Waiting On.

Restless nights, slipping into a dream

nothing really matters, not the crop or the cream

dreams kinda splatter with a drop or a scream

seems like a platter with soda pop with the team.

Redeem, the loss of yesterday we forget

all the wrongdoings are a thing we regret,

all the wrong brewing up thoughts in the head.

All the wrong brewing sipped with our Daily Bread.

The coroner, a coronary shock with a pound,

Ezra with heart sees a metro’s real sound.

Ezra with art is a poem re-found,

Discovered a chapter with which to resound.

Stopped to guns drawn at a liquor shop corner,

bullets getting popped for the lack of a quarter.

Quarters getting changed for a sip of a porter,

as a Porter College student sees the end of his quarter.

Visionary with a choice, decision with a voice,

as addition and subtraction led up to an incision

between heart and the soul, a lyric surgeon is on hold

blurring the lines between belligerent and bold.

We’re waiting for the hero so let his story be told

as he makes his return will our hearts quite be sold?

The stories of old make the young ones look cold

as they scoff at the marvel of a stone that was rolled.

The music, in symphony, is just playing on

and the audience is us, well, we’re waiting on.


Mazda, You the Real MPV.

As I embarked on my journey from shedding a tear or two at an awesome brother’s wedding, I found the apathy of an almost four-hour long drive begin to suffocate the vigor of my mental faculties.  While the speeds will not be mentioned to avoid testifying against myself, it’s safe to say that a few cars (other than my beast of a Mazda MPV) were rather motivated on the road that afternoon.  As I shift over to the right lane, a red Nissan with the most disgusting yellow lights zooms ahead and fills in my space as I realize that I actually moved into a slower lane and would not be able to pass.

It was on.

I refused to make eye contact with the driver of the red Nissan because I was entirely aware of how smug his or her face would’ve been (for the sake of convenience, I will refer to the driver as “him” from now on), and there would have been no restraining me once I saw that expression of jeering triumph.  I quietly returned to the left lane behind the red Nissan, eyes shifting constantly to the right, staying vigilant for any opportunity to pass him and leave him in the dust.

Now, at this point, you might think oh, Ben, how can you be such a careless driver?  Why don’t you just let it slide?  If I hadn’t woken up at 4:45 AM, that might’ve been a valid rebuke.  However, by this time, I was raring to get back to Santa Barbara and just sleep.  Being sick, tired, and misty-eyed from a wedding is a weird, weird combination of emotions.  Anyways, I needed this motivation to push me into the next gear, no pun intended, so that I could arrive back in SB as quickly as possible.  I wasn’t doing it for vengeance’s sake, but I was doing it for vengeance’s sake.

Eventually along the way, I discovered a gap just big enough for me to squeeze to the right, and in front of the car ahead of the red Nissan.  As soon as the occasion arose, I pounced on it, zipping through the right lane and cutting back into the left and then flooring it.  I had assumed that the red Nissan would do the same, given his apparent penchant for being faster than his driving neighbors, but he did not. And so, I laughed my way to the bank as I watched him fall further and further behind.

I made pleasant conversation with Lukey, talking about a bunch of things, and our drive was pretty much free of the red Nissan.  I had begun thinking that the red Nisan already exited the freeway, and that the evil had been overcome.  However, about an hour away from Santa Barbara, what should appear in my rearview mirror other than the hideous yellow lights embedded in a red Nissan body?  At this point, I had been on cruise control, sitting at a decent speed.  But once that Nissan showed up, I sat straight up and pressed “Cancel” on the cruise control before gunning it again.  I could practically feel the lust to cut ahead emanating from the Nissan, but I gave no opportunity for such a thing to occur and dusted him again, never letting my foot off the gas until we exited the freeway at Santa Barbara.

If you’ve seen my car, it’s a gold van.  And what a gold van it is.  Once it’s at 70 MPH, the sky’s the limit for the acceleration.  All I could think in my head as I triumphantly dropped Lukey off at his place was, “Mazda, you the real MPV.”

Summer Stuck.

As I start sinking slowly and snugly into summer’s warm embrace, I let out a gasp before it completely seals my mouth.  Not too long ago, I deleted two WordPress drafts because I felt they weren’t good enough, too prideful of my work to let anything I personally deemed “good enough” to reach the public.  How quickly I forget that it was those posts that I wrote from last year, good and bad, that furthered my ability as a writer to propel my thoughts into black on white.  Over summer, I begin to succumb to a kind of reliance upon inspired writing as I was in the habit of doing when I was in high school; it could be anywhere from a day to three months’ time before I got back to working on my craft, chalking it up to not being able to write well enough if it was forced.  In practicing what we start getting good at, it seems that we, having tasted what it is like to succeed, only desire success and forget about the earnest pursuit of our end goal.  Having accomplished that goal, the joie de vivre of learning slowly dissipates into something that we wistfully reflect on.  And while this is a fairly short post, hopefully it is decent of a reminder to myself to never stop chasing, and to never stop writing.  Taking this attitude on in my life is briefly summarized by this statement: never stop, except to take a breath.  The race of life isn’t something that we go through running fast until the end; there are so many odd loops and unexpected turns to it that only the enduring find themselves succeeding.  To endure and to learn go hand in hand, and if I can’t be bothered to suffer momentary pitfalls – and realize that climbing out of holes is strengthening me – and periodic stumbling, then I just pray that God gives me the persistence in all things, so that it may be applied to my pursuit of Himself.

Mourning Dew.

The sun rose at six today,

sparkling dewdrops rest.

The wind knows not what to say,

to crystal tears on grassy crest.


The drops grew slow below the sky,

aether joining solid earth.

The blades of grass with eyes did cry,

giving the soul a knowing berth.


With bended back, the blade bows low,

green grass with moisture in its face.

Howling wind of heart’s sorrow

does the silent grief replace.

If You Are Willing.

This finals season, I’ve just been meditating more and more on Luke 22:42, which reads: “saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” (ESV)  The more I think about it, the more, “if you are willing,” begins popping up and being bolded, italicized, and underlined – sorry, I’ve been working on papers. This short post is just a reminder to me, and all my brothers and sisters out there dealing with finals, or even something else, that Jesus’s will was purely centered on God’s will.  He had a request for the cup to be removed from Him, but ultimately, He acquiesced to the Father’s will.  We can request all the straight A’s we want, and if it brings glory to God, then we may see those results; however, let us continue to remember and reflect on how often we ask God about His will and keep God in the conversation in our daily lives.