8/7 to 8/21- I was getting some help at the hospital for my mental health.

I am looking for a moment
I am looking for me to own it,

This illness is a mistress
Cause I hid myself from you,
Is there a new view

I am looking for a moment
When all you have are moments
To give away..

Are you defined,
Or are you definition.

Are you repeating,
Or are you repetition

Is this old,
Or is this a rendition

How many times have you called
Me out into the hallway,
To call me out of my medicines,
To calm me down with medicines
To bring down all the sympathy,
Cause this here is no symphony,

I feel the sounds,
And the louds,
And the ears that ring.

But I am asking for a revision,
A revision of my decisions.

Are you any kind of collection,
Or any kind of selection

Are you my friend,
Or my companion.

Is everyone gonna stay,
Or is everyone gonna leave.

Is this a 51/ 50,
Or are you never gonna leave me.

Cause in the end all I have is the hallway..
Is the long stay,
A break like this called Hell,
You call getting well.

Did I give it all to you,
Did I surrender fully..

You press
You pressure
You sift
You shift
You ask for the gears
You take all the tears,
You speed this thing in
The fast lane.

I am well cause
I am in Hell,
And getting well
Is the next swell,

Give me waves,
Give me freedom.
Give me a reason
To escape,
To conquer,
To win.

Day #5 – Red Car

The theme of 60 days of poetry this year is cars and my dad. The deeper meaning behind all the ways we were raised. In the past decade plus of having this blog reflections on my upbringing come up all over the place. I am more than grateful for the person that I am because of my family. We all have painful memories and things we would have not changed at all. My dad sacrificed a lot of himself for me to play ice hockey from 10 to 16. We traveled all over Colorado playing games every weekend 8 months out of the year plus early morning practices + all the training on the off season + everything else that is involved with being addicted to the love of the game 🙂 I honor my dad for that time that we had. I also remember his dark side. His anger. His grief. His chemical imbalances. His depression. I am his son. Jared means inheritor. I got it all. I got his green eyes. I got his intelligence. I got his depression.

April 20th.

“We hated that red car,

We still knew, deep down,

We would get far.”

I dreamed of this last night,

How you used to drag me around, and drag me down.

How you used to fill us with your dreams of celebrity,

And were we the number one priority?

I knew your name as much as you let me,

I always wanted more,

I needed your mystery.

” I hated that red car,

it took us far, but isn’t red just

A big fat stop sign?”

I have this dialogue now that I

Have to be a man,

Now that I have to do more than

Survive, now that I have to take all

The things you gave me,

And all the things you took away.

Bright red like sports,

Like fast, like fast girls, and

Sex in the city,

Red like lipstick,

For all the first kisses that

Never happened in that time,

Red for anger, for rage, for

Turning pale,

For all the red faced moments,

In that red paced car,

For that red and later

Blackened heart you gave us.

I dreamed of this last night,

How you used to drag me around, and drag me down.

How you used to fill us with your dreams of celebrity,

And were we the number one priority?

I have different dreams now,

Dreams that have nothing to do with you,

And the things I lived under,

And the blame for all the red hot moments

That were hard to erase,

That creep up in fast pace,

In the fast cars I still drive,

And the lips I still try to kiss,

And the endless bliss I can

Get from living a life of redemption,

For living a life of driving away,

Driving away,

Driving away,

Driving away,

Driving fast,

Driving faster,

Driving as long as I can,

Not away from the things that got me

This far,

That red car,

That red look on your face,

That red car,

The wrist scars I

Still carry,

Driving away,

Driving fast,

Driving again,

Driving into something

Different. After all,

Tomorrow is Easter?

Tomorrow is about resurrection.



Day #4 – Drive Away

April 9th

Keys, You gave?

Were you mighty to Save?

Did you walk, and talk and build this up from

The beginning?

Was this a heated room, and a burning groom?

Are you the next in line,

Are you the next of kin,

Is this all about me in the end.

Gave me something different,

It was still a whole lot of effort,

Picking up the papers of old,

And the journals we had before the fold,

Picking up the papers of old,

Moving those boxes,

Catching foxes,

And getting out of your driveway,

No, I was waiting Dad, waiting for the

Drive Away,

Like when we were younger,

We hated a lot of things about the

Cars, the scars, the bars we could have

Been in, the world we could have been


Keys, you gave,

Keys, and houses to be built upon,

A church is only as good as the


And that seemed to be all you were

Dreaming about,

Waiting for the Drive Away,

On the driveway,

On the edge of the getaway,

We hated that red car,

We still knew, deep down,

We would get far.

Day #3: Something Different

60 Days of Poetry Continues. Cars. My dad. Life. Reflections.

April 8th, 2019

I know it has been some gone days, 

Some map and some waze, 

Some lost and some haze, 

I saw you dad, walk away, walk 

In the sway, walk out of the path of 

Least resistance. 

I know it has been some days, 

Some maps and some ways, 

I learned them all from you, 

From all you used to do. 

This was one of those how much time do we  

Have left kind of situations, 

This was one of those second chance kind 

Of conversations. 

I know you wanted fast, and you wanted to last, 

You wanted to last longer than all of us put together, 

You had some strange control over the weather, 

Is this sunnier? Is this place better? Is this the paradise 

We came for? 

I know you have love buried deep down inside of you, 

I know you have love for me, 

I know yesterday feels like a tragedy, 

I know there is still more to the story, 

Give me the keys to your car, 

Make this go far, 

Make this go as fast as you once were, 

Make this go away, 

Cause this place isn’t your getaway, 

This Corvette is unfit for your future, 

I need you dad, I need you to last longer than  


So give me the keys, 

Let’s do something different. 

Day #2 Where are You?

Every year in Spring time I write 60 days of Poetry. Here is part #2:

Where are you?
Events in real time and the back of time,
Like standing in the back of the line.
I saw you on stage, yell with some rage,
And turn another page,
I was inspired that loud was making you
You had some things to whisper in my ear,
You had some things to tell me to fear,
It was like the good old days,
When I walked on egg shells,
When you had taco shells,
When all you made was dinner
For you.
Events in real time,
Every year around this time,
I yell in sorrow about the wasted
Borrow, all the time spent on myself,
And putting You on the shelf.
Where are you?
Are you here?
Your sound is loud,
Louder now,
And it pulls me in closer,
Closer to the mystery,
Where else would I be?
Are you choosing,
Choosing all of this for me,
Or are you the events in real time,
Are you now and here,
Cause all I want is yesterday,
A place to dredge it up,
A place to hedge this fund up,
Where are my savings?
Where are the Saviors?
Events, You made in real time,
Choosing me was always a part
Of the plan,
I, still, ask: Where are You?
You must be here.

Why are you?

I have had this blog for over 11 to 12ish years> Jan. 2007 to January 2020..isn’t that 13 years?

Time is flying by. Time is crunched with family tributes and pain and all things in between. Goodness just comes and goes, but so does reflection and so does what I call remembering.

Why are you never around?

When I walk up, and make a loud sound.

I parked it in reverse,

For a quick traverse down your


I had the Phil Collins in Fort Collins,

I had the hockey in the grind,

And in the sign called stop,

And the days of IHOP,

Not the food, but the mood,

Dampened with darkness,

Called the harness of the end,

Called be a messenger,

Be the harbinger,

Be the loudest of the voices,

I called it Ruckus from a young age,

When I had to share a home with you,

When you were in the purview,

I had the best view,

I had the mountain view.

When we were just young,

When we weren’t to strong.

You fled away,

Out of L.A.

Grabbed a spot by the Venice,

By the beach,

By the places that were out of reach.

I had high school,

Some girl named Rachel,

Some fan club friends,

Some midnight dead ends,

Some laughter that turned to


Rage that crafted another page,

Another story,

Another glory we would chase!

When I was called,

You didn’t answer,

Why are you never around?

Why are you making me still,

Make this loud sound,

Am I not enough for this walk?

Are you parked in reverse,

Just like me?

Or you slowly, and steady,

Are you riding out the last days

Like they aren’t coming soon enough?

I, too, have been called,

Was taught to closely

About the end things,

And closing times,

And battle cries we call

Revelation! We call horses

And pale and white colors!

We call seals, and trumpets

And bowls!

You were called to

When noise was never turned down,

When all you wanted

Was reverse,

Was backwards,

Was the rapture,

And the final password.

Why are you around?

Why are You still a loud


Saga/ West/ Wild


Crave adventure, don’t you?

Moved away, didn’t you?

Palo Alto, is that so?

Left in the snow, is that truth?

Are you cold, are you solo,

Are you a no go?

Dear, someone,

Is what I needed to say,

Are you the one that got away,

Are you the saga we were starting,

And the steady sound of beginning.

Am I hidden, hidden in Christ, with words

You call thrice,

And three days it took for You to raise up!

Crave adventure..

I thought so..

Left for Palo Alto,

Now I really know.

You were the one on the long list,

The long list of those I met in the West.

It was here, it was wind, it was like you

Were blown away from the end.

Crave tomorrow…

Yes, I thought so, how did you know?

This had to be wild or not true,

Because now you got a mountain view,

And lions to catch and chase, and sun that you won’t miss…

I blow you a kiss,

And keep it on that beach,

Where you were in some reach,

And far from the breach.

It was wild, it was the west that you won,

And north is fun and further from the truth.

You need this saga as proof.

Are in the middle of a longer story,

Or are you the one that ends with it here?

There is trembling, there is fear, this is something

Waiting for next time…

I, too, am Saturday

Part 2. #SeriesPoetry

I am here to focus,
I am here to live.
I got caught in your rain,
We had that talk,
In one Accord,
Black and dented like
The one we rented,
All of life has been on hold,
On credit, on charge,
On still stuck in your rut.
I am here to focus,
I am the onus,
The one in control,
Not of you, but of me.
I celebrate,
I celebrate recovery.
That was once a Friday night thing,
A dull sound of trying to sing,
Free coffee and dessert for those
That could stay,
Now, I am here,
I am Saturday,
I am drifting,
I am drifting away.

First Time

It wouldn’t be your first time deleting that,

Pressing completed,

Pressing deleted.

Waited for thoughts to form,

For the bad form,

For the last time to be the

First time.

I don’t regret anything,

Just all the things that still

Linger, that still feel like


Cause I am scared,

Like I have been before.

Teacher said, ” Writing is showing,

Not telling,”

I don’t know how to show,

Not just yet.

This won’t be the first time

I tell, it won’t be the last either.

Everything called ‘Show,’

Well, that is to be continued..