Patriot's Revenge

Marching steadfast through the rain
To points ahead as yet unknown,
Knowing only when the trek is finished
Will the point be made,
The enemy confronted and
The final debt be paid
To obliterate and liberate
The high and mighty from their throne.

He was but a simple man
Meant to live a simple life,
Wishing harm to no one,
Professing peace, lamenting love,
'Til grave obsession played its hand
Sweeping down from high above
Enslaving those of unlike value,
Saddling their hearts with strife.

Now the husk is off the corn;
The closed door taken off the hinge.
The patriot is primed and ready
For his taste of sweet revenge.

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Expectations

Never expect more in return 
than you are willing to give.

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Running From the Back of the Pack

I can see the leaders up ahead;
So confident, not looking back,
So self-assured, so self-absorbed,
Not considering the lowly pack.

They seem to run so effortlessly
With posture not unlike
A standing portrait, straight and true
With eyes fixed in a stoic gaze,
The rising, falling movement of
Their heaving chest a testament
To patient training of their skill,
To calm resolve and confidence.

Their demeanor serves them well,
But I have one advantage here.
I can watch their every movement
From my trailing vantage point.

So, I will let them set the pace
As I wait patiently behind
And we'll just see who happens to be
First to cross the finish line.

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Even the greatest

Even the greatest among us 
can wear but one hat at a time 
without appearing foolish. 

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In Other Words

I hate when someone says to me,
"In other words, what you're saying is..."
What I'm saying is just what I said.
What part did you not understand?
Was I not clear?
Did you not hear?
...My words not make it to your ear?
Or were you just distracted by
The simple gestures of my hands?

People hear what they want to hear...
What suits their purpose at the time,
And though your words may be crystal clear,
The buzzer stuck inside their head
Distorts and blocks, manipulates
And turns around your meaning 'til
It suits a purpose quite unlike
What you originally had said.

And so you hear," In other words..."
And you just want to scream and shout,
Or worse, to take them by the neck and
Squeeze until their lights are out.

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Rest in Peace

You were quite the Dapper Dan
In your own way; in your own day
You kissed the girls. You made some cry,
Then kissed the teardrops from their eyes.
You made sweet love, then said, 'Goodbye.'
You didn't know what else to say.

Tiny points of starlight twinkled
From the corners of your smile, and
Laughter was a specialty that
Seemed to spread contagiously
To fill whatever room you might be
Occupying for a while.

People loved to be around you,
Loved to share your point of view,
The sure quick-witted sharp retorts
That bound back smartly, clean and short,
A rubber ball bounced off a court,
Like arrows flying straight and true.

Now you're silent, dearest friend.
Someday soon we'll meet again.

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Cannibals

The drums... The distant drumming
Is foreboding Evil's eminent
Approach as I lay sleepless
On a breathing jungle floor,
Knowing when the drumming stops
The silence soon will issue forth
It's summons and the chase begins
As I seek sanctuary's door.

Heading deep into the underbrush
I seek a hiding place,
Praying to avoid the common predators
Of lower cunning;
Knowing my true enemy is one of like flesh,
Closing fast.
I cover tracks as best I can
And task my weary legs keep running.

Faith is shaken, and all calm
Is turned to fitful flights of fright.
Satan must protect these cannibals
Who stalk the restless night.

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The Best of the Worst

Not everyone can be a winner.
Someone has to finish last
In races run, in battles won and lost
Before the home crowd stands.
Beaten and demoralized,
The hurt reflected in his eyes
Contrasts the winner's open sighs
Who realizes all his plans.

Consolation offers little comfort
To the heavy heart
That Glory's torch eludes
And passes shameless to another's hand.
And although given credit
For a valiant effort on the way,
Deep inside the mind is saddled
With a cross; a loser's brand.

Not to quibble, not to wallow
In the mire of pity's sand;
Though I may not be the winner,
I will be the best I can.

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Save a Penny / Save a Buck

You can't find a single thing
That costs a penny anymore,
But loose change thrown into a jar
Can yield a bounty in due course,
And it's easier to let it sit
And keep its brothers company
Than to haul around in purse or pocket
Like the burden of a horse.

Some may think the mundane task
Of rolling pennies far too trite
To be concerned or bothered by
The burden of collecting them.
And these shortsighted people will
One day retire to poverty
And wonder why the world has not
Been kinder as their candles dim.
The better off are better off
Not by chance and not by luck.
They learned their lesson early on...
Save a penny... Save a buck.

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Burdens

Don’t let your burdens define you. 
Remain true to yourself.

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Reveling In Fantasy

I could just sit for days, couldn't you?
Reveling in fantasy,
Allowing the real world to pass me by,
Shading my eyes to reality.

Who wants to live in a world cold with pain
Where sadness dwells on the six o'clock news?
Where the wrangling mangling madness of hate
Runs amuck in spite of Society's views;
Where rules stand for nothing,
And order is shunned,
And freedom is held at the point of a gun;
Where common sense dies,
Compassion is lost,
And worth becomes measured by how much is won.

I'd sooner imagine a different world.
I know it exists;
I've seen it before.
It tickles to laughter the smile on your face,
And holds in its fingers the key to a door
That opens revealing a room filled with glee
Where I can run reveling in fantasy.

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Humor

Humor anticipates the unexpected 
to reveal the obvious. 

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Abuse

It's really hard to understand
The kind of mind-set subject to
The twisted actions put upon
And set upon the innocents,
Who's only crime is being there
In a close proximity
To one whose presence strikes a fear
Of hurt in those of weak resolve.
Why then must you dominate?
Why must you wreak hurt and pain?
What events in childhood
Made your hand a weapon to destroy?
Why can't you endeavor in
The milk of Human kindness
Where the peaceful tides reciprocate
And fill a heart with kindred joy?
And when will all your victims stand
To pay you back for your refuse?
To give you in good measure
A taste of your abuse.

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Happiness

Happiness is listening to the wind 
when the wind is not blowing. 

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Theories on Creation

I wish I had the answers,
But the questions are so huge
When we theorize the origins
And try to break them down.
As the Prophets wrote in ancient time
Dispelling doubt with testament,
The words of God sent from on high
To call on all humanity.
We toe the line believing
There is something after, something more,
Something worth behaving in polite society;
Whether it be need for Heaven
Or the fear of living Hell,
Or just a need for some small piece of immortality.
Scientists would have us think that
It all started with a bang,
That the universe expands in ways
We cannot truly understand;
That someday far into the future,
In time we cannot measure, it
All will come collapsing in a hurried timeless rush.
And Mister Darwin tells us that
We climbed down from the trees.
That we are ever changing,
That the future will evolve,
And a hundred generations hence
Will look at us and wonder
How Humanity survived
With all its questions unresolved.

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Bodacious Banter

You can be so scandalous
With your bodacious banter
As you probe and prod or pick apart
With needle pricks continuing to rant or
Rave for days on end,
Never calling reason in
To settle a dispute with fact.
You just continue to attack
With bleeding knuckles, bloody cheeks,
Blackened eyes that cannot see.
Common sense becomes a stranger;
An abstract curiosity.
Kicking victims when they're down
Like raging bulls in full attack,
Obsessing your obsessions,
Bent on venting for a full payback.

Just don't bring your litany of
Stinging comment bare to me.
I'm too content to hear you vent,
Too discerned to disagree.

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Home

The sloth knows only self. 
It is the beaver who builds 
a home and community. 

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Legs

More than just a mode of transport
Carrying from room to room,
Legs are part and parcel
To a sense of sensuality.

Curved and molded, long and luscious
Secretive appendages
That tempt and tease
Libido's ire
To points of curiosity
Where glances linger unaware,
Imagination runs amuck
And fantasy becomes too real
As heat increases by degree.

Turn of ankle, twist of hip,
Touchable, as smooth as silk.
Longing for the good old days of
Hem lines raised above the knee.

Men obsess at their allure,
Grunting, rutting, wallowing
For passersby with skirts hiked high;
Imagination holds the key.

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Brazen Hussy

Low cut, high slit bold exhibition
Of lace covered breasts
And mesh covered thighs.
Pheromones broadcast a wide-banded signal
To capture attention from ogling eyes.

Heads turn as brows raise and lips purse
And quiver, marking the moment inquisitively.
What is the message?
Where would she take us?
What substance is hidden beneath what we see?

Good Christian girls could never imagine,
Nor Hindu or Moslem or Orthodox Jew,
Such brazen and bold, such craven behavior
The temporal world has fallen into.

But she flaunts and flitters from one to another
Like hummingbirds feeding on nectar like wine;
Using the wiles that nature has given
To capture the bounty that clings to the vine.

And men being weak, as the creatures they are,
Are helpless to fall for the spell that she casts,
And wind up alone when the time comes to pay for the meal,
When it would have been prudent to fast.

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A Dog's Life

Old Buster was not a docile creature,
Though doggie naps were his specialty.
He loved to run and romp and play through
Wood bordered meadows and pastures unending
Where rabbits and squirrels were tests for his speed
That seemed unbounded by all human measure.
No dog in six counties could match his pace.

Totally loyal to family familiars.
Even the cats with which he was raised
Were his to defend if a stranger should pass
Through his yard with a cold-hearted sinister leer.
Visitors knew when they pulled in the driveway
To wait in safe confines if Buster was near.
His bark not a bark, but the baying of madness,
Like hounds of the Baskervilles cast toward the moon,
Quieted only by Master's command
To calm acquiescence and cautious resolve;
Yet staying the sentinel, keeping his watch
Until firmly assured that no harm was in store.

Sadly, old Buster had one fatal flaw.
He loved to go chasing the whining of wheels.
We buried him there near the side of the road
Where he runs forever in Heaven's fields.

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One Loose Shingle

A neighbor pointed it out to me
One evening as I opened up my gate
After toiling through
Another day of drudgery,
Hoping for an easy evening
Lounging in my rocking chair,
Drifting off to sleep before
The late night news report.

The evening breeze stirred just enough
To verify the neighbor's tale
And, looking up beyond the dove
Who settled on the gutter rail,
A single shingle waived and fluttered,
Even struggled to be free.
Teasing, daring, taunting me
To climb the mast and lash her sails.
Perhaps the breeze will settle down.
Predicted rains may pass us by.
Perhaps the fluttering will cease and
Settle without help from me.

Perhaps I'll be a millionaire,
Can hire a crew to do my chore
So I can lounge and rock and sleep...
So much for reality.

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Whispers in the Dark

In the stillness of the dark
When all the senses rise to shine
And every nuance of a clear
Subconscious mind is kindled new,
Every whisper becomes thunder
Echoing from bedroom walls
Of darkened canyons cut by glaciers
A hundred million years ago.

No one answers when I call;
Not a soul for miles around;
Just the shadow of the raven
Gliding across canyon floor.

I search for you to hear my whispers,
Long to find your gentle voice,
Need to feel your heather hair
Brush gently on my waiting skin.
But senses fail me... no response...
Nighttime becomes cold and stark, and
No one's there to quench this thirst
Or answer whispers in the dark.

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Change

Never fear change. 
Without it there can be no progress. 

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Office Gossip

Gaggling, babbling, rambling on,
The office grapevine yields its wine;
The vintage often unimportant,
Bottled quickly, swallowed fast
Then passed along in bits and snippets
Changing as it passes hands
'Til uproar lifts its ugly head
As ire is raised and doubt is cast.

Still we listen, still believe,
Though third and fourth or fifth-hand told,
And take to heart and pass along
Like tall tales told as lullabies.
And even though discovery lies somewhere
Just beyond our reach,
We take without a grain of salt
And gladly swallow all the lies.

I shall not be part and parcel.
I will dig to find the facts
When office gossip rears its ugly head
And, without shame, attacks.

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Freedom

The only limitations freedom should have 
are those we put on ourselves.

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Saint or Sinner

Mother Theresa, save the children.
Be their beam; their guiding light.
Show them by your pure example
Good from evil...right from wrong.
Keep a distance from their praise
That you may not be vainly turned,
And hold your candle in the air
So you may lead and not be burned.

Had young Adolph known your wisdom as
A growing Aryan child,
How much grief might have been spared
A World beleaguered and beguiled
By his charisma at a time
When hope wore out and hearts were sore;
Finding audience to lead
A world embattled, primed for war.

Worlds apart, yet oh, so near;
Subtle differences abide.
Choosing between saint and sinner;
Sailing off with evening tide.

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A Fox in the Henhouse

Someone must have left the latch
Unhinged and open overnight
For the late night hunter, nocturne villain
Hiding in the faded light.

The crickets cry, the bullfrog sings,
The night owl questions, "Who is there?"
But not a sound the stealth night raider
Makes as he roams far and near.

Could I have faltered so unwary?
So Assured? So confident?
Must I now pay for caution's flaws?
The answer is self-evident.

The fox will raid but to survive,
And he will journey far and wide
To find the point of least resistance
In the shadows where he hides.

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The Mighty Have Fallen

Such a tall parapet to be stood upon;
All the world gazing up, anxious to see
If your wings will carry you over the rainbow
That rides, like a crescent, your haloed head.

Humanity worships its coveted heroes,
Lifted on shoulders of sinewy brawn and
Placed on a pedestal, put on display;
Rose petaled path on a carpet of red.

You never asked to be part and parcel
To overwrought passion carelessly aimed
In random direction, seeking a savior
To fill the void of the grossly mundane.

Yet favor has fallen in your direction
Placing a laurel-leaf crown on your head
That doesn't quite fit and strangely has thorns
That start early on to harbinger pain.

And those who placed you there gather below
Holding their breath to see how you will fly.
Waiting to see how the mighty have fallen,
Giving no pardon...
No alibi.

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Decisions

Decisions need not be difficult 
if you know what is truly important.

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Flying Downhill

I had a recurring dream as a child
That I could stand on the crest of a peak
And, with the aid of a running start
And a trailing wind, could fly downhill.

Light as a feather I glide on the current
Of upswept air beneath my feet,
Gliding the wind to converse with the eagles,
To share their adventures, the uncommon thrill
Of the danger inherent when anyone tries
To defy the nature of gravity's rule.

But in a dream rules stand for nothing;
Everything's possible; anything goes.
Worlds expand and vision increases
Beyond the horizon and into the future
Where eyes are born of imagination,
And rules can never restrict or impose.

Ah! The wonder!  The absolute thrill!
Capturing Heaven...  Flying downhill.

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Backlash

Maybe I should have been more in tune
With her sea of emotion racing to shore.
Always obsessed with the raving and craving
Attention, I often neglected her needs.


Pity the soul who is blind to the passion
Of everyday Odyssey born on the wind.
The caring and giving is lost in the shadows,
And naked compassion is measured in deeds.

There comes a time when the piper needs paying.
It usually comes at the end of the dance
When it's too late to take back the words
That were spoken in anger like hurricane winds.

The backlash has torn every stitch of her fiber,
Ripped at the seams and carried away
All the essence of caring leaving a void. Filled
With rock-hard emotion of hearts on the mend.

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Tomorrow

There’s nothing wrong with making plans 
for tomorrow as long as you live for today.

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Tabloid Trash

I can't believe you read that trifling,
Half-baked, made up garbage can liner...
Headline grabber, sensational bilker
Of common sense reasoning out on a ledge.
Even the Ancients knew two-headed monsters
Were only a fable made up on a lark,
But tabloids would have us believe they are real,
Would push to the brink and go over the edge.
Alien babies and six-year-old mothers,
Sightings of Elvis and J.F.K...
Three headed llamas and reincarnations
Of Christ on the cross on the Vatican walls.
Stories "bizzaro" ... Stories "fantastique" ...
Psychic phenomenon spoken as truth.
Callous predictions of armed Armageddon
Sweeping the Earth as democracy falls.
Such a waste of out forest's treasure;
Unwanted ink spilled onto a page.
To think that the human race is so gullible
First makes me wonder, then
Fills me with rage.

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Stealing Lives

They buried Weaver Tuck today;
A child of six barely sprung from the womb;
Caught in a cross-fire, snuffed like a candle,
Victim of senselessness barren of shame.
Where was his crime to be paid for so heavily?
What did he do to deserve such a fate?
He only wanted to play on the sidewalk;
Sidewalks demented by torrents of hate
And the violent steaming of senseless demands
That sink the level of genuine worth
To a point so low that life loses value,
As urges and cravings beguile common sense.
Shame becomes shapeless without recompense
And the Preacher is helpless
For no one will hear,
No one stands close enough to shed a tear,
And justice is silent or slow to dispense.

We live in a jungle where no one survives,
And hate is allowed to go on stealing lives.

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A Kiss and Then...

I remember the anticipation
Sitting on the saber’s edge,
Not knowing how the blade might slice
Or just how deep may be its thrust.

We were children, so it seemed,
Bursting full with naiveté,
Asking questions born of promise,
Seeking out each other's trust.

You with lips so full and ready,
Waiting, Oh! So patiently to
Give your heart, your very all
To one whose step will match your own.

I look deep in the well of your eyes
And see right through your very soul
To realize that I was meant to
Spend my life with you alone.

I hesitate for but a moment,
Savoring the sweetest sin;
Moving closer, hearts aflutter...
Lips commit...  A kiss, and then....

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Thrown In a Well

Pebbles cause ripples that no one sees
When unceremoniously thrown in a well.
Like the tree in a forest when no one's around;
If it falls does it matter if it makes a sound?
Do the squirrels or the rabbits, the foxes or bees
Really care if it cried as in anguish it fell.

Pain that's unseen; is it pain at all?
Does silence absolve and secrets abjure
All the senses to feelingless flights of emotion?
Tasting the dredges of serpentine potion
'Til no one remembers, no eyes recall all
The torrents of torment we're meant to endure.

No one will know us.
No one will tell.
Our lives are like pebbles
Thrown into a well.

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Breakwaters

Staring out beyond the horizon,
Past the breakwaters of
Souls lost at sea;
Stories abound of lives
Filled with adventure,
Of poets and pirates
And slaves of indenture,
Monsters and mutinies,
And dark mystery.

Shelter and safety out of harms way
Abides in the harbor,
Lives on the shore.
Aweighing the anchor belays every caution,
Reeking of danger
From every direction,
Permeating every pore.
Such fools, the land-lubbers,
Playing it safe;
Denying the ocean spray
Pounding their skin.
Praying the moorings of
Pristine white harbor
To coddle their comfort
As they yearn in silence
Watching with longing
The ships sailing out.
Watching in wonder
The ships sailing in.

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When Will It End

It builds in silence
Like a wake...
A teardrop shed,
A moan, a sigh...
The dreadful quake of a muffled cry
As emotions burst into open flame
And the circle breaks
To a world of dread,
As the Serpent comes to
Lay his claim.

We leave this life
In a silent rage,
So unsure yet
Longing for more
As we leaf through the book
Reviewing each page,
Wistfully hoping the
Final score
Will prove us worthy
Of a second look.
Not really sure what made it begin...
Life's fatal question:
"When will it end?"

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A Voice on the Radio

I fell in love at seventeen
With a voice who's face I had never seen,
Echoing quietly, soft and serene
On the airwaves traveled a million miles
To touch my soul with angelic tones.
Speaking in voice so much like my own;
Whispering softly for my ears alone.
Soothing contentment...
Tickling smiles...

Where can nostalgia tempt us to go?
Seeking the joy that we knew long ago,
Harboring secrets that no one can know;
No one may enter our private domain.

Wild beasts may beckon to break down our door,
Serpents may slither across barren floor,
Gluttons may hunger... Longing for more,
But settle for silence...
As memories remain.

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The High Road

Always take the high road 
and you will never drown 
in a river of sorrows.

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Search and Destroy

You were on a mission, weren't you?
You knew from the start
Where this roadway would end.
You sought me out bringing wild abandon
To the table to serve as dessert,
And I was swept up on this wild Carney ride.
Breathless and helpless to call to a halt,
We punched every ticket 'til long after sunset
Never believing the fair would shut down.
But you never stopped seeking new rides to venture;
New thrills and spectacles were your demands.
Never content to just sit close and snuggle,
Never enough to just walk holding hands.
So sad you never could learn love's contentment.
Too bad your fickle heart couldn't be coy.
I'll not participate.
I'll not be party to you on your mission
To search and destroy.

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