iwritesomeI know I haven't posted anything for a while. No reason. Still working on Wordprattle. Only a few more pieces to go until it is finished and I can publish it on Lulu.com. Here is the latest poem in the collection:
Erotica
It’s everywhere. You just can’t miss it.
Turn on the TV,
Open a book,
A magazine,
It’s even plastered on billboards
In every direction your eyes turn to look.
Not that I mind.
Plus years have taught me to
Pick my poison in meager amounts,
Control the urge to
Act out in passion,
To dance round the fire
So the heat really counts.
When I was younger
I lapsed into overdose
Kicking and screaming,
Could not get my fill.
But now I am calm.
I take it in stride as
I stroll the far side
Of erotica’s hill.
This Blog features the musings of Dennis Sidney Martin; Poet, Playwright and Novelist from Baltimore, Maryland. Feel free to browse the content and leave your comments.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
working on a new collection: Wordprattle
iwritesomeThis new collection will be comprised of 99 poems; not the usual 72. Here are a few to wet your whistle
Word Prattle
Its only words,
But beware of their strength.
Words to make mountains
Come tumbling down.
Loud confrontations,
Bold conversation
Where blanket cessation
Of reason abounds.
Droning in monotone,
Boring the furniture.
Singing in baritone,
Thrills for the soul.
Spreading the news so
Exciting, inviting.
Broadcasting views to
The suffering folds.
Beaches awash in
The white sands of history
Seeking to separate
Sane from absurd.
Time prattles on
Without judgment, unruffled.
Destinies turn
On a single word.
Meanderings
Would you make a sagging willow
Weep from lack of sunlight?
Tear-stained earth her pillow as
She cowers in dismay.
Rivers ramble rakishly
Between her hills and highlands,
Stumbling and bumbling
She knows no other way.
Flying high above the fray
Through multilayered billowings,
With eagle eye that seeks to spy
On details rarely seen.
And willow hugs the riverbank
To watch the ever-constant flow.
Peaceful her meanderings
Among the meadows green.
Will you give your gift of life?
Service those who patient wait.
Quench the thirst of all in need
Before it is forever late.
*
***
*****
*******
*********
***********
*************
Epiphany
Dawning sun lifts by degree
Rising out of tragedy,
Blazing into ecstasy.
Poets find epiphany.
*************
***********
*********
*******
*****
***
*
Blather
All this foolish blathering
A constant melee of dismay,
Seeps and creeps from hence to whence,
A spicy searing sausage bite.
Tantalizing tempting taunts to
Hypnotize, capsulize,
Mesmerize and cauterize these
Burning, bleeding bogus eyes.
When will logic realize the
Waste that walks on thunder-thighs?
That leads astray the senses and
Explains away with alibis.
Keep your senseless blather.
Hold your restless tongue at bay.
Save it for another.
I’m not listening anyway.
Absentminded
I was gonna, honestly!
Sidetracked temporarily.
Wasted brain cells foolishly
Detract from what is meant to be.
Freakish how it’s there, then not,
Vapor vanished from the pot.
Apparitions cold and hot of
Things remembered, things forgot.
I’ll get to it. Write it down,
Every adjective and noun.
Planting feet on solid ground to
Stay alert to sight and sound.
Might just need a helpful hint,
A nudge until my mind is bent
Around the central element of
What it was, where it went.
Where’s the trick? The finger twine?
The one sure thing to help remind?
Hopeful that a cure I’ll find to
Remedy this absent mind.
Shish kabob
Life is just a shish kabob,
Little this, little that.
Skewered, seasoned, marinated,
Grilled and eaten on the fly.
Finger food to tempt the tastes of
Every epicuric yen.
Flame-fired fuel on a stick
To please the palate and the eye.
Savoring the flavoring as
Drippings splatter on the coals.
When it’s offered up to you,
You take it without asking why.
Tiny tidbits.
Eat this… skip that.
Pass those on to someone else.
Compliment your gracious host
Before it’s time to say goodbye.
Wrangler
All you cowpokes gather round
The bangle, dangle, jangle sound
Of booted spurs that click the ground
As Wrangler saunters into town.
Pocket full of month-end cash,
Suited up and talking trash.
Lady-killer, unabashed,
Looming large with daring dash.
Does she see through his disguise?
The innocence behind those eyes
That beckons with hypnotic rise
To underscore the hidden prize.
Is our Wrangler more than play?
Will he own the ranch someday or
Is he simply molded clay?
Will he cling, or run away?
Momentum
Gathered in a silent warehouse,
Banking off of subtlety,
Building thrust on borrowed feet
To stand, to walk, to jog, to run.
Sprouting wings as if to fly on
Whiffs of light angelic air,
Climbing to the jet stream where
Her boundless energy can ride.
Now the flow cannot be quelled.
Now the air can only bend
Concentric circles one on one
To wrap around, around again.
Trapped inside this angry vortex,
Miles and miles from hearth and home,
Seeking merciful protection,
Waiting for the rage to end.
.
Word Prattle
Its only words,
But beware of their strength.
Words to make mountains
Come tumbling down.
Loud confrontations,
Bold conversation
Where blanket cessation
Of reason abounds.
Droning in monotone,
Boring the furniture.
Singing in baritone,
Thrills for the soul.
Spreading the news so
Exciting, inviting.
Broadcasting views to
The suffering folds.
Beaches awash in
The white sands of history
Seeking to separate
Sane from absurd.
Time prattles on
Without judgment, unruffled.
Destinies turn
On a single word.
Meanderings
Would you make a sagging willow
Weep from lack of sunlight?
Tear-stained earth her pillow as
She cowers in dismay.
Rivers ramble rakishly
Between her hills and highlands,
Stumbling and bumbling
She knows no other way.
Flying high above the fray
Through multilayered billowings,
With eagle eye that seeks to spy
On details rarely seen.
And willow hugs the riverbank
To watch the ever-constant flow.
Peaceful her meanderings
Among the meadows green.
Will you give your gift of life?
Service those who patient wait.
Quench the thirst of all in need
Before it is forever late.
*
***
*****
*******
*********
***********
*************
Epiphany
Dawning sun lifts by degree
Rising out of tragedy,
Blazing into ecstasy.
Poets find epiphany.
*************
***********
*********
*******
*****
***
*
Blather
All this foolish blathering
A constant melee of dismay,
Seeps and creeps from hence to whence,
A spicy searing sausage bite.
Tantalizing tempting taunts to
Hypnotize, capsulize,
Mesmerize and cauterize these
Burning, bleeding bogus eyes.
When will logic realize the
Waste that walks on thunder-thighs?
That leads astray the senses and
Explains away with alibis.
Keep your senseless blather.
Hold your restless tongue at bay.
Save it for another.
I’m not listening anyway.
Absentminded
I was gonna, honestly!
Sidetracked temporarily.
Wasted brain cells foolishly
Detract from what is meant to be.
Freakish how it’s there, then not,
Vapor vanished from the pot.
Apparitions cold and hot of
Things remembered, things forgot.
I’ll get to it. Write it down,
Every adjective and noun.
Planting feet on solid ground to
Stay alert to sight and sound.
Might just need a helpful hint,
A nudge until my mind is bent
Around the central element of
What it was, where it went.
Where’s the trick? The finger twine?
The one sure thing to help remind?
Hopeful that a cure I’ll find to
Remedy this absent mind.
Shish kabob
Life is just a shish kabob,
Little this, little that.
Skewered, seasoned, marinated,
Grilled and eaten on the fly.
Finger food to tempt the tastes of
Every epicuric yen.
Flame-fired fuel on a stick
To please the palate and the eye.
Savoring the flavoring as
Drippings splatter on the coals.
When it’s offered up to you,
You take it without asking why.
Tiny tidbits.
Eat this… skip that.
Pass those on to someone else.
Compliment your gracious host
Before it’s time to say goodbye.
Wrangler
All you cowpokes gather round
The bangle, dangle, jangle sound
Of booted spurs that click the ground
As Wrangler saunters into town.
Pocket full of month-end cash,
Suited up and talking trash.
Lady-killer, unabashed,
Looming large with daring dash.
Does she see through his disguise?
The innocence behind those eyes
That beckons with hypnotic rise
To underscore the hidden prize.
Is our Wrangler more than play?
Will he own the ranch someday or
Is he simply molded clay?
Will he cling, or run away?
Momentum
Gathered in a silent warehouse,
Banking off of subtlety,
Building thrust on borrowed feet
To stand, to walk, to jog, to run.
Sprouting wings as if to fly on
Whiffs of light angelic air,
Climbing to the jet stream where
Her boundless energy can ride.
Now the flow cannot be quelled.
Now the air can only bend
Concentric circles one on one
To wrap around, around again.
Trapped inside this angry vortex,
Miles and miles from hearth and home,
Seeking merciful protection,
Waiting for the rage to end.
.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
New novel available at www.lulu.com
iwritesomeMy latest publication is a novel. "Phaedra" is available to order at http//:www.lulu.com. Feel free to preview before you buy. Available in print or download format.
Friday, May 06, 2005
iwritesome New collection started
iwritesome
I have started a new collection of poems. The title will be "Word Prattle" Here is the first poem:
Word Prattle
Its only words,
But beware of their strength.
Words to make mountains
Come tumbling down.
Loud confrontations,
Bold conversation
Where blanket cessation
Of reason abounds.
Droning in monotone,
Boring the furniture.
Singing in baritone,
Thrills for the soul.
Spreading the news so
Exciting, inviting.
Broadcasting views to
The suffering folds.
Beaches awash in
The white sands of history
Seeking to separate
Sane from absurd.
Time prattles on
Without judgment, unruffled.
Destinies turn
On a single word.
I have started a new collection of poems. The title will be "Word Prattle" Here is the first poem:
Word Prattle
Its only words,
But beware of their strength.
Words to make mountains
Come tumbling down.
Loud confrontations,
Bold conversation
Where blanket cessation
Of reason abounds.
Droning in monotone,
Boring the furniture.
Singing in baritone,
Thrills for the soul.
Spreading the news so
Exciting, inviting.
Broadcasting views to
The suffering folds.
Beaches awash in
The white sands of history
Seeking to separate
Sane from absurd.
Time prattles on
Without judgment, unruffled.
Destinies turn
On a single word.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
Selections from "Passions"
PASSIONS
Rising, as mist from a white frozen lake,
As a scorching Sun sears it's soft supple flesh.
New Spring morning awakening senses,
Calling, beckoning, pleading its' case.
Crisp and clearing by mid day and yet
Lingering quietly, memory pacing,
Recalling the freshness, the dewdrops on daffodils
Dancing as daylight escapes from its' hold.
Fingers tap softly on silky smooth shoulders,
Patiently waiting for hopeful reaction.
Pictures encapsuled in memory mindful of
Each minute detail I find in your face;
Tasking this creature who dwells here inside of me.
Dare to confront what I know cannot be.
Lord, give me strength to be perfect in battle.
Passions run hot until flesh is stone cold.
GRAND OBSESSION
North star... Polaris... Guiding light;
Rudder and wheel... The wind in my sail;
Holding my ship on a steady course...
Never to deviate...
Never failing to be there
Beside me when others forsake;
Always giving much more than you take
In this dream we term life;
This magnificent dream,
Gliding serene
Leaving joy in it's wake.
Is there any wonder I need you so?
Is it any surprise that we've lasted this long?
Is it grand obsession which holds us together,
Or simply the comfort in love grown strong.
SUFFER THE CHILDREN
I stood in line at the grocery counter
Where mother and child were just ahead.
This small supple mass of flesh and lung
Which moments before was announcing his ire
For the whole world to notice that
Something was wrong,
Some great injustice was being done
To his discontent, so he pierced the air
With nerve wrenching wails,
Which his mother apparently could not hear,
Or did she ignore?
Could she be the only one in the store who...
Of course not. How silly.
She's just on to his game.
Patience has conquered, at least for the moment.
And now he sits... Suddenly shy...
Tilting his brow... Avoiding my eye.
What is he thinking? If thought is a pattern.
What is he learning from this days event?
I wink as his view shyly shifts my direction.
He lowers his eyelids, confused for a while.
He glances at mother, and then back to me...
One more wink, and I capture a smile.
OLDER AND WISER
Growing older is not so difficult...
Not so different from youthful exuberance.
Steps may be slower...
Stairs may be higher...
Nights may be shorter...
Muscles may ache where
You never knew you had muscles before.
Physical tasks may be more of a chore.
But one learns to compensate,
Brain over brawn.
Pain is a teacher you both
Love and hate,
And patience becomes a constant companion
Who compensates freely
Those willing to wait.
Like the willow who bends,
Growing tall by the waters,
Biding the years, taking all in it's stride;
Older and wiser,
Weathering winter,
Seeking tomorrow
With arms open wide.
FOR WHAT WILL YOU FIGHT?
This is my home; this small strip of Earth.
This is my property stretching from here
Down that pathway to there round and back
To this spot. It may not seem much, but
It's all that I've got of this planet
Where humans divide territory
And mark it with deeds filed away
In some vault.
This is my family. These are my friends.
These are the people held dear in my heart.
These are the lessons I've learned from
Acquaintances, shared expectations of
Being a part of the larger equation
Whose total is strong.
They are my people. Here I belong.
This is my truth; my heart-felt belief,
Drawn from experience of all I have known.
Truth ever-changing, maturing with time,
Always growing, but never full grown.
Dare we conflict with the truth of another
Who's pathway is just as sure
His truth is right?
Are we combatant?
Do we retreat?
Be honest. For what will you fight?
WORK ETHICS
Many a lesson I learned from my father...
Like when to be strong;
When it's proper to cry
For a man grown mature in his
Nurturing ways;
How to put dignity into our days
Which are labeled and numbered
Til fate plays it's hand;
How to put back what we
Take from the land.
But by far the greatest lesson of all,
Taught by my father's example to me,
Was that work is a privilege,
Not a labor,
Nothing in life is for free.
Those who are hired by those willing to pay
Have a contract, a promise to fill,
And no one should need to look over your shoulder
To make sure you're paying the bill.
HONESTLY
Honestly!
You'd think they'd never seen
A naked picture before.
Honestly!
Such prudish inhibitions
Make me wonder if they live
On this planet drenched in worldliness,
Seething in it's seamy side,
Mass proliferation of the airways
And the media.
How could it be missed?
How could they be so blind?
How can they fail to deal with
The blitz of heart and mind?
Honestly!
Rising, as mist from a white frozen lake,
As a scorching Sun sears it's soft supple flesh.
New Spring morning awakening senses,
Calling, beckoning, pleading its' case.
Crisp and clearing by mid day and yet
Lingering quietly, memory pacing,
Recalling the freshness, the dewdrops on daffodils
Dancing as daylight escapes from its' hold.
Fingers tap softly on silky smooth shoulders,
Patiently waiting for hopeful reaction.
Pictures encapsuled in memory mindful of
Each minute detail I find in your face;
Tasking this creature who dwells here inside of me.
Dare to confront what I know cannot be.
Lord, give me strength to be perfect in battle.
Passions run hot until flesh is stone cold.
GRAND OBSESSION
North star... Polaris... Guiding light;
Rudder and wheel... The wind in my sail;
Holding my ship on a steady course...
Never to deviate...
Never failing to be there
Beside me when others forsake;
Always giving much more than you take
In this dream we term life;
This magnificent dream,
Gliding serene
Leaving joy in it's wake.
Is there any wonder I need you so?
Is it any surprise that we've lasted this long?
Is it grand obsession which holds us together,
Or simply the comfort in love grown strong.
SUFFER THE CHILDREN
I stood in line at the grocery counter
Where mother and child were just ahead.
This small supple mass of flesh and lung
Which moments before was announcing his ire
For the whole world to notice that
Something was wrong,
Some great injustice was being done
To his discontent, so he pierced the air
With nerve wrenching wails,
Which his mother apparently could not hear,
Or did she ignore?
Could she be the only one in the store who...
Of course not. How silly.
She's just on to his game.
Patience has conquered, at least for the moment.
And now he sits... Suddenly shy...
Tilting his brow... Avoiding my eye.
What is he thinking? If thought is a pattern.
What is he learning from this days event?
I wink as his view shyly shifts my direction.
He lowers his eyelids, confused for a while.
He glances at mother, and then back to me...
One more wink, and I capture a smile.
OLDER AND WISER
Growing older is not so difficult...
Not so different from youthful exuberance.
Steps may be slower...
Stairs may be higher...
Nights may be shorter...
Muscles may ache where
You never knew you had muscles before.
Physical tasks may be more of a chore.
But one learns to compensate,
Brain over brawn.
Pain is a teacher you both
Love and hate,
And patience becomes a constant companion
Who compensates freely
Those willing to wait.
Like the willow who bends,
Growing tall by the waters,
Biding the years, taking all in it's stride;
Older and wiser,
Weathering winter,
Seeking tomorrow
With arms open wide.
FOR WHAT WILL YOU FIGHT?
This is my home; this small strip of Earth.
This is my property stretching from here
Down that pathway to there round and back
To this spot. It may not seem much, but
It's all that I've got of this planet
Where humans divide territory
And mark it with deeds filed away
In some vault.
This is my family. These are my friends.
These are the people held dear in my heart.
These are the lessons I've learned from
Acquaintances, shared expectations of
Being a part of the larger equation
Whose total is strong.
They are my people. Here I belong.
This is my truth; my heart-felt belief,
Drawn from experience of all I have known.
Truth ever-changing, maturing with time,
Always growing, but never full grown.
Dare we conflict with the truth of another
Who's pathway is just as sure
His truth is right?
Are we combatant?
Do we retreat?
Be honest. For what will you fight?
WORK ETHICS
Many a lesson I learned from my father...
Like when to be strong;
When it's proper to cry
For a man grown mature in his
Nurturing ways;
How to put dignity into our days
Which are labeled and numbered
Til fate plays it's hand;
How to put back what we
Take from the land.
But by far the greatest lesson of all,
Taught by my father's example to me,
Was that work is a privilege,
Not a labor,
Nothing in life is for free.
Those who are hired by those willing to pay
Have a contract, a promise to fill,
And no one should need to look over your shoulder
To make sure you're paying the bill.
HONESTLY
Honestly!
You'd think they'd never seen
A naked picture before.
Honestly!
Such prudish inhibitions
Make me wonder if they live
On this planet drenched in worldliness,
Seething in it's seamy side,
Mass proliferation of the airways
And the media.
How could it be missed?
How could they be so blind?
How can they fail to deal with
The blitz of heart and mind?
Honestly!
Selections from "Love Endures"
Love Endures
And all the world shall slip away,
And time shall echo eons
Past the secular vernacular
To speed it to it’s higher ground. As
Level passes on to level,
Sweeping off old memories and
Stepping into worlds anew
Stripped of every sight and sound.
Nothing ever lasts forever.
Nothing ever really ends, just
Changes to a new dimension
Grounded in another realm.
The crossing over pathway shrouded
In a cloak of dusty gray
To break the dawning of tomorrow
Rising to control the helm.
Deep within the fight continues
Without treaty… without cures.
Only one thing offers solace
When it’s over…
Love endures.
The Eyes of a Lover
Eyes can say so much about
The character of their possessor.
Every bare emotion, like a mirror,
Is reflected there in some way,
Be it great or small.
There is no hiding from the glare
Of truth behind the subtle hue
Of color in the great confessor.
The eyes of a leader oft reflect
The passions of their followers,
Giving birth to dreams of change,
Kindling the fires of hope.
The eyes of a liar shift in their
Chameleon impersonation,
Holding in futility the
Frayed ends of their dangling rope.
The eyes of a killer can sear the landscape
Scorching all who cross their path,
Practiced in deceptive cunning,
Bursting into sudden wrath.
But the eyes of a lover hold no secrets,
Show no quarter or deceit.
Open to a world of giving,
Laying Heaven at your feet.
Finding the One
Barren waters fill the ocean
And the waves forget to roll
As tides, abandoning their schedule,
Cease to offer ebb and flow.
Every dewdrop sent from Heaven
Yields a taste of salty tears,
And darkness offers cover as they fall,
So no one has to know.
Hopeful hearts seek out their treasure
Nestled deep beneath the sands on
Far off islands waiting for the
Magic of discovery.
Gold-filled chests and diamond lined tiaras
Sparkle in the sun
And hearts fill with the knowing that
This is how it's meant to be.
Finding the one, the single treasure,
Seeking to go the extra mile,
Capturing gold at the end of the rainbow
Makes the journey all worthwhile.
Restless Seas
What mammoth creature down below
Has been disturbed and stirred to movement,
Making her waters, once calm and serene,
An angry mass of a restless sea?
God help us all if she breaches the surface.
Heaven forbid we should look on her face,
Her Medusa curse turning flesh into stone
In the micro-instant before we can flee.
Youthful exuberance might have survived it,
But that was ages and eons ago.
No longer the Captain or even the mate,
Merely a passenger caught in the fray.
Seeking safe harbor at journey's end,
Wanting no part of the battle ensuing,
Turning from harm and seeking a Navy,
I close my eyes and humbly pray.
God, give me strength to weather the battle.
See me before you in bended knees.
Help me to yield to your unbridled wisdom
As I ride the crest of your restless seas.
Angels Weep
The raven stalks a sleepless night
As silent darkness blankets all
The landscape of a troubled world
And destiny prepares to call.
Truth comes hard to those who wait
And wonder far beyond the day.
The silence catches unaware
And leaves a bitter bill to pay.
The only solace is a trusting
That the end brings yet a new
Beginning of a better making
Freshly born of morning dew.
Still the heart cries out in anguish,
Passions rising from the deep.
Prayers of longing and remembrance…
Lovers mourn as
Angels weep.
Starlight
The sun fades in a distant west as
Twilight caresses the evening sky
With its' gentle colors of passionate pink,
And tiny pinpoints of starlight ensue.
Time grows weary and all the concerns of
The daylight dim as the sun settles in
To the tree tops, resting but a moment,
Offering promises old and new.
…And you fill my evening well into the night,
Holding my hand as the starlight appears
To capture the Heavens, filling the darkness
With all its' abundance of elegant grace.
Treasures abound in the evident spectacle
Born in amazement, meant to be shared.
But diamonds and gold can never compare to
The wonder I find in your sweet loving face.
No matter how long I may walk on these beaches,
No matter how wondrous the luminous prize,
Nothing on Earth or on this side of Heaven can
Outshine the starlight in my lover's eyes.
Butterfly
Flittering, fluttering all about
The garden on your silent wings,
Gathering the nectar of each
Flower's welcome bloom.
Pacing never, racing ever,
Bothering no single soul,
You dance your dance and
Weave a spell upon your magic loom.
And I become a witness as
You search the world in your brief time.
I watch as you emerge
Breaking free from your cocoon
In burst of brilliant colors which
Could rival Pharaoh's treasures,
And then disappear to darkness
All too soon.
Time escaping, passing by,
Watching with your painted eye,
Stopping not to question why.
Fly my little butterfly.
And all the world shall slip away,
And time shall echo eons
Past the secular vernacular
To speed it to it’s higher ground. As
Level passes on to level,
Sweeping off old memories and
Stepping into worlds anew
Stripped of every sight and sound.
Nothing ever lasts forever.
Nothing ever really ends, just
Changes to a new dimension
Grounded in another realm.
The crossing over pathway shrouded
In a cloak of dusty gray
To break the dawning of tomorrow
Rising to control the helm.
Deep within the fight continues
Without treaty… without cures.
Only one thing offers solace
When it’s over…
Love endures.
The Eyes of a Lover
Eyes can say so much about
The character of their possessor.
Every bare emotion, like a mirror,
Is reflected there in some way,
Be it great or small.
There is no hiding from the glare
Of truth behind the subtle hue
Of color in the great confessor.
The eyes of a leader oft reflect
The passions of their followers,
Giving birth to dreams of change,
Kindling the fires of hope.
The eyes of a liar shift in their
Chameleon impersonation,
Holding in futility the
Frayed ends of their dangling rope.
The eyes of a killer can sear the landscape
Scorching all who cross their path,
Practiced in deceptive cunning,
Bursting into sudden wrath.
But the eyes of a lover hold no secrets,
Show no quarter or deceit.
Open to a world of giving,
Laying Heaven at your feet.
Finding the One
Barren waters fill the ocean
And the waves forget to roll
As tides, abandoning their schedule,
Cease to offer ebb and flow.
Every dewdrop sent from Heaven
Yields a taste of salty tears,
And darkness offers cover as they fall,
So no one has to know.
Hopeful hearts seek out their treasure
Nestled deep beneath the sands on
Far off islands waiting for the
Magic of discovery.
Gold-filled chests and diamond lined tiaras
Sparkle in the sun
And hearts fill with the knowing that
This is how it's meant to be.
Finding the one, the single treasure,
Seeking to go the extra mile,
Capturing gold at the end of the rainbow
Makes the journey all worthwhile.
Restless Seas
What mammoth creature down below
Has been disturbed and stirred to movement,
Making her waters, once calm and serene,
An angry mass of a restless sea?
God help us all if she breaches the surface.
Heaven forbid we should look on her face,
Her Medusa curse turning flesh into stone
In the micro-instant before we can flee.
Youthful exuberance might have survived it,
But that was ages and eons ago.
No longer the Captain or even the mate,
Merely a passenger caught in the fray.
Seeking safe harbor at journey's end,
Wanting no part of the battle ensuing,
Turning from harm and seeking a Navy,
I close my eyes and humbly pray.
God, give me strength to weather the battle.
See me before you in bended knees.
Help me to yield to your unbridled wisdom
As I ride the crest of your restless seas.
Angels Weep
The raven stalks a sleepless night
As silent darkness blankets all
The landscape of a troubled world
And destiny prepares to call.
Truth comes hard to those who wait
And wonder far beyond the day.
The silence catches unaware
And leaves a bitter bill to pay.
The only solace is a trusting
That the end brings yet a new
Beginning of a better making
Freshly born of morning dew.
Still the heart cries out in anguish,
Passions rising from the deep.
Prayers of longing and remembrance…
Lovers mourn as
Angels weep.
Starlight
The sun fades in a distant west as
Twilight caresses the evening sky
With its' gentle colors of passionate pink,
And tiny pinpoints of starlight ensue.
Time grows weary and all the concerns of
The daylight dim as the sun settles in
To the tree tops, resting but a moment,
Offering promises old and new.
…And you fill my evening well into the night,
Holding my hand as the starlight appears
To capture the Heavens, filling the darkness
With all its' abundance of elegant grace.
Treasures abound in the evident spectacle
Born in amazement, meant to be shared.
But diamonds and gold can never compare to
The wonder I find in your sweet loving face.
No matter how long I may walk on these beaches,
No matter how wondrous the luminous prize,
Nothing on Earth or on this side of Heaven can
Outshine the starlight in my lover's eyes.
Butterfly
Flittering, fluttering all about
The garden on your silent wings,
Gathering the nectar of each
Flower's welcome bloom.
Pacing never, racing ever,
Bothering no single soul,
You dance your dance and
Weave a spell upon your magic loom.
And I become a witness as
You search the world in your brief time.
I watch as you emerge
Breaking free from your cocoon
In burst of brilliant colors which
Could rival Pharaoh's treasures,
And then disappear to darkness
All too soon.
Time escaping, passing by,
Watching with your painted eye,
Stopping not to question why.
Fly my little butterfly.
Selections from "Remembrance A to Z
After Image
Childhood...
A simpler time
When mandates were as yet unknown,
Responsibilities unlearned.
As children we were all more prone
To bask in rays of fantasy,
Creating worlds our very own,
Using blind imagination
As a stepping stone.
Images abound aplenty
In a child's quick mind,
Flashcards stored in memory,
No victim of surprise.
Not unlike the after image
Of a smiling face
Which lingers even after
You've already closed you eyes.
Childhood... Filled with memories,
Remembrances to keep,
Tiny fragments of our past
To carry in our sleep.
Allusion
Getting to the point is sometimes
Not an easy trick.
Circling around a subject
Often spoils the hunt.
Hoping that your subject will
At some point get the gist,
And politely take you off the baited hook
Of being blunt.
There are times when vague illusion
Simply cannot do the job.
Like when someone dies
And you're left to reflect.
From day of birth we're taught
To beat around the bush of truth
And be anything in life except direct.
It doesn't make a lot of sense.
It doesn't ring quite true.
Allusion pays no recompense
When truth is overdue.
Any Day Now
Remember how when you were young
You dreamed of growing up to be
A millionaire, a billionaire
With wealth beyond reality?
Even now the flame resides
Within our vested treasure troves,
Running off vicariously
With robin leach to hidden coves
Or mountaintop retreats
Where servants fill our every whim,
Where survival is a given and
There is no "us or them".
So we struggle and we fantasize
Of a life that's rich and full,
And we drift off into sleep each night
To find our miracle.
Bring Back Yesterday
Six cents for a soda pop...
Three bucks for a shirt...
Dollar ten for flour
In a twenty five-pound bag...
Houses left unlocked at night...
Streets still safe to walk...
Candy wasn't bad for you
And it felt good to wave the flag.
Changes come inevitably.
Things move forward,
That's for sure.
But pieces of our past remain,
Reminders of
When life was pure.
Biking to Buford
Pedals churn as spoked wheels turn
And miles go passing quickly by.
Aching, straining muscles needing rest
Search for an alibi.
Downhill's easy, coast and rest,
But uphill is a royal bitch.
Watch out for oncoming traffic
Least they run you in a ditch.
Striking out on bold adventures,
Don Quixote on a quest,
Racing on occasion just to see
Whose bike could run the best.
We were young and oh, so foolish,
Never caring where we'd roam,
Knowing when we got to Buford,
We'd turn around and pedal home.
Before It Began
Tragedy has a sudden spring.
It leaps from depths unseen, unknown.
It has no roots and has a tendency to multiply.
But it does have a beginning,
A cause, a course, an aim...
And usually a what, when, where and even why.
Fortune and misfortune are kindred in their scope.
The result of merely trying to survive,
Or blind ambition struggling to make it to the top,
Wanting to be more than just alive.
If one seeks out the reason
For a fated end result,
It isn't really hard to understand.
The end is tied to circumstance
Precluded by events occurring
And recurring before it all began.
Contemplation
I learned at a very tender age
The art of contemplation.
Searching through the maze of choices,
Weighing the results,
Considering alternatives,
Looking far ahead,
Breaking down components
To the very nuts and bolts.
Every solution has a domino effect.
Every choice affects another space.
Like bumper cars colliding front and rear
And side to side
In a crazy, maddening, helter-skelter race.
Some folks can make quick decisions,
Snappy judgement calls.
When they're pressed, they never hesitate.
Me, I much prefer to give a plan consideration.
Solutions run much smoother
When you sit and contemplate.
Commemoration
Symbols and mementos
Reach deep inside our souls,
Conjuring fond memories
We thought had passed us by.
Picking our emotions up
Off of a dusty floor,
Some will lift our hearts with laughter,
Others make us cry.
Still others fill our hearts with pride
Like the raising of the flag
By marines on Surabacci,
A tattered, bloody rag.
Every little slice of life
Deserves consideration.
The symbols we hold in our hearts
Are their commemoration.
Childhood...
A simpler time
When mandates were as yet unknown,
Responsibilities unlearned.
As children we were all more prone
To bask in rays of fantasy,
Creating worlds our very own,
Using blind imagination
As a stepping stone.
Images abound aplenty
In a child's quick mind,
Flashcards stored in memory,
No victim of surprise.
Not unlike the after image
Of a smiling face
Which lingers even after
You've already closed you eyes.
Childhood... Filled with memories,
Remembrances to keep,
Tiny fragments of our past
To carry in our sleep.
Allusion
Getting to the point is sometimes
Not an easy trick.
Circling around a subject
Often spoils the hunt.
Hoping that your subject will
At some point get the gist,
And politely take you off the baited hook
Of being blunt.
There are times when vague illusion
Simply cannot do the job.
Like when someone dies
And you're left to reflect.
From day of birth we're taught
To beat around the bush of truth
And be anything in life except direct.
It doesn't make a lot of sense.
It doesn't ring quite true.
Allusion pays no recompense
When truth is overdue.
Any Day Now
Remember how when you were young
You dreamed of growing up to be
A millionaire, a billionaire
With wealth beyond reality?
Even now the flame resides
Within our vested treasure troves,
Running off vicariously
With robin leach to hidden coves
Or mountaintop retreats
Where servants fill our every whim,
Where survival is a given and
There is no "us or them".
So we struggle and we fantasize
Of a life that's rich and full,
And we drift off into sleep each night
To find our miracle.
Bring Back Yesterday
Six cents for a soda pop...
Three bucks for a shirt...
Dollar ten for flour
In a twenty five-pound bag...
Houses left unlocked at night...
Streets still safe to walk...
Candy wasn't bad for you
And it felt good to wave the flag.
Changes come inevitably.
Things move forward,
That's for sure.
But pieces of our past remain,
Reminders of
When life was pure.
Biking to Buford
Pedals churn as spoked wheels turn
And miles go passing quickly by.
Aching, straining muscles needing rest
Search for an alibi.
Downhill's easy, coast and rest,
But uphill is a royal bitch.
Watch out for oncoming traffic
Least they run you in a ditch.
Striking out on bold adventures,
Don Quixote on a quest,
Racing on occasion just to see
Whose bike could run the best.
We were young and oh, so foolish,
Never caring where we'd roam,
Knowing when we got to Buford,
We'd turn around and pedal home.
Before It Began
Tragedy has a sudden spring.
It leaps from depths unseen, unknown.
It has no roots and has a tendency to multiply.
But it does have a beginning,
A cause, a course, an aim...
And usually a what, when, where and even why.
Fortune and misfortune are kindred in their scope.
The result of merely trying to survive,
Or blind ambition struggling to make it to the top,
Wanting to be more than just alive.
If one seeks out the reason
For a fated end result,
It isn't really hard to understand.
The end is tied to circumstance
Precluded by events occurring
And recurring before it all began.
Contemplation
I learned at a very tender age
The art of contemplation.
Searching through the maze of choices,
Weighing the results,
Considering alternatives,
Looking far ahead,
Breaking down components
To the very nuts and bolts.
Every solution has a domino effect.
Every choice affects another space.
Like bumper cars colliding front and rear
And side to side
In a crazy, maddening, helter-skelter race.
Some folks can make quick decisions,
Snappy judgement calls.
When they're pressed, they never hesitate.
Me, I much prefer to give a plan consideration.
Solutions run much smoother
When you sit and contemplate.
Commemoration
Symbols and mementos
Reach deep inside our souls,
Conjuring fond memories
We thought had passed us by.
Picking our emotions up
Off of a dusty floor,
Some will lift our hearts with laughter,
Others make us cry.
Still others fill our hearts with pride
Like the raising of the flag
By marines on Surabacci,
A tattered, bloody rag.
Every little slice of life
Deserves consideration.
The symbols we hold in our hearts
Are their commemoration.
Selections from "Don't Shoot the Cook"
Don't Shoot the Cook
After some consideration of the menu
You order your selections one by one.
Your server writing down each little detail;
Hanging on each word until you're done.
Aiming just to please you with fine service;
Knowing fully their gratuity
Is dependent on your satisfaction,
They smile and act as pleasant as can be.
Your order quickly place for preparation,
The cook assembles the ingredients.
Knowing full well your anticipation;
Working hard with swift expedience.
Your meal prepared by your precise direction;
Served promptly, friendly, strictly by the book.
So, if it's not exactly to your liking...
Who placed the order?
Don't shoot the cook.
Driving
Driving, to some, is a pleasurable chore.
To me, it's a pain in the neck.
Constantly taxing the mental capacity
As down the highway we trek.
Plummeting forward from every direction
To where the paths intersect;
Watching the signs and the bright signals flashing;
Each meant to guide and direct.
Struggling, straining, hoping we've made
The right turns as we try to connect.
Praying to make our intended arrival
Without getting into a wreck.
Yes, driving for some is a pastime of pleasure;
A theory I firmly reject.
But for getting around from point" "a" to point "b",
It's the method I always select.
Hoppy, Roy, The Lone Ranger and Me
I grew up on Saturday mornings,
Sitting tall in the saddle of my t v.
Toting six-guns and riding the ranges;
Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Always the good guy, standing for right,
Looking for justice, hoping to see
All the villains get busted, given their due;
Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Many a lesson was learned in my youth
By keeping such stalwartly brave company.
Honor and truth were of utmost importance
To Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Who are the heroes of youth today?
Where will they learn what a hero should be?
I long for the days when it all was much clearer
For Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Communication
What did you say? Please, say it again.
I didn't quite catch the last line.
Beg your pardon? Bad connection?
Oh, now I can hear you just fine.
"I'm sorry. May I interrupt what you're saying?
I have a few thoughts of my own."
So, we listen with passive intent 'til the voice
Becomes nothing more than a drone.
It's not an unusually odd situation.
It's not that we strayed from the norm.
If folks were as good at listening as talking,
They all would be better informed.
Your Eyes
In my youth I struggled,
Looking for the right connection;
Someone who would give and take
My measure of affection;
Someone with compassion
And sensitivity,
Who's gentle understanding
Was meant for only me.
And when I finally found it,
It came as no surprise.
All it took was just one look.
I found it in your eyes.
Breaking Wind
Why is breaking wind so funny?
What makes it such a crime?
Could it be because it comes
At unexpected times?
It sneaks up from behind us
Leaving everyone agog,
And wondering who's guilty,
'Til we finally blame the dog.
We smile and snicker as the humor
Of the moment grows,
Until the scent of guilty air
Comes wafting by our nose.
Nothing is so quick to turn
A smile into a sneer
As someone breaking wind
And proudly grinning ear to ear.
Hiccups
Do you know a cure for hiccups?
I've heard of quite a few.
Everyone I know of
Seems to have a different view.
No one knows exactly
What incites them to begin.
We only know we quickly want to
Bring them to and end.
"Have you tried to hold your breath
And count to twenty?" Didn't work.
"Have you breathed into a bag?"
It makes you feel like such a jerk.
Try gulping down some water;
A full glass or maybe more;
Or have somebody scare you
As they lurk behind a door.
We've heard of oh! So many cures
From every kind of source,
But the only sure-fired remedy
Is to let them run their course.
Deja vu
I've been here before; just know it.
Has that ever happened to you?
To see someplace, to be someplace,
Someplace you've walked into
At sometime in your distant past,
You can't recall exactly when,
But something so familiar
Seems to stir you from within.
It's a scary kind of feeling,
Somehow nervous, yet quite warm;
Something like the calm that hits you
Just before the storm.
It stirs for just a moment
Sending other thoughts askew,
Then leaves you just as quickly.
What just happened?
Deja vu.
After some consideration of the menu
You order your selections one by one.
Your server writing down each little detail;
Hanging on each word until you're done.
Aiming just to please you with fine service;
Knowing fully their gratuity
Is dependent on your satisfaction,
They smile and act as pleasant as can be.
Your order quickly place for preparation,
The cook assembles the ingredients.
Knowing full well your anticipation;
Working hard with swift expedience.
Your meal prepared by your precise direction;
Served promptly, friendly, strictly by the book.
So, if it's not exactly to your liking...
Who placed the order?
Don't shoot the cook.
Driving
Driving, to some, is a pleasurable chore.
To me, it's a pain in the neck.
Constantly taxing the mental capacity
As down the highway we trek.
Plummeting forward from every direction
To where the paths intersect;
Watching the signs and the bright signals flashing;
Each meant to guide and direct.
Struggling, straining, hoping we've made
The right turns as we try to connect.
Praying to make our intended arrival
Without getting into a wreck.
Yes, driving for some is a pastime of pleasure;
A theory I firmly reject.
But for getting around from point" "a" to point "b",
It's the method I always select.
Hoppy, Roy, The Lone Ranger and Me
I grew up on Saturday mornings,
Sitting tall in the saddle of my t v.
Toting six-guns and riding the ranges;
Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Always the good guy, standing for right,
Looking for justice, hoping to see
All the villains get busted, given their due;
Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Many a lesson was learned in my youth
By keeping such stalwartly brave company.
Honor and truth were of utmost importance
To Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Who are the heroes of youth today?
Where will they learn what a hero should be?
I long for the days when it all was much clearer
For Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.
Communication
What did you say? Please, say it again.
I didn't quite catch the last line.
Beg your pardon? Bad connection?
Oh, now I can hear you just fine.
"I'm sorry. May I interrupt what you're saying?
I have a few thoughts of my own."
So, we listen with passive intent 'til the voice
Becomes nothing more than a drone.
It's not an unusually odd situation.
It's not that we strayed from the norm.
If folks were as good at listening as talking,
They all would be better informed.
Your Eyes
In my youth I struggled,
Looking for the right connection;
Someone who would give and take
My measure of affection;
Someone with compassion
And sensitivity,
Who's gentle understanding
Was meant for only me.
And when I finally found it,
It came as no surprise.
All it took was just one look.
I found it in your eyes.
Breaking Wind
Why is breaking wind so funny?
What makes it such a crime?
Could it be because it comes
At unexpected times?
It sneaks up from behind us
Leaving everyone agog,
And wondering who's guilty,
'Til we finally blame the dog.
We smile and snicker as the humor
Of the moment grows,
Until the scent of guilty air
Comes wafting by our nose.
Nothing is so quick to turn
A smile into a sneer
As someone breaking wind
And proudly grinning ear to ear.
Hiccups
Do you know a cure for hiccups?
I've heard of quite a few.
Everyone I know of
Seems to have a different view.
No one knows exactly
What incites them to begin.
We only know we quickly want to
Bring them to and end.
"Have you tried to hold your breath
And count to twenty?" Didn't work.
"Have you breathed into a bag?"
It makes you feel like such a jerk.
Try gulping down some water;
A full glass or maybe more;
Or have somebody scare you
As they lurk behind a door.
We've heard of oh! So many cures
From every kind of source,
But the only sure-fired remedy
Is to let them run their course.
Deja vu
I've been here before; just know it.
Has that ever happened to you?
To see someplace, to be someplace,
Someplace you've walked into
At sometime in your distant past,
You can't recall exactly when,
But something so familiar
Seems to stir you from within.
It's a scary kind of feeling,
Somehow nervous, yet quite warm;
Something like the calm that hits you
Just before the storm.
It stirs for just a moment
Sending other thoughts askew,
Then leaves you just as quickly.
What just happened?
Deja vu.
Selections from "Posers to Ponder"
Posers to Ponder
Questions come silently creeping to mind,
Queries come begging refined resolution,
Posers seek answers to life's little problems,
Processing logically to a conclusion.
But storm troopers break down the door of confusion,
Blitzkrieg, Gestapo, the secret police
Collide in a mind filled with thundering hooves
Of a stampede offering no inner peace.
Where do they come from?
What is their aim?
How do we handle the tirade, the flood?
Questions on queries on posers and more
Taking our breath away,
Drinking our blood.
We can't control our inquisitive nature.
Like curious cats, we simply must know.
No other creature on this big blue marble
Seeks out his future from eons ago.
Constantly seeking... Endlessly searching...
Longingly looking ahead and behind...
Pondering posers... Thrashing through logic...
Hoping beyond hope to find peace of mind.
We are but children, lost and abandoned
Making our way through an ocean of thought.
Sailing on seas froth with whitecaps of questions,
Searching for calm once the battle is fought.
Amusing the Muse
Think of the songs on the airwaves today,
The street corner lyrics, the music they play.
Do you think that the muse would be slightly amused
Or highly insulted? Just what would she say?
The things we now think of as oldies were once
Just as wicked and frantic and wild in their way.
But now they're nostalgic, recalling a memory
A moment a scene from a happier day.
Let's not be dramatic not too critical
Not bitter to act or express to accuse.
Our music once spent its' due time on the treadmill
Growing up slowly amusing the muse.
Nothing Lasts Forever
Nothing is forever except the earth and sky.
No one is eternal in this life game masquerade.
"Players on a stage" to quote the bard of days gone by
Waiting for a sunny sky to rain on our parade.
Life's a simple matter when it's meant to be enjoyed.
Optimism dwells in hearts of single-minded men.
It's only complicated when endeavor is employed
To try and circumvent its' fated end.
There's nothing wrong with hoping for a better deal tomorrow
With planning for the future as we go about our play.
The future will be there forever in the earth and sky
But we are here...
This time... This place... Today.
Life's Little Wonders
The songbird at dawn fills the fresh morning air
With the nectar of music. He pridefully croons.
Rejecting submission, repeating with fervor,
It makes a soul wonder who taught him his tune.
He sings to the sun as it climbs the horizon
Sings to the moon as it floats through the clouds
Sings to the heavens as stars twinkle brightly
Sings for his lady alone in a crowd.
Life's little wonders so often forgotten
Or taken for granted... In sight yet unseen.
The scent of wild flowers the burst of their colors
From pink to magenta and twelve shades of green.
Life is filled with wonders so subtle
That most pass us by as we hurry along.
It's only by stopping and waiting and listening
The songbird can lend us the joy of his song.
Who Decides?
Decisions... Don't you hate them?
Choose me! Choose me! No! Me!
Competition runs amuck
Destroying subtlety.
Varied views with different hues of color
Shades of gray.
Fine distinctions shattered truth
Mutated molds of clay.
Who's the liar?
Who can tell?
What difference does it make?
"Pay your money"..."take your chances"...
Pay for your mistakes.
Figuring the way to go...
The many or the few.
Choices come in different sizes.
Who decides?
You do.
Where Do Worms Sleep In Winter?
I wondered once while digging
In the frozen earth of winter
What is the fate of the lowly worm
When the ground is chilled stone cold?
Does it burrow deep?
Does it hibernate?
Does it sprout wings and fly south
Or does it put its wanderings on temporary hold?
Perhaps it's just a silly question
From a simple mind.
Perhaps the mystery is not important to resolve
But to the worm it's life or death,
Instinct motivated.
A complicated riddle to be solved.
Motivation holds the key to trigger a reaction
Like Pavlov's dogs reacting to the bell.
So if somebody asks you where
The worm sleeps in winter
Go ask the worms.
Only they can tell.
How Much Is Enough?
Old man Mooney wanted it all
Would have taken the whole world
Were it for the taking.
Money and Mooney were partners to envy,
Never too much when there's more for the making.
How much is enough?
How much do you want,
Be it money or madness or sex?
How does it perplex you?
When will you be sated? Confess!
How much does it vex?
If stars in the heavens were in your possession,
If seas rolled by at your command,
If every favor were yours for the taking
Would there still be more you'd demand?
Open your eyes.
Take a wide look around you.
The oceans and stars are still there
Belonging to each of us in their own measure,
Enough for the whole world to share.
What Price?
All possessions carry costs.
Every service has its' levy.
Secret treasure lurks behind closed doors.
Everyone must serve a master.
We all give our due.
Every person pays a price.
Tell me, what is yours?
The Answer
What was the question?
I forget.
Something to do with "why".
Why this? Why that?
Why ask me?
I'm just trying to get by.
Love this! Hate that!
Rich dudes! Fat cats!
Everything's a fraud.
If you find the answer,
Tell me.
Loudly I'll applaud.
Questions come silently creeping to mind,
Queries come begging refined resolution,
Posers seek answers to life's little problems,
Processing logically to a conclusion.
But storm troopers break down the door of confusion,
Blitzkrieg, Gestapo, the secret police
Collide in a mind filled with thundering hooves
Of a stampede offering no inner peace.
Where do they come from?
What is their aim?
How do we handle the tirade, the flood?
Questions on queries on posers and more
Taking our breath away,
Drinking our blood.
We can't control our inquisitive nature.
Like curious cats, we simply must know.
No other creature on this big blue marble
Seeks out his future from eons ago.
Constantly seeking... Endlessly searching...
Longingly looking ahead and behind...
Pondering posers... Thrashing through logic...
Hoping beyond hope to find peace of mind.
We are but children, lost and abandoned
Making our way through an ocean of thought.
Sailing on seas froth with whitecaps of questions,
Searching for calm once the battle is fought.
Amusing the Muse
Think of the songs on the airwaves today,
The street corner lyrics, the music they play.
Do you think that the muse would be slightly amused
Or highly insulted? Just what would she say?
The things we now think of as oldies were once
Just as wicked and frantic and wild in their way.
But now they're nostalgic, recalling a memory
A moment a scene from a happier day.
Let's not be dramatic not too critical
Not bitter to act or express to accuse.
Our music once spent its' due time on the treadmill
Growing up slowly amusing the muse.
Nothing Lasts Forever
Nothing is forever except the earth and sky.
No one is eternal in this life game masquerade.
"Players on a stage" to quote the bard of days gone by
Waiting for a sunny sky to rain on our parade.
Life's a simple matter when it's meant to be enjoyed.
Optimism dwells in hearts of single-minded men.
It's only complicated when endeavor is employed
To try and circumvent its' fated end.
There's nothing wrong with hoping for a better deal tomorrow
With planning for the future as we go about our play.
The future will be there forever in the earth and sky
But we are here...
This time... This place... Today.
Life's Little Wonders
The songbird at dawn fills the fresh morning air
With the nectar of music. He pridefully croons.
Rejecting submission, repeating with fervor,
It makes a soul wonder who taught him his tune.
He sings to the sun as it climbs the horizon
Sings to the moon as it floats through the clouds
Sings to the heavens as stars twinkle brightly
Sings for his lady alone in a crowd.
Life's little wonders so often forgotten
Or taken for granted... In sight yet unseen.
The scent of wild flowers the burst of their colors
From pink to magenta and twelve shades of green.
Life is filled with wonders so subtle
That most pass us by as we hurry along.
It's only by stopping and waiting and listening
The songbird can lend us the joy of his song.
Who Decides?
Decisions... Don't you hate them?
Choose me! Choose me! No! Me!
Competition runs amuck
Destroying subtlety.
Varied views with different hues of color
Shades of gray.
Fine distinctions shattered truth
Mutated molds of clay.
Who's the liar?
Who can tell?
What difference does it make?
"Pay your money"..."take your chances"...
Pay for your mistakes.
Figuring the way to go...
The many or the few.
Choices come in different sizes.
Who decides?
You do.
Where Do Worms Sleep In Winter?
I wondered once while digging
In the frozen earth of winter
What is the fate of the lowly worm
When the ground is chilled stone cold?
Does it burrow deep?
Does it hibernate?
Does it sprout wings and fly south
Or does it put its wanderings on temporary hold?
Perhaps it's just a silly question
From a simple mind.
Perhaps the mystery is not important to resolve
But to the worm it's life or death,
Instinct motivated.
A complicated riddle to be solved.
Motivation holds the key to trigger a reaction
Like Pavlov's dogs reacting to the bell.
So if somebody asks you where
The worm sleeps in winter
Go ask the worms.
Only they can tell.
How Much Is Enough?
Old man Mooney wanted it all
Would have taken the whole world
Were it for the taking.
Money and Mooney were partners to envy,
Never too much when there's more for the making.
How much is enough?
How much do you want,
Be it money or madness or sex?
How does it perplex you?
When will you be sated? Confess!
How much does it vex?
If stars in the heavens were in your possession,
If seas rolled by at your command,
If every favor were yours for the taking
Would there still be more you'd demand?
Open your eyes.
Take a wide look around you.
The oceans and stars are still there
Belonging to each of us in their own measure,
Enough for the whole world to share.
What Price?
All possessions carry costs.
Every service has its' levy.
Secret treasure lurks behind closed doors.
Everyone must serve a master.
We all give our due.
Every person pays a price.
Tell me, what is yours?
The Answer
What was the question?
I forget.
Something to do with "why".
Why this? Why that?
Why ask me?
I'm just trying to get by.
Love this! Hate that!
Rich dudes! Fat cats!
Everything's a fraud.
If you find the answer,
Tell me.
Loudly I'll applaud.
Selections from "Cuts to the Bone"
Cuts to the Bone
Traces linger all around
In cold deserted streets and byways.
Dark back alleys hide the tears
Which, wept in acid, burn the flesh
And blur the vision,
Making life just slightly less intolerable
Until a calm can settle in
Encircling fears with an iron mesh.
Memories are like the swallows
Flying back to Capistrano.
Even if we tried we couldn't
Fight the fate of their return.
Finger poised on trigger,
Ready to explode when beckoned.
Secrets known to one alone;
A private lesson to be learned.
Who can say which love endures?
Who can guess what fates allow?
The starting and the ending find
Us standing naked and alone.
The memory of how it was,
Of how it cannot be again,
Becomes a slashing saber's edge
Which cuts you to the bone.
Love Hurts
Her's was a story so often told
Of hopelessly hopeful futility.
Blinded by love she did not foresee
That he would be gone before
Springtime was done.
Men are such animals,
Grunting and rutting,
Breaking the rules of polite company
Until all that is left
Is the cheap pick-up line
Which lingers in anguish
Long after he's gone.
No moral dilemmas,
No great philosophical edicts
Are written to which he adheres.
No conscience to bother,
No groundswell of feeling
Comes rushing to make an emotional plea.
Only the bodies he leaves in his wake
To languish and drown in an ocean of tears -
Waiting for someone to throw her a lifeline -
As he sails the trade winds of tropical seas.
Mine Forever
In a world which makes us quiver
Every day at 6 PM when
Local News sends shard and shiver
Of the tragic days events;
Missiles fire and miss their target
Finding innocents instead;
Miltimediated markets
Often leave the conscience spent
To dwell in anguish, jaws agog,
Praying that the world repents;
I have only one true treasure
Which consoles my every pore of
Being to the fullest measure,
Though the World beats down my will.
Knowing you are mine forever
Wards away pernicious harm
Which baits and goads to pull the lever
Which would leave me cold and still.
Until such time, we stride together,
Hand in hand we climb the hill
The Best of Friends
Even the best of friends have trouble
Sometimes seeing everything eye to eye.
The multifaceted multiplicity
Pacing life's queer circumstance
Contrives, deprives and even connives
To offer more choices than we can bear.
Do we seek shelter to hide in the sand
Or ruffle our peacock feathers and prance
Around naked before God and company,
Playing the fool,
Breaking the rule,
Flaunting the school of traditional dance?
All the alternative options and choices,
Changing experiences, motion of growth.
Little wonder we cling to a constant,
Yearn for stability,
Pray for a rock to hold on to
When winds seer the night
With it's passionless kiss
Hiding from sight.
Who will be there when you turn on the light?
The best of friends never study the clock.
Let's Be Honest
With all the back biting going on
It was hard to declare a decisive winner,
Like needles and darts thrown 'cross a room,
A Friar's roast, or a Toastmaster's dinner.
Impossible to distinguish the truth
From the lies and deceits being bantered about.
One can only hope your detectors are functioning,
Sniffing the air 'til the truth finds you out.
Pity the openness lost in your youth
Can't carry its' weight as the years pass you by.
Suffer its' loss with the loss of innocence
Grown to a beast as you covet your pride.
Can you imagine a World without lies?
A World without people you'll more likely see.
Let's be honest... To ourselves and each other;
Leaping the mass of humanity.
And the Walls Came Down
Old man Millsap was a sad little creature.
He lived down the road with his wife and daughters
Who, sad to the world, had their father's features
And grew to be spinsters with no social graces.
A quiet sort, old Millsap, the handyman;
Skilled with a hammer and saw or a wrench.
He could build a shed in the spit of a minute,
Clean up and be gone without leaving a trace.
Everyone thought him an odd little man;
Someone to pity, perhaps even fear.
Though his heart was awash with the kindness of ages,
His stoic demeanor was misunderstood.
And the tattered attire and ramshackled pickup
He drove didn't help his persona at all.
People had such a hard time seeing past the surface
To find that part which was good.
Old Millsap took masses of teasing and taunting
From self-righteous hypocrites lost in themselves;
People who joy at the expense of others,
Who laugh and cajole as they pull on the reins.
Little wonder they could not imagine
What must have possessed him that fateful evening
When all the walls came tumbling down.
Old Millsap went home and blew out his brains.
The Irony of it All
Did you ever notice the sky at sunset?
When feathers of fire gently flicker and wave
As they roll up to heaven, stretching to reach for a
Point where they penetrate God's holy shrine.
Stars are not visible yet as the sun settles
Over the crest of a far away hill;
And sometimes the Moon has awakened too early
And peeks like a ghost through the shadowing clouds.
This is as close as we Earthlings will come
To seeing the face of our eternal God.
This is the beauty, both real and imagined,
A preview, a prelude to afterlife
Where sunsets are constant and beauty surrounds
Every moment of wait for eternity.
But we ignore sunsets,
Look to tomorrow...
Too busy to stop...
Too blind to see.
Keep It Simple, Stupid
Complicated, aggravated, heavy weighted situation
Permeated with the hated calculated risks.
Choices from amalgamated theories become agitated
'Til awash and fluoridated, holding just the gist.
We combine and slowly grind until we find solutions
To a problem which, without a stitch, Stood naked to our eyes.
Could it be we couldn't see the coming evolution when the
Answers bare and often stare and even glare
With wheres and whys.
Choices. Ah, yes! There's the rub;
Far too many in the tub;
All the spokes lead to the hub
Of where we want to be.
We need but to simplify;
Penetrate the needle's eye;
No regrets... No alibi...
Your choices set you free.
Traces linger all around
In cold deserted streets and byways.
Dark back alleys hide the tears
Which, wept in acid, burn the flesh
And blur the vision,
Making life just slightly less intolerable
Until a calm can settle in
Encircling fears with an iron mesh.
Memories are like the swallows
Flying back to Capistrano.
Even if we tried we couldn't
Fight the fate of their return.
Finger poised on trigger,
Ready to explode when beckoned.
Secrets known to one alone;
A private lesson to be learned.
Who can say which love endures?
Who can guess what fates allow?
The starting and the ending find
Us standing naked and alone.
The memory of how it was,
Of how it cannot be again,
Becomes a slashing saber's edge
Which cuts you to the bone.
Love Hurts
Her's was a story so often told
Of hopelessly hopeful futility.
Blinded by love she did not foresee
That he would be gone before
Springtime was done.
Men are such animals,
Grunting and rutting,
Breaking the rules of polite company
Until all that is left
Is the cheap pick-up line
Which lingers in anguish
Long after he's gone.
No moral dilemmas,
No great philosophical edicts
Are written to which he adheres.
No conscience to bother,
No groundswell of feeling
Comes rushing to make an emotional plea.
Only the bodies he leaves in his wake
To languish and drown in an ocean of tears -
Waiting for someone to throw her a lifeline -
As he sails the trade winds of tropical seas.
Mine Forever
In a world which makes us quiver
Every day at 6 PM when
Local News sends shard and shiver
Of the tragic days events;
Missiles fire and miss their target
Finding innocents instead;
Miltimediated markets
Often leave the conscience spent
To dwell in anguish, jaws agog,
Praying that the world repents;
I have only one true treasure
Which consoles my every pore of
Being to the fullest measure,
Though the World beats down my will.
Knowing you are mine forever
Wards away pernicious harm
Which baits and goads to pull the lever
Which would leave me cold and still.
Until such time, we stride together,
Hand in hand we climb the hill
The Best of Friends
Even the best of friends have trouble
Sometimes seeing everything eye to eye.
The multifaceted multiplicity
Pacing life's queer circumstance
Contrives, deprives and even connives
To offer more choices than we can bear.
Do we seek shelter to hide in the sand
Or ruffle our peacock feathers and prance
Around naked before God and company,
Playing the fool,
Breaking the rule,
Flaunting the school of traditional dance?
All the alternative options and choices,
Changing experiences, motion of growth.
Little wonder we cling to a constant,
Yearn for stability,
Pray for a rock to hold on to
When winds seer the night
With it's passionless kiss
Hiding from sight.
Who will be there when you turn on the light?
The best of friends never study the clock.
Let's Be Honest
With all the back biting going on
It was hard to declare a decisive winner,
Like needles and darts thrown 'cross a room,
A Friar's roast, or a Toastmaster's dinner.
Impossible to distinguish the truth
From the lies and deceits being bantered about.
One can only hope your detectors are functioning,
Sniffing the air 'til the truth finds you out.
Pity the openness lost in your youth
Can't carry its' weight as the years pass you by.
Suffer its' loss with the loss of innocence
Grown to a beast as you covet your pride.
Can you imagine a World without lies?
A World without people you'll more likely see.
Let's be honest... To ourselves and each other;
Leaping the mass of humanity.
And the Walls Came Down
Old man Millsap was a sad little creature.
He lived down the road with his wife and daughters
Who, sad to the world, had their father's features
And grew to be spinsters with no social graces.
A quiet sort, old Millsap, the handyman;
Skilled with a hammer and saw or a wrench.
He could build a shed in the spit of a minute,
Clean up and be gone without leaving a trace.
Everyone thought him an odd little man;
Someone to pity, perhaps even fear.
Though his heart was awash with the kindness of ages,
His stoic demeanor was misunderstood.
And the tattered attire and ramshackled pickup
He drove didn't help his persona at all.
People had such a hard time seeing past the surface
To find that part which was good.
Old Millsap took masses of teasing and taunting
From self-righteous hypocrites lost in themselves;
People who joy at the expense of others,
Who laugh and cajole as they pull on the reins.
Little wonder they could not imagine
What must have possessed him that fateful evening
When all the walls came tumbling down.
Old Millsap went home and blew out his brains.
The Irony of it All
Did you ever notice the sky at sunset?
When feathers of fire gently flicker and wave
As they roll up to heaven, stretching to reach for a
Point where they penetrate God's holy shrine.
Stars are not visible yet as the sun settles
Over the crest of a far away hill;
And sometimes the Moon has awakened too early
And peeks like a ghost through the shadowing clouds.
This is as close as we Earthlings will come
To seeing the face of our eternal God.
This is the beauty, both real and imagined,
A preview, a prelude to afterlife
Where sunsets are constant and beauty surrounds
Every moment of wait for eternity.
But we ignore sunsets,
Look to tomorrow...
Too busy to stop...
Too blind to see.
Keep It Simple, Stupid
Complicated, aggravated, heavy weighted situation
Permeated with the hated calculated risks.
Choices from amalgamated theories become agitated
'Til awash and fluoridated, holding just the gist.
We combine and slowly grind until we find solutions
To a problem which, without a stitch, Stood naked to our eyes.
Could it be we couldn't see the coming evolution when the
Answers bare and often stare and even glare
With wheres and whys.
Choices. Ah, yes! There's the rub;
Far too many in the tub;
All the spokes lead to the hub
Of where we want to be.
We need but to simplify;
Penetrate the needle's eye;
No regrets... No alibi...
Your choices set you free.
Selections from "Look Into My Mirror"
Look Into My Mirror
1. The question
In this there is nothing "for" me; but "of" me. It is yours.
For you to look inside of me; inside of me... And you.
Let me be your looking glass.
Discover what a new and different person,
Who you've never known before,
Dwells within, without, with all around one central core.
Humanity from man to man and inhumanity...
Competition runs between / betwixt...
Compassion once and rage again run hand in hand in me;
A vacuum where contrasting forces mix.
A lilac in the early spring surprised by winter snow..
The blossom of a dying tree in crumbling to the earth.
The funeral procession and the laughter as we go about
Forgetting death... Has life such little worth?
We go about to fill our ears with business not our own.
We seek to know of tragedy; but not concerning us.
Yet, striking home a hurting blow is worse than worsest bad,
And no one knows our plight. We're drowned in dust.
In dust our eyes see dizziness inside our spinning heads.
The road unclear, we do not care, in part, as much to know
In which direction footsteps lead. We stumble through the dead
Until the dealer calls our bluff... It's time to go.
Life in a vacuum, struggling for air.
Mind of confusion going nowhere.
Mingling feelings... Vanishing hopes...
Time revealing tangling ropes
Of tied up ambitions offering naught
Of that satisfaction for which life has sought.
Confusion! Confusion is all that I see;
Sadness and happiness all around me.
Eight hour days and eight hour nights...
Land and sea and free-falling flights.
The oceans of air swirling round in my head
With the burnt leather stench of the things which are dead.
Decaying of man in his own burning flesh
While our visions of harmony want for a fresh,
A new, and equal start...
While peace through destruction seeks to depart
From peace through peace,
Which we never have known,
But have longed for and hoped for and needed so long.
Are we coming to end?
Will we ever begin to find the world we've waited to see?
Is it only our dust that will set us free?
2. The need to simplify
With all the world in apathy, still optimism dwells in me
Along with pessimistic views of this world which was meant to be
A paradise for man to live, and not to die beneath its crust.
But we have seen that all are fated once from dust to dust.
The contrasts mixed within our souls...
The paradox of life itself...
The mysteries explored by minds, explained by man
To no avail.
The love and hate... Both different, yet one...
The beauty of ugliness... The giant. The elf.
Success and failure in reaching our goals,
Though even succeeding still we fail
To grasp the meaning of it all.
We rise to a peak... We stumble and fall;
Yet pick ourselves up and continue our search;
To live life and love it for all it's worth.
For life in itself is a beautiful thing,
Meant only to bring out the best within men;
The love within man;
For the beauty of life is always at hand:
The free and unbound flight of a bird...
The soft sweet silence of new-fallen snow...
The great chameleon forest of green and yellow,
Of orange, of brown and gold...
The joy of a child,
Or an off-colored joke...
The thrill of a swim, or a ski-riding boat...
The summer walks with the one you adore...
Just watching TV on a carpeted floor.
The simplest things in this world seem to bring
The most joy to my heart through the winter and spring
And summer and fall.
No matter how small
I laugh at them all.
They give to my heart a lasting song,
And I'll sing it and love it my whole life long.
3. The need to laugh
For I...
I am a wandering minstrel;
A jester of a thousand nights,
And days if day permits me
To jest in folly as the world is passing the day
One moment to next
Laying up its gain.
Oh, world! I cannot understand you...
Coveting more... Forever more.
True. True.
It's something to do.
A thing worthwhile for some men.
They smile
And go about
To gain more and more.
I long for more...
For a better life.
I crave all the pleasures that life has to give.
But not so important I find them as most.
They're not to break one's back to gain.
I merely say, "what I have, I have.
What I gain, I gain."
What I have not makes for another day.
It's better not to fain desire
For those things which are out of reach...
Out of sight.
To desire and not gain
Is to gain only pain.
To let pass by the folly in a smile,
In a laugh,
In a roar of mirth is a sin...
But to capture a moment for levity's sake
And to laugh at yourself
Is to win.
4. The game
As the days may seem long, so is life just as short,
And time so fleeting that too soon it's gone;
But living should still be a joy,
Not a chore,
And if life is a task, then it's wrong.
For he who is always too busy to live,
Who lets selfish anger and greed rule his mind
Is missing so much of the meaning of life,
And so doing betrays his own kind.
So, let us think what can be done,
And let us all then act our parts.
For are we all not actors in the game of life
From the very start of life
As life we know and live.
Have we all not something to give:
A song, a poem, a moment of mirth.
The simple act of kindness is worth
So much in troubled times as these.
To think we can turn our heads with ease
Makes my blood run cold with fear.
When men turn away without lending an ear
To his brother in need,
And walk calmly away,
And ease his conscience another day.
5. Winning
In the tempest of life I serenely saunter,
Picking up bits and pieces of humanity;
Interring in my mind the facts and figures before me.
I walk in the realm of reality,
With the knowledge of ending mortality;
To make the most of the time at hand,
And to not live a life of fatality.
The creature of age creeps into my life
With slow steadiness,
And I look back to ask,
"Where have I been?
What have I done?
Have I accomplished my goals?
Have I won?"
Life is too short to tread on triviality.
The things held most dear must come to the front
And lead us along through the light and the dark.
We should always be able to make the remark,
"Today I lived and laughed and loved;
Took each thing as it came and put it in place;
Recorded each smile, each frown, every face."
Then we can say that our life is worthwhile
And face the next day with a smile.
Within these lines my lament has its start
In scanning the surface of love, truth and art.
I beckon to this generation of man,
Take a look at yourself if you can;
To see where you're from and where you must go;
To see what you'll reap from the seeds that you sow.
Look in my mirror and see my heart,
But don't be surprised if you see a small part
Of your very own heart... Your very own soul.
Then look to yourself.
Seek to find your own goal.
Time
Time is a wandering sailor
Forever roaming across the sea.
Ever seeking the new, the unknown,
The untraveled. To be a part of that sea.
Knowing no past. Seeking no end.
Longing to know the answers of life.
Never caring what made it begin
To wander in space. It seeks out no friend.
Unforgiving; moving...moving.
Running away with life and breath.
Yet giving us just enough of itself
To realize the meaning of life and death.
To pass to posterity knowledge of mind,
And pass ourselves to the annals of time.
The Good Samaritan
If you encounter a stranger
Wandering through your life,
Not knowing where he is going,
And not remembering where he has been,
Don't turn him away
Without first giving him some direction.
That stranger may be you.
War
Serpents creep...
Men sleep.
Tigers walk...
Men talk.
All is quiet...
Men fight.
Birds fly...
Men die.
Creatures sleep...
Mothers weep.
1. The question
In this there is nothing "for" me; but "of" me. It is yours.
For you to look inside of me; inside of me... And you.
Let me be your looking glass.
Discover what a new and different person,
Who you've never known before,
Dwells within, without, with all around one central core.
Humanity from man to man and inhumanity...
Competition runs between / betwixt...
Compassion once and rage again run hand in hand in me;
A vacuum where contrasting forces mix.
A lilac in the early spring surprised by winter snow..
The blossom of a dying tree in crumbling to the earth.
The funeral procession and the laughter as we go about
Forgetting death... Has life such little worth?
We go about to fill our ears with business not our own.
We seek to know of tragedy; but not concerning us.
Yet, striking home a hurting blow is worse than worsest bad,
And no one knows our plight. We're drowned in dust.
In dust our eyes see dizziness inside our spinning heads.
The road unclear, we do not care, in part, as much to know
In which direction footsteps lead. We stumble through the dead
Until the dealer calls our bluff... It's time to go.
Life in a vacuum, struggling for air.
Mind of confusion going nowhere.
Mingling feelings... Vanishing hopes...
Time revealing tangling ropes
Of tied up ambitions offering naught
Of that satisfaction for which life has sought.
Confusion! Confusion is all that I see;
Sadness and happiness all around me.
Eight hour days and eight hour nights...
Land and sea and free-falling flights.
The oceans of air swirling round in my head
With the burnt leather stench of the things which are dead.
Decaying of man in his own burning flesh
While our visions of harmony want for a fresh,
A new, and equal start...
While peace through destruction seeks to depart
From peace through peace,
Which we never have known,
But have longed for and hoped for and needed so long.
Are we coming to end?
Will we ever begin to find the world we've waited to see?
Is it only our dust that will set us free?
2. The need to simplify
With all the world in apathy, still optimism dwells in me
Along with pessimistic views of this world which was meant to be
A paradise for man to live, and not to die beneath its crust.
But we have seen that all are fated once from dust to dust.
The contrasts mixed within our souls...
The paradox of life itself...
The mysteries explored by minds, explained by man
To no avail.
The love and hate... Both different, yet one...
The beauty of ugliness... The giant. The elf.
Success and failure in reaching our goals,
Though even succeeding still we fail
To grasp the meaning of it all.
We rise to a peak... We stumble and fall;
Yet pick ourselves up and continue our search;
To live life and love it for all it's worth.
For life in itself is a beautiful thing,
Meant only to bring out the best within men;
The love within man;
For the beauty of life is always at hand:
The free and unbound flight of a bird...
The soft sweet silence of new-fallen snow...
The great chameleon forest of green and yellow,
Of orange, of brown and gold...
The joy of a child,
Or an off-colored joke...
The thrill of a swim, or a ski-riding boat...
The summer walks with the one you adore...
Just watching TV on a carpeted floor.
The simplest things in this world seem to bring
The most joy to my heart through the winter and spring
And summer and fall.
No matter how small
I laugh at them all.
They give to my heart a lasting song,
And I'll sing it and love it my whole life long.
3. The need to laugh
For I...
I am a wandering minstrel;
A jester of a thousand nights,
And days if day permits me
To jest in folly as the world is passing the day
One moment to next
Laying up its gain.
Oh, world! I cannot understand you...
Coveting more... Forever more.
True. True.
It's something to do.
A thing worthwhile for some men.
They smile
And go about
To gain more and more.
I long for more...
For a better life.
I crave all the pleasures that life has to give.
But not so important I find them as most.
They're not to break one's back to gain.
I merely say, "what I have, I have.
What I gain, I gain."
What I have not makes for another day.
It's better not to fain desire
For those things which are out of reach...
Out of sight.
To desire and not gain
Is to gain only pain.
To let pass by the folly in a smile,
In a laugh,
In a roar of mirth is a sin...
But to capture a moment for levity's sake
And to laugh at yourself
Is to win.
4. The game
As the days may seem long, so is life just as short,
And time so fleeting that too soon it's gone;
But living should still be a joy,
Not a chore,
And if life is a task, then it's wrong.
For he who is always too busy to live,
Who lets selfish anger and greed rule his mind
Is missing so much of the meaning of life,
And so doing betrays his own kind.
So, let us think what can be done,
And let us all then act our parts.
For are we all not actors in the game of life
From the very start of life
As life we know and live.
Have we all not something to give:
A song, a poem, a moment of mirth.
The simple act of kindness is worth
So much in troubled times as these.
To think we can turn our heads with ease
Makes my blood run cold with fear.
When men turn away without lending an ear
To his brother in need,
And walk calmly away,
And ease his conscience another day.
5. Winning
In the tempest of life I serenely saunter,
Picking up bits and pieces of humanity;
Interring in my mind the facts and figures before me.
I walk in the realm of reality,
With the knowledge of ending mortality;
To make the most of the time at hand,
And to not live a life of fatality.
The creature of age creeps into my life
With slow steadiness,
And I look back to ask,
"Where have I been?
What have I done?
Have I accomplished my goals?
Have I won?"
Life is too short to tread on triviality.
The things held most dear must come to the front
And lead us along through the light and the dark.
We should always be able to make the remark,
"Today I lived and laughed and loved;
Took each thing as it came and put it in place;
Recorded each smile, each frown, every face."
Then we can say that our life is worthwhile
And face the next day with a smile.
Within these lines my lament has its start
In scanning the surface of love, truth and art.
I beckon to this generation of man,
Take a look at yourself if you can;
To see where you're from and where you must go;
To see what you'll reap from the seeds that you sow.
Look in my mirror and see my heart,
But don't be surprised if you see a small part
Of your very own heart... Your very own soul.
Then look to yourself.
Seek to find your own goal.
Time
Time is a wandering sailor
Forever roaming across the sea.
Ever seeking the new, the unknown,
The untraveled. To be a part of that sea.
Knowing no past. Seeking no end.
Longing to know the answers of life.
Never caring what made it begin
To wander in space. It seeks out no friend.
Unforgiving; moving...moving.
Running away with life and breath.
Yet giving us just enough of itself
To realize the meaning of life and death.
To pass to posterity knowledge of mind,
And pass ourselves to the annals of time.
The Good Samaritan
If you encounter a stranger
Wandering through your life,
Not knowing where he is going,
And not remembering where he has been,
Don't turn him away
Without first giving him some direction.
That stranger may be you.
War
Serpents creep...
Men sleep.
Tigers walk...
Men talk.
All is quiet...
Men fight.
Birds fly...
Men die.
Creatures sleep...
Mothers weep.
Selections from "Poetic Glimpses from a Window"
Glimpses From A Window
What is a poem?
These lyrical little glimpses of life,
Snippets from the window of one's soul;
A tiny picture framed in rhyme,
Formed by words as they unfold.
'Come, let me show, let me demonstrate',
Pleads the poet's gentle sigh.
'Let my words paint a landscape of life,
Of the sun and stars, moon and sky.'
Quickly the words leap out from the page
Flowing swiftly like waters downstream;
Painting a portrait of metaphor,
Creating a world filled with dreams.
Finding our souls with a measure so sure
That the truth of it cuts like a knife.
Leaving us wondering who stole our tale
In a glimpse from the window of life.
Winter Trees
A thousand million tentacles
Reaching skyward toward the sun,
Laid bare against the winter sky,
The summer's tale undone.
Where once the hue of green and gold
Stood succulent and lush,
A nakedness abides amidst
The frigid snow and slush.
Winter trees are stark, foreboding,
Knowing no defeat.
They reach out to the sun in hope,
Like beggars in the street.
Waiting for the gentle spring,
The kindness of a friend,
To give its warmth and sustenance
And bring it life again.
The Sun Still Rises
The world may look as if it's gone
To Hades in a basket.
The streets may cry with hatred;
The open road with fear.
The battlegrounds explode
To give combatants the impression
That the world itself has come apart;
May not survive the year.
But the sun still rises.
And you may try to run away
And hide from grave misfortune;
Denying the existence of
Mortality and fears,
And you may quake to know
That each beginning has an ending;
That all must someday be
The sad recipient of tears.
But the sun still rises.
And though all life may pass away,
Come the dawning of the day,
The sun still rises.
Aromatics
What are your favorite aromatics?
I'm sure that you have quite a few.
I have some thoughts with which you may agree.
Come! Let me share them with you.
What could be better than freshly baked bread?
It makes the mouth water;
A pallet's delight.
Almost as refreshing as gentle spring rain
Coming softly and quiet on a hot dusty night.
The sweet lofty smell of vanilla in baking
Arrives on wings sent from heaven above.
The bold brawny scent of a coat made of leather;
Another aroma that I've come to love.
To open the door, for the very first time,
Of a brand new car as it sits on the lot.
To breathe in deeply the heavenly scent
Of your favorite coffee fresh from the pot.
But of all of the odors abundant on earth
To tease the olfactory nerve,
The lilacs of spring are my personal choice.
A memory cherished, to keep, to preserve.
So, keep these and others, your own favorite scents.
Remember and treasure them well.
One of god's greatest gifts to the human condition
Is our marvelous, glorious sense of smell.
Aches and Pains
Oooh! My gosh! My goodness!
That never hurt before.
In younger days I could overdo
And still come back for more.
But these days even simple acts,
Like the turning of the head,
Can cause an aching in the neck
And be a source of dread.
The acts of bending, kneeling, stooping,
Reaching, grabbing hold,
Offer up a quick reminder
Of the pains of growing old.
It makes it necessary to learn
Modesty and pace;
To deal in moderation
And not try to run a race.
The wise man learns that brawn
Is not a substitute for brains.
It helps when age requires us all
To deal with aches and pains.
Rivers and Lakes
Rolling, flowing, freely filling,
Mighty rivers run downhill,
Capturing each dewdrop
They encounter on the way.
Seeking larger basins to
Deposit all their bounty;
Gravity, it seems,
The only law they must obey.
Greening all the lands which would
Lay bare without their favor;
Playful home to creatures
Who exits on fin and gill.
Bountiful the harvest
Planted near her mighty shoulders.
No great plan to undertake;
No duty to fulfill.
Lakes and rivers are the givers.
Mankind takes from rivers and lakes.
The Complaint Department
Sorry, sir or madam,
The complaint department's closed.
You'll need to tell someone
Who gives a damn.
I've simply heard enough of
Your inane and moany whining.
Come again tomorrow.
Thank you, ma'am.
Why is it people whine and moan
And cry and plead in bitchy tones?
Why can't they just accept things
And react as if they're fully-grown?
It's children's ploy to make a noise
And fuss when things don't go their way.
Maturity should bring us reason,
But it doesn't, sad to say.
So, I repeat redundantly,
As I sit relaxed, reposed,
This complaint department,
Regrettably, is closed.
What is a poem?
These lyrical little glimpses of life,
Snippets from the window of one's soul;
A tiny picture framed in rhyme,
Formed by words as they unfold.
'Come, let me show, let me demonstrate',
Pleads the poet's gentle sigh.
'Let my words paint a landscape of life,
Of the sun and stars, moon and sky.'
Quickly the words leap out from the page
Flowing swiftly like waters downstream;
Painting a portrait of metaphor,
Creating a world filled with dreams.
Finding our souls with a measure so sure
That the truth of it cuts like a knife.
Leaving us wondering who stole our tale
In a glimpse from the window of life.
Winter Trees
A thousand million tentacles
Reaching skyward toward the sun,
Laid bare against the winter sky,
The summer's tale undone.
Where once the hue of green and gold
Stood succulent and lush,
A nakedness abides amidst
The frigid snow and slush.
Winter trees are stark, foreboding,
Knowing no defeat.
They reach out to the sun in hope,
Like beggars in the street.
Waiting for the gentle spring,
The kindness of a friend,
To give its warmth and sustenance
And bring it life again.
The Sun Still Rises
The world may look as if it's gone
To Hades in a basket.
The streets may cry with hatred;
The open road with fear.
The battlegrounds explode
To give combatants the impression
That the world itself has come apart;
May not survive the year.
But the sun still rises.
And you may try to run away
And hide from grave misfortune;
Denying the existence of
Mortality and fears,
And you may quake to know
That each beginning has an ending;
That all must someday be
The sad recipient of tears.
But the sun still rises.
And though all life may pass away,
Come the dawning of the day,
The sun still rises.
Aromatics
What are your favorite aromatics?
I'm sure that you have quite a few.
I have some thoughts with which you may agree.
Come! Let me share them with you.
What could be better than freshly baked bread?
It makes the mouth water;
A pallet's delight.
Almost as refreshing as gentle spring rain
Coming softly and quiet on a hot dusty night.
The sweet lofty smell of vanilla in baking
Arrives on wings sent from heaven above.
The bold brawny scent of a coat made of leather;
Another aroma that I've come to love.
To open the door, for the very first time,
Of a brand new car as it sits on the lot.
To breathe in deeply the heavenly scent
Of your favorite coffee fresh from the pot.
But of all of the odors abundant on earth
To tease the olfactory nerve,
The lilacs of spring are my personal choice.
A memory cherished, to keep, to preserve.
So, keep these and others, your own favorite scents.
Remember and treasure them well.
One of god's greatest gifts to the human condition
Is our marvelous, glorious sense of smell.
Aches and Pains
Oooh! My gosh! My goodness!
That never hurt before.
In younger days I could overdo
And still come back for more.
But these days even simple acts,
Like the turning of the head,
Can cause an aching in the neck
And be a source of dread.
The acts of bending, kneeling, stooping,
Reaching, grabbing hold,
Offer up a quick reminder
Of the pains of growing old.
It makes it necessary to learn
Modesty and pace;
To deal in moderation
And not try to run a race.
The wise man learns that brawn
Is not a substitute for brains.
It helps when age requires us all
To deal with aches and pains.
Rivers and Lakes
Rolling, flowing, freely filling,
Mighty rivers run downhill,
Capturing each dewdrop
They encounter on the way.
Seeking larger basins to
Deposit all their bounty;
Gravity, it seems,
The only law they must obey.
Greening all the lands which would
Lay bare without their favor;
Playful home to creatures
Who exits on fin and gill.
Bountiful the harvest
Planted near her mighty shoulders.
No great plan to undertake;
No duty to fulfill.
Lakes and rivers are the givers.
Mankind takes from rivers and lakes.
The Complaint Department
Sorry, sir or madam,
The complaint department's closed.
You'll need to tell someone
Who gives a damn.
I've simply heard enough of
Your inane and moany whining.
Come again tomorrow.
Thank you, ma'am.
Why is it people whine and moan
And cry and plead in bitchy tones?
Why can't they just accept things
And react as if they're fully-grown?
It's children's ploy to make a noise
And fuss when things don't go their way.
Maturity should bring us reason,
But it doesn't, sad to say.
So, I repeat redundantly,
As I sit relaxed, reposed,
This complaint department,
Regrettably, is closed.
Selections from "Off the Wall"
Off the Wall
Off the ceiling, off the road,
Off to the left or right.
Bounce a ball off a bald man’s head.
Try to start a fight.
Bleed the blood of a martyr’s cry
Tempt the siren’s beckoning call.
Keep the spirit if the fight
Comes flying off the wall.
Heed the cries, absorb the pain,
And let it drain to dry.
Scratch and claw back on the ride,
Unafraid to try.
Beat the odds when challenged to
Step up and take the fall.
Winners are survivors who
Come crashing off the wall.
Freeform
It sprawls without boundaries
Mixing and matching the matchless contortions
Maligning its meaning, the interlocking pieces
That just don’t fit. Turned upside down
So you can’t see the picture,
Can’t match the colors.
Where are the corners in this portrait puzzle?
Show me the borders. I’ll find the rest
As time permits and patience allows,
If patience enters the picture at all.
Who cares if it’s flawed, in need of perfection?
Who holds up the mirror expecting to find
Not a sign of a blemish, a scar, an enigma?
Let washed away tears stain all yesterday’s sorrows.
Tomorrow’s the promise,
The ultimate prize.
It comes without knowing, a constant
Companion. The only thing sure in this free-form existence,
This life, this cathedral.
Today is what brings us to hope for tomorrow.
Maggot in the Morning
Getting past this point is the
Hardest part of the night for some.
Those mealy-mouthed minions
Sucking away the resplendent nourishment
Given of sleep.
The rejuvenation of darkness,
The silence, the stillness
Recharging the senses to speak.
Waking falls hard when the maggot
Comes calling.
Consciousness fails although consequence knows
It’s responsibility waiting the morning.
The maggot keeps feeding, eating the darkness,
Filling its’ belly to the point of bursting,
Denying the light for as long as it can.
The Blushing Groom
You do not come to this day without fear,
Without trepidation, without doubt or woe, but
You cannot imagine your future without her,
A chasm so deep that you don’t want to know.
Who is this siren whose song so enthralls?
Whose wiles have enslaved your resistance to naught?
How have you fallen to her bold enchantment?
Is this the world of perfection you’ve sought?
Questions come quickly while answers take flight,
Slaving your soul, an unquenchable quest.
But all doubt is squelched by the lilt of her laughter.
The answer is simple. The answer is yes.
She waits in the wing, demure in her beauty.
You stand at the ready, a bundle of nerves.
Trying to catch just a glimpse of her ankle,
Knowing she’s more than you’ll ever deserve.
Somewhere there’s music to coax in the background.
Everywhere smiles adorn faces with love.
You at attention, a blush on your cheek.
Waiting. Adoring. Blessed from above.
The Weight of All Evidence
Innocent! I cried. I am the victim,
Bashed and abandoned to deep wells of scorn.
Notice the scars left to blemish my spirit,
Violent cuts my soul to adorn.
Where is the justice? If justice be served.
Who’ll cleanse my wounds and lay bindings upon all the Bleedings? The pleadings? Who stops the tears?
Where is the solace now all hope is gone?
You were my hero, pedestal-rider.
You were the pinnacle, my source of light.
Steadfast and solid, a human Gibraltar.
How could I know you would ever take flight?
The scythe of the Reaper has torn out my heart,
Hidden away someplace I may not know.
Hopeful that someday I’ll see you again.
The weight of all evidence tells me so.
Brushing Up Against Evil
Bring me my sweater to break off the chill,
Maybe a blanket to cover my shoulders.
I think I may never have felt so alone, so abandoned,
The steely breath bolder and colder.
Clenched teeth do nothing to ward off the feeling that
Something is somewhere, nowhere to be found.
Fist flexed in anguish, pumping, unpumping,
Ready to fly at the slightest sound.
Where did this come from? Where is it going?
Where can I hide til it passes away?
Ill winds, chilled winds howling in sorrow,
The voices of millions lost an afraid.
Flight would seem futile, nowhere to hide
From this eminent creature, this demon, this saint.
Pure in its way to the aspect of evil.
Searching, seeking, devouring the untainted
Hearts of the masses, one at a time.
Needing and feeding, then feeding some more.
Shield me, oh Heavens, from this branded torture.
Help me to win this battle,
This war.
V is for Vacate
I was minding my business
When all of it started,
Had no intention of mixing it in.
Had no Illusions of being its Marshall.
Wanting instead to be left alone.
I am no savior,
Not from Samaria,
Not some vast organization of charity
Bent on saving the world in its suffering.
More Mother Hubbard without a bone.
So, why was I tagged? Why me the target?
Was it just happenstance calling my name?
Much more comfortable as a mere witness,
Innocent bystander, uninvolved
In this chaotic measure thrust on my shoulder,
Caught in the middle of conflicting views.
Next time I’ll walk away, vacate the zone.
Let someone else find the strength to resolve.
Off the ceiling, off the road,
Off to the left or right.
Bounce a ball off a bald man’s head.
Try to start a fight.
Bleed the blood of a martyr’s cry
Tempt the siren’s beckoning call.
Keep the spirit if the fight
Comes flying off the wall.
Heed the cries, absorb the pain,
And let it drain to dry.
Scratch and claw back on the ride,
Unafraid to try.
Beat the odds when challenged to
Step up and take the fall.
Winners are survivors who
Come crashing off the wall.
Freeform
It sprawls without boundaries
Mixing and matching the matchless contortions
Maligning its meaning, the interlocking pieces
That just don’t fit. Turned upside down
So you can’t see the picture,
Can’t match the colors.
Where are the corners in this portrait puzzle?
Show me the borders. I’ll find the rest
As time permits and patience allows,
If patience enters the picture at all.
Who cares if it’s flawed, in need of perfection?
Who holds up the mirror expecting to find
Not a sign of a blemish, a scar, an enigma?
Let washed away tears stain all yesterday’s sorrows.
Tomorrow’s the promise,
The ultimate prize.
It comes without knowing, a constant
Companion. The only thing sure in this free-form existence,
This life, this cathedral.
Today is what brings us to hope for tomorrow.
Maggot in the Morning
Getting past this point is the
Hardest part of the night for some.
Those mealy-mouthed minions
Sucking away the resplendent nourishment
Given of sleep.
The rejuvenation of darkness,
The silence, the stillness
Recharging the senses to speak.
Waking falls hard when the maggot
Comes calling.
Consciousness fails although consequence knows
It’s responsibility waiting the morning.
The maggot keeps feeding, eating the darkness,
Filling its’ belly to the point of bursting,
Denying the light for as long as it can.
The Blushing Groom
You do not come to this day without fear,
Without trepidation, without doubt or woe, but
You cannot imagine your future without her,
A chasm so deep that you don’t want to know.
Who is this siren whose song so enthralls?
Whose wiles have enslaved your resistance to naught?
How have you fallen to her bold enchantment?
Is this the world of perfection you’ve sought?
Questions come quickly while answers take flight,
Slaving your soul, an unquenchable quest.
But all doubt is squelched by the lilt of her laughter.
The answer is simple. The answer is yes.
She waits in the wing, demure in her beauty.
You stand at the ready, a bundle of nerves.
Trying to catch just a glimpse of her ankle,
Knowing she’s more than you’ll ever deserve.
Somewhere there’s music to coax in the background.
Everywhere smiles adorn faces with love.
You at attention, a blush on your cheek.
Waiting. Adoring. Blessed from above.
The Weight of All Evidence
Innocent! I cried. I am the victim,
Bashed and abandoned to deep wells of scorn.
Notice the scars left to blemish my spirit,
Violent cuts my soul to adorn.
Where is the justice? If justice be served.
Who’ll cleanse my wounds and lay bindings upon all the Bleedings? The pleadings? Who stops the tears?
Where is the solace now all hope is gone?
You were my hero, pedestal-rider.
You were the pinnacle, my source of light.
Steadfast and solid, a human Gibraltar.
How could I know you would ever take flight?
The scythe of the Reaper has torn out my heart,
Hidden away someplace I may not know.
Hopeful that someday I’ll see you again.
The weight of all evidence tells me so.
Brushing Up Against Evil
Bring me my sweater to break off the chill,
Maybe a blanket to cover my shoulders.
I think I may never have felt so alone, so abandoned,
The steely breath bolder and colder.
Clenched teeth do nothing to ward off the feeling that
Something is somewhere, nowhere to be found.
Fist flexed in anguish, pumping, unpumping,
Ready to fly at the slightest sound.
Where did this come from? Where is it going?
Where can I hide til it passes away?
Ill winds, chilled winds howling in sorrow,
The voices of millions lost an afraid.
Flight would seem futile, nowhere to hide
From this eminent creature, this demon, this saint.
Pure in its way to the aspect of evil.
Searching, seeking, devouring the untainted
Hearts of the masses, one at a time.
Needing and feeding, then feeding some more.
Shield me, oh Heavens, from this branded torture.
Help me to win this battle,
This war.
V is for Vacate
I was minding my business
When all of it started,
Had no intention of mixing it in.
Had no Illusions of being its Marshall.
Wanting instead to be left alone.
I am no savior,
Not from Samaria,
Not some vast organization of charity
Bent on saving the world in its suffering.
More Mother Hubbard without a bone.
So, why was I tagged? Why me the target?
Was it just happenstance calling my name?
Much more comfortable as a mere witness,
Innocent bystander, uninvolved
In this chaotic measure thrust on my shoulder,
Caught in the middle of conflicting views.
Next time I’ll walk away, vacate the zone.
Let someone else find the strength to resolve.
Selections from "Enter at Your Own Risk"
Enter Here
Welcome all who dare to enter,
Care to take a look inside.
Candles flicker introspection;
Murky depths where monsters tend to
Hide from unsuspecting prey,
Shadow stalking building to
Last minute leaping, thrashing slashing.
If you venture, you must pay.
Asking price? A soul or two,
Or perhaps your dignity.
Brazen is the caretaker who
Sells this medicine to you.
Cross the threshold of this manor.
Plunge to darkness. Rise to light.
Hand on dagger, eyes and mind
Wide open, challenging the fear.
All are mortal in this kingdom
Where eternity begins.
Voices call out through the gloom,
Hope for all who enter here.
No Exit
You’re in it now right up to your knees;
A quicksand quagmire of coarse confrontation.
Stagnant in stalemate with no end, no exit,
No friend or ally to help share the load.
Faced with a frenzy of cautious confusion,
Flashes and firefights flooding the fray,
Beastly procession of angry antagonist
Rise from a distance to roar in your face.
Every angle meets staunch opposition.
Every side sidles out, closes in.
Flanked by the forces of fragmented evil,
Stench of his hot breath close to your throat.
Praying for miracles, waiting for angels to
Lift you and carry you out of the storm.
Raising your sword in final defiance.
Duel to the death.
Freedom at last.
No Escape
Doors locked tight in deadbolt fashion,
Windows barred. No latch. No key.
Trapped inside this prison fortress,
Waiting… yearning to achieve.
Duped by longings long forgotten,
Lulled by enigmatic pride to
Seek the comfort of your lodging,
Never thinking I may want to leave
Someday. Prideful, stubborn,
Hopeless to the bitter end.
Contemplating thoughtless choices.
Touching tear-stained eye to sleeve.
There was never time for singing,
Dancing, laughing, ploy or play.
Only cries of desperation, No escape.
No time to grieve.
There must be some far off refuge
Where the hopeless may aspire.
Forced to live in fruitless foil,
Waiting, yearning for reprieve.
Killers on the Loose
Hide the children. Cloister all the
Innocents who stand defenseless.
Warn them. Teach them to be wary.
There are killers on the loose.
Beast who stalk with stealth precision,
Stealing lives without remorse.
Monsters born to know no conscience,
Feel no pain, bear no grief.
Murders planned and carried out for
Recognition, nothing more.
Seeking blessings of hereafter,
As if God would have it so.
Twisted minds. Twisted mentors.
Twisted sheep in sacrifice.
Wake the giant from his slumber.
Judgment,
Justice to be served.
Manhandler
Think you’re tough?
Think you’re rough?
Acting such a rogue is just your bluff.
Storming from the table,
Cast your lot into a Cain and Able fable.
Alibis disguise your lies.
Still your dastard hand, you bastard.
You’ll not handle me in conquest,
Not without a heavy price.
I have seen your heavy-handed
Grand manipulations landed squarely
On an unsuspecting jaw
Just like a Billy club.
Bullish in your swank and swagger.
Swooping, storming in a lather.
Total disregard, no conscience.
Lower than the lowest grub.
Someday you’ll get your come-uppance,
Though it may not be from me.
I just hope to be around.
It’s something I would like to see.
Great Divide
We are just two bull rams seeking
Dominance among the herd.
Reason long suspended, vanquished
To some craggy mountaintop.
Now the only sound for miles is
Two heads butting with a crack so loud
It splits the crowded stillness,
Shattering the great divide.
Neither prone to letting go.
Neither one can walk away.
Hurling bodies seek to crush with
Fist-filled verbiage soaked in heat.
Blow-torch madness reaches fever
Seeking to crack skull to skull.
Who will finally succeed this
Caustic catastrophic game?
Neither bade such confrontation.
But it came,
No warning signs.
Evolution’s revolution,
No surrender…
No retreat….
You Can Run, You Can’t Hide
Darkened corners offer little comfort
As a hiding place.
Secret spaces so remote that no one
Knows your name, your face. Your alibi is
Suspect, just a rubber band that’s
Stretched to snap with one last tug.
Eye’s cast down trying to deny disgrace.
I was there.
I was witness to your folly;
So unwise.
Gambling your very soul, for what?
The odds of winning any prize were
So remote, stacked against your favor
From the very start.
But I could not convince you or
Erase the stardust from your eyes.
Now the knock upon your door
Coming to collect your debt.
Paying with a pound of flesh.
Sad conclusion.
Hard regret.
Tic Toc Tic
Ever forward, stepping out.
Are you enemy or friend?
Able to repair great sorrow,
Only to delay the bitter ending
That is sure to come.
Measuring in constant cadence
Ticking, tocking, ever so.
Far too busy to look back,
Never stop to find a home.
Bold and brave you sally forth,
Never known to shed a tear,
Wear a frown, laugh out loud,
Stone-faced bastard that you are.
Can’t you stop? Slow your pace?
Catch the fragrance while it lingers,
Or are you too busy trying desperately to
Reach your star?
Tic… No pressure. No emotion.
Toc… On board. No turning back.
Tic… No warning. No deception.
Challenging to raise the bar.
Welcome all who dare to enter,
Care to take a look inside.
Candles flicker introspection;
Murky depths where monsters tend to
Hide from unsuspecting prey,
Shadow stalking building to
Last minute leaping, thrashing slashing.
If you venture, you must pay.
Asking price? A soul or two,
Or perhaps your dignity.
Brazen is the caretaker who
Sells this medicine to you.
Cross the threshold of this manor.
Plunge to darkness. Rise to light.
Hand on dagger, eyes and mind
Wide open, challenging the fear.
All are mortal in this kingdom
Where eternity begins.
Voices call out through the gloom,
Hope for all who enter here.
No Exit
You’re in it now right up to your knees;
A quicksand quagmire of coarse confrontation.
Stagnant in stalemate with no end, no exit,
No friend or ally to help share the load.
Faced with a frenzy of cautious confusion,
Flashes and firefights flooding the fray,
Beastly procession of angry antagonist
Rise from a distance to roar in your face.
Every angle meets staunch opposition.
Every side sidles out, closes in.
Flanked by the forces of fragmented evil,
Stench of his hot breath close to your throat.
Praying for miracles, waiting for angels to
Lift you and carry you out of the storm.
Raising your sword in final defiance.
Duel to the death.
Freedom at last.
No Escape
Doors locked tight in deadbolt fashion,
Windows barred. No latch. No key.
Trapped inside this prison fortress,
Waiting… yearning to achieve.
Duped by longings long forgotten,
Lulled by enigmatic pride to
Seek the comfort of your lodging,
Never thinking I may want to leave
Someday. Prideful, stubborn,
Hopeless to the bitter end.
Contemplating thoughtless choices.
Touching tear-stained eye to sleeve.
There was never time for singing,
Dancing, laughing, ploy or play.
Only cries of desperation, No escape.
No time to grieve.
There must be some far off refuge
Where the hopeless may aspire.
Forced to live in fruitless foil,
Waiting, yearning for reprieve.
Killers on the Loose
Hide the children. Cloister all the
Innocents who stand defenseless.
Warn them. Teach them to be wary.
There are killers on the loose.
Beast who stalk with stealth precision,
Stealing lives without remorse.
Monsters born to know no conscience,
Feel no pain, bear no grief.
Murders planned and carried out for
Recognition, nothing more.
Seeking blessings of hereafter,
As if God would have it so.
Twisted minds. Twisted mentors.
Twisted sheep in sacrifice.
Wake the giant from his slumber.
Judgment,
Justice to be served.
Manhandler
Think you’re tough?
Think you’re rough?
Acting such a rogue is just your bluff.
Storming from the table,
Cast your lot into a Cain and Able fable.
Alibis disguise your lies.
Still your dastard hand, you bastard.
You’ll not handle me in conquest,
Not without a heavy price.
I have seen your heavy-handed
Grand manipulations landed squarely
On an unsuspecting jaw
Just like a Billy club.
Bullish in your swank and swagger.
Swooping, storming in a lather.
Total disregard, no conscience.
Lower than the lowest grub.
Someday you’ll get your come-uppance,
Though it may not be from me.
I just hope to be around.
It’s something I would like to see.
Great Divide
We are just two bull rams seeking
Dominance among the herd.
Reason long suspended, vanquished
To some craggy mountaintop.
Now the only sound for miles is
Two heads butting with a crack so loud
It splits the crowded stillness,
Shattering the great divide.
Neither prone to letting go.
Neither one can walk away.
Hurling bodies seek to crush with
Fist-filled verbiage soaked in heat.
Blow-torch madness reaches fever
Seeking to crack skull to skull.
Who will finally succeed this
Caustic catastrophic game?
Neither bade such confrontation.
But it came,
No warning signs.
Evolution’s revolution,
No surrender…
No retreat….
You Can Run, You Can’t Hide
Darkened corners offer little comfort
As a hiding place.
Secret spaces so remote that no one
Knows your name, your face. Your alibi is
Suspect, just a rubber band that’s
Stretched to snap with one last tug.
Eye’s cast down trying to deny disgrace.
I was there.
I was witness to your folly;
So unwise.
Gambling your very soul, for what?
The odds of winning any prize were
So remote, stacked against your favor
From the very start.
But I could not convince you or
Erase the stardust from your eyes.
Now the knock upon your door
Coming to collect your debt.
Paying with a pound of flesh.
Sad conclusion.
Hard regret.
Tic Toc Tic
Ever forward, stepping out.
Are you enemy or friend?
Able to repair great sorrow,
Only to delay the bitter ending
That is sure to come.
Measuring in constant cadence
Ticking, tocking, ever so.
Far too busy to look back,
Never stop to find a home.
Bold and brave you sally forth,
Never known to shed a tear,
Wear a frown, laugh out loud,
Stone-faced bastard that you are.
Can’t you stop? Slow your pace?
Catch the fragrance while it lingers,
Or are you too busy trying desperately to
Reach your star?
Tic… No pressure. No emotion.
Toc… On board. No turning back.
Tic… No warning. No deception.
Challenging to raise the bar.
Selections from "Imagine That..."
Imagine That…
Imagine that today’s the day
Your every wish comes true.
Those hopes that kept on being dashed
Have finally met fruition.
That age old dream of peace on Earth
Become reality,
Faith fulfilled and failure bashed
Beyond all recognition.
Tell me, where do you go from here?
Are you complete? Immortal?
Are there more wishes beyond perfect?
Nirvana having lit,
Is secular contentment the
Only thing that matters?
Are you resigned to rest?
Let imagination quit?
Sorry. Doesn’t work that way.
Must don a different hat.
Another day, another distant dream.
Imagine that.
Make Believe
(Playing with Alex)
I'll be... You be... Let's be someone,
Anyone but who we are.
Made up stories,
Nursery Rhymes,
Fireman, teacher, circus clown.
I'll be cashier. You be customer.
"May I take your order, please?"
Rescue Heroes saving victims,
Pulling from the murky depths
With length of rope found safely hidden
Just for such emergencies.
Chopper Coppers chasing speeders.
Call for back up. 9-1-1.
Blast off to a new dimension,
Aliens and robots threaten,
Traversing the universe to
Make it safe for all mankind.
Bolds adventures,
Grand enchantment,
Hearty struggle to survive.
Who will I be... you be... let's be?
What a joy to be just five.
Where Did That Come From?
Don’t know why
Or even when or where or
How it came about.
Didn’t see it in creation.
Came to life all on its own.
Broke the flow of concentration.
Shifted gleefulness to angst.
Played a game of woeful kinship
On a spirit wild and free.
Suddenly the world is nightfall,
Shadows lurk in apparition.
Dark foreboding,
Desperate silence
Searching, listening for the call.
Turning this way, that way,
Which way.
Each direction so unsure.
Wanting for a guiding angel.
Waiting for the next footfall.
Let’s Pretend
Would you like some tea?
Oh, here! Let me pour.
Would that be one lump or two?
Come sit for a while.
Won’t you tell me a story,
A fable, a nursery rhyme?
Any one will do.
Later we’ll journey to lands
Far and distant,
Rescue a maiden,
Slay a dragon – or two.
I can go anywhere,
Be anyone, do anything
As long as there’s you.
Imagine that today’s the day
Your every wish comes true.
Those hopes that kept on being dashed
Have finally met fruition.
That age old dream of peace on Earth
Become reality,
Faith fulfilled and failure bashed
Beyond all recognition.
Tell me, where do you go from here?
Are you complete? Immortal?
Are there more wishes beyond perfect?
Nirvana having lit,
Is secular contentment the
Only thing that matters?
Are you resigned to rest?
Let imagination quit?
Sorry. Doesn’t work that way.
Must don a different hat.
Another day, another distant dream.
Imagine that.
Make Believe
(Playing with Alex)
I'll be... You be... Let's be someone,
Anyone but who we are.
Made up stories,
Nursery Rhymes,
Fireman, teacher, circus clown.
I'll be cashier. You be customer.
"May I take your order, please?"
Rescue Heroes saving victims,
Pulling from the murky depths
With length of rope found safely hidden
Just for such emergencies.
Chopper Coppers chasing speeders.
Call for back up. 9-1-1.
Blast off to a new dimension,
Aliens and robots threaten,
Traversing the universe to
Make it safe for all mankind.
Bolds adventures,
Grand enchantment,
Hearty struggle to survive.
Who will I be... you be... let's be?
What a joy to be just five.
Where Did That Come From?
Don’t know why
Or even when or where or
How it came about.
Didn’t see it in creation.
Came to life all on its own.
Broke the flow of concentration.
Shifted gleefulness to angst.
Played a game of woeful kinship
On a spirit wild and free.
Suddenly the world is nightfall,
Shadows lurk in apparition.
Dark foreboding,
Desperate silence
Searching, listening for the call.
Turning this way, that way,
Which way.
Each direction so unsure.
Wanting for a guiding angel.
Waiting for the next footfall.
Let’s Pretend
Would you like some tea?
Oh, here! Let me pour.
Would that be one lump or two?
Come sit for a while.
Won’t you tell me a story,
A fable, a nursery rhyme?
Any one will do.
Later we’ll journey to lands
Far and distant,
Rescue a maiden,
Slay a dragon – or two.
I can go anywhere,
Be anyone, do anything
As long as there’s you.
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