To Pieces

Posted on by J.T. Homesley

There is more to the present than a gift.
Wrapped in red gold green paper.
It sits.
Everything.
The whole universe.
As long so you don’t know what is in it. It is everything.
The greatest gift there ever was.
Only as long as you don’t know what it is.
What’s under the tree isn’t Christmas.
There isn’t a tree alive big enough.
They were all cut to the ground years ago.
No one ever leaves a present wrapped too long.
Which is why all the great gifts are gone.

It’s hard to wrap a song.
Or a poem. Or a thought.
Or both of them. They’re odd.
Loose in the corners and dense in the center
and the tape just won’t stay on.
I appreciate the thought.
But was hoping for something to tear open.
Or even at least a pressed paper box.
I know that’s asking a lot.
But this is a particular season.
When no one needs a reason.
To ask for more than you’ve got.
Not just any present moment.
Something store-bought.
Wrapped tight.
Ready to be torn.

For on this day maybe two thousand years ago a child was born.
Torn up wrapping paper on the floor.

And soon, that baby grew.

And said we will have earned the kingdom
eternal life
redemption
the very hereafter
everything
the very moment
we can discern a gift
without having to see
it torn open.

Rent-A-Writer

Posted on by J.T. Homesley

Have you ever sat too long over a greeting card or staring at a computer screen, searching for words that refuse to come. The feelings are there. The sentiment, unquestionable. But language doesn’t always lend itself easily to the emotionally inscrutable. You might have not ever thought of it, but how much sense does it make to hire a creative freelance writer from time to time.

Words. Quality is a wavering shoreline always subject to changing tides. But there are writing formulas, phrases, plays on words and literary invention altogether. The mathematics of meaning. A sort of algebra except all letters with confusing little numbers in between.

Essentially, I don’t need to claim great literature or vast publication in order to declare myself a functional copywriter.

Say you needed an essay or cover letter proofread and edited, or you’re really serious about photograph captions, or have an experience you can describe but not fully, and wish to see it transcribed and applied to a poetic format. A short story idea. An article. A memory. Writing advice. Criticism. A note, or a letter even. A poem. Have you ever ordered a poem?

I am your go to poetry guy. It isn’t the easiest service to describe.
But if you’ve never ordered a poem before, I suggest giving it a try
before you give it up. The right line at the right time can change minds.
It can change everything. Words are only a frame.
They should never block the picture.

I’m half kidding. Only mostly joking. But hey, this would be the season.
What if I were running a special on one of a kind holiday dinner blessings
and Christmas card one liners.  Never been a better time to rent a writer.
We all have an abundance of irony in our lives right now.
It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.

This is the season.
After all.
Let nothing be ineffable.

One of Multitudes

Posted on by J.T. Homesley

Fifth of July, and I just barely watched fireworks
for all the blue eyes collared into working.
Begging free beer close to shift end.
Bragging clean bathrooms.

Asking the boy who brought me his plans for his evening.
And it is. His. He has that placid right. Not to answer.
Reserve. Just became manager.
Over these early twenty girls.
And they like the game.
They like his name.

Drunk and sliced thumbs prying off pop tops while driving.
Drunk. And taking tin metal shots of tequila.
Blaming weed for the spins.
Selected one from multitudes of sins.
Of choice. One of multitudes.

Not making the best of this or any other situation.
Not living to make the best. Just better.

Decisions so convoluted and tipsy
that’s hardly the word for them.