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What bores you? What bores me? Watching paint dry—yep, the ultimate snooze-fest. It’s not just the glacial pace; it’s being stuck, twiddling my thumbs, while that wet bum holds my whole day hostage. Sometimes everything’s on ice, waiting for it to “dry,” and other times I’m fighting the urge to poke it like a moron—just…
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Inspired by All Quiet on the Western Front and the Christmas Truce of 1914 The trench exhales a stale, unreal air,Thick with rot, a shroud none can bear.Wet drips from noses, a ceaseless fall,Chapping lips erased by war’s cruel thrall.A book lies torn—pages shred and weep,Their whispered tales too frail to keep. Silent Night hums…
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“The Kool-Aid.” Not because it’s my actual favorite, but because, let’s be honest—we’ve all taken a sip. At some point, we’ve blindly bought into an idea, a cause, or a relationship, ignoring every neon warning sign flashing BAD IDEA. And oh, did I drink. Sometimes I just got queasy, other times, it was a full-on…
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Part I The San Gabriel Mountains stretched across the horizon, their peaks rising anywhere from five to ten thousand feet, dusted with the remnants of winter’s last breath. The recent storms had draped elevations above 5,000 feet in fresh snow, transforming them into inverted ice cream cones dipped in vanilla. As the sun climbed higher,…
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One extreme to another,we move like shadows in a hall of mirrors,chasing reflections of what never was. I thought you loved me—but love is a language I misread,syllables slipping between regretand the point of diminishing returns. We all make mistakes,excuses have their uses,like slicing a cake into piecestoo small to taste. Shaking a hand, clenching…
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I like being around people who build you up instead of tearing you down(1Thes. 5:11-24, 1Peter 5:8)—basically, the human equivalent of a good contractor, not a wrecking ball. That list changes day to day (because, let’s be honest, some people wake up and choose chaos), but at its core, it’s my closest friends (3), my…
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A dreamscape of loss and longing, where time unravels and echoes of the past linger— life’s relentless grind swallows dreams, yet the poet weaves meaning from the void.
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Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you. I have a pair of black, smooth, wing-tip shoes—gloves of leather, fitting as if made just for me. They have carried me through moments both heavy and light, walking my two daughters down two aisles, step by measured step, toward new lives,…
BB Grey--musings 