our friends,
Like a scratch across the lens,
Made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood.
And our paper blew away before we'd left the bay.
So half-blind, we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood.

Caught me making eyes at the other boatman's wives,
And heard me laughing louder at the jokes told by their daughters.
I'd set my course for land, but you well understand,
It takes a steady hand to navigate adulterous waters.
The propeller's spinning blades held acquaintance with the waves,
As there's mistakes I've made no rowing could outrun.
The cloth low on the mast, I say I got no past,
I'm nonetheless the librarian and secretary's son.

The tarnish on my brass, the mildew on my glass-
I'd never want someone so crass as to want someone like me
But a few leagues off the shore, I bit a flashing lure,
And I assure you, it was not what I expected it to be!
I still tastes its kiss, that dull hook in my lip
Is a memory as useless as a rod without a reel.
To an anchor ever dropped, sea-sick yet still docked,
Captain spotted napping with his first mate at the wheel.

Floating forgetfully along, with no need to be strong,
We keep our confessions long, but when we pray we keep it short.
I drank a thimble full of fire,
I'm not ever coming back...
Oh, my G-d.

"I do not exist," we faithfully insist,
While watching sink the heavy ship of everything we knew.
And if ever you come near, I'll hold up high a mirror.
Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as you!

-Aaron Weiss

A Story About survival in the West

out of the depths of shallow lakes
come the sea trolls
planning their evil belligerent parades
coming to take, take, take and take
The watchmen are strong, and prepared to fight
They rise tall and get out of comforts way.
The burning, the killing
The stealing is not over,
Its just begun.
But as long as we are here,
We’ll fight until what’s ours is safe.
chasing our curious hearts
we found the farewell letters
“im sorry we’ve left, our time has come
hold on strong and fight to protect”
sincerely, watchmen
p.s.” the finishers who came in first
were afraid but stood up strong for themselves”

We’re here but walking dead
dying in our conscious efforts
to avoid pain and stay alive.
In our fighting the years progress
And others are dying
We’ve paid no mind
because we have too much at stake

We will be safe
But the world wont change
Because world changers
have nothing to lose
and have already lost their lives
But we don't mind,
we'd rather survive
than become fully alive

An Excerpt From the Journal of Tearless Funerals

Entry 129

Jan 28 1917
Harley Madison:

Harley Madison:
Here lies Harley
Found hanging on a noose
They say he was a burden to his friends and family
and exchanged no self-sacrifice
Like parasite and host.

another passing leaf
Blowing down the road
Like the next
As time unfolds
And moss piles to stone.

May your life be better than his
may you decide to die
and become fully alive

They say life is 7 days
Well if that’s the case then maybe today is Sunday
And I still am waiting to live at the end
I am a weeping widow
Abandoned and left for dead
Or maybe an orphan is better yet
Waiting for a break
i am helpless with nothing to do but
ask and wait for an ace in this poker deck
because all I have is deuce and three and im drawing dead.