Black Radio (to my mom)

Under the Christmas tree
was that black radio
with the CD player,
one of the presents
you never received.

Death took you away
and left the presents
so the radio sat in the kitchen,
everyone’s to share.

Cathy and I would
play loud music
when Dad wasn’t around
or I would take it outside
when sweeping the driveway.

It was sacred, that black radio.
It stayed there for years,
a subtle reminder;
just like you, there for everyone.

I don’t remember
what happened to it
but sometimes I realize
I still carry it with me
playing old CD’s
when no one is around.



If you can kick and claw
through the surging masses,
lift yourself up
into coveted upper echelons.

If you can burn each day
down to a cinder,
running nonstop into
late night hours at the office.

If you can drive your
chrome plated symbol of achievement
through crowded lanes
of shifting social status.

Can you tell me
what it is
you are chasing?

What is it then,
that you are dying for?

“Abandon not the everlasting beauty for a beauty that must die, and set not your affections on this mortal world of dust.”

~ Baha’u’llah, The Persian Hidden Words