The Roaring 20s

Enjoying the adventurous, reckless, and limitless life as a twenty-something-year-old.

A Southern California Christmas

A Southern California Christmas

Is the only Christmas I know

Blue sunny and cloud-filled skies

And not the slightest hint of snow

The weather is not so frightful

And the ground is anything but white

But still the carolers will wear scarves and mitts

While singing Silent Night

Shopping malls attempt to create

A Hollywood winter wonderland

Fake snowflakes made of bubbles

Children watching it melt in their hands

The same children then go

To sit on Santa’s jolly lap

And when the guy in the suit nods his head

Oh how the children clap

For he has just assured them

That they were on the nice list this year

As he pets their little noses

And laughs through his synthetic beard

Holiday jingles playing every hour

On KOST 103.5

Alleviating a little bit of fury

During holiday traffic hour drives

Books pop up in bookstores

About Frosty, Rudolph, and the whole crew

Scenes of Christmas elsewhere

Painted a snowy blue

Books about Kwanza and Hanukkah

Are surely not left behind

Because in Southern California

We all try to have an open mind

So in storefronts we see relics

Of religions of all sorts

To celebrate the holiday

That made shopping quite a sport

There are fundraising efforts  

Sprouting all over the place

Charities hoping to truly capture

Everybody’s good and generous grace

For though Christmas is different

In all parts of the world

It all reminds us of what it feels like

Of being a good little boy and girl 

Poems for Kayla: Brain-Powered Box

I have a big magical box

With hidden powers tucked inside

It makes all my dreams come true

And my fantasies come alive

In my pretty playful package

Your Majesty is what they call me

They also call me Doctor, Professor,

And Madame President-to-be

I build spaceships and airplanes

And sail around the oceans blue

I visit England and Egypt

And I stop by Australia too

I fight giants and monsters

That try to destroy our earth

And I do this by feeding them broccoli

Because broccoli is the worst

There are plenty of cupcakes for all

Peanut butter and jellies and more

Everyone will have all the soda pop

That they could ever wish for

Though my box is made of cardboard

Simple, brown, and plain

It is a mystical world of wonder

Fully powered by my brain 

Poems for Kayla: Couch Castle

I was not born a princess

But Daddy still calls me one

Princesses have fairy tale castles

And well, I have none

So every Sunday morning

Daddy and I take a trip far away

We don’t really go anywhere

We just pretend while we play

With our brown sofa bed cushions

We build a soft and comfy wall

It’s important to stack them neatly

So they stand nice and tall

There are many events

At our castle so grand

Tea parties, board games,

Storytelling, even musical bands

Although I am not royalty

I still feel quite blessed

That I can play all day

And Daddy will clean up the mess

*I’m currently writing a children’s poetry book for my niece Kayla. Please share any childhood memories you would like to have recaptured.

Poems for Kayla: Award Day

Sitting and waiting

I hope to hear my name

For my moment to shine

My five minutes of fame

When they call me

I will proudly take the stage

A photographer will take my photo

For the newspaper’s front page

In front of the whole school

I will proudly stand

Blowing everyone kisses

And gracefully waving my hand

I will thank my parents

For raising me to be this way

And for driving me to school

Each and every day

The crowd will loudly cheer

As I take my final bow

And even after I make my exit

The crowd will whisper, “wow.”

So the time finally comes

And I hear my name called loud

I stand up out of my seat

Head held high and mighty proud

But to my surprise

There were no cheering screams or roars

Because after my name was called

The teacher called many more

It turns out everyone gets an award

And gets a chance on stage

I guess I will have to find another way

To get on the front page 

*I’m currently writing a children’s poetry book for my niece Kayla. Please share any childhood memories you would like to have recaptured. 

A Place Called Home Somewhere

I grew up in a place

Reminiscent of another

A place hungering for its past

Thirsting for its brother

It reeks of future promises

And forced forgotten times

It wears its sacrifices openly

And its struggles with utmost pride

Silently it weeps 

For traditions buried and lost

But maintains a resilient effort

To keep it at any cost

With signs and billboards plastered down the streets 

In its established native tongue

My hometown asserts itself

To the old and to the young

The old don’t need convincing

But the young need absolute care

For the youth is stricken with the crisis

Of identities that belong neither here nor there

Rather it is an odd mix of both

And everything in between

Balancing the culture of current country

And the culture that would have been

Dichotomy was embedded in the soil

When the first of us arrived

And now it exists all around us 

As we try to play on ordinary lives

But normality was surrendered

When you pluck a flower from its land

And plant it in unfamiliar soil

Expecting it to thrive and stand

I am a product of two worlds

That collided in a halting clash

But I wear it proud like it wears me

Unconditionally and unabashed