Crying

It brings me discomfort to see people cry.

I never know how to react or respond

To the steadfast emotion so common to humans;

So deeply attached to the frailties we share.

It's so unpredictable, so like the wind;

Clouds laden with moisture

That burst at the seams.

One truly can never anticipate

What may precipitate unwanted tears

To burst upon hearts with a jagged edge,

With a vengeance to tear out our dreams.

Sadness is all around every day and

Tears are abundant to wash it from sight,

But tears alone never will take it away;

Crying will not set things right.

So, we cry for our losses...

We cry for ourselves...

We cry for the pain that we must endure.

We cry for the child who cannot understand.

We cry - because life is unsure....

 

Celebrate Quietly

I sit in the darkened room and wonder,

Marvel even at the great good fortune

Now bestowed upon me

Here among the Arts elite.

Watching as the actors play the rolls

That were created in my mind

So very long ago

Now cast for all the World to see.

I try to read the mind of one who

Watches with a quiet patience

And a chuckle now and then

When the timing is just right.

I cringe when someone flubs a line.

"That's not what they were meant to say."

I wonder, when it's over will I want to

Run and hide from sight?

Waiting for the final scene...

The audience applause.

My heart then quietly celebrates;

My mind arush can take a pause.

 

A Heart Breaks

You were my world at daybreak;

Shining, glowing with the amber light

That grew to passion's fiery red

Long before the morning awoke.

We thought we would last forever,

Knew our torch would light the way.

Pity that the flame concealed the

Demons lurking in the smoke.

 

Time can be an evil teacher

When the truth at last unveils

The colors hidden in the heart

Which, early on, were cloaked and masked.

Had we seen in the beginning

What the trek of time revealed,

We would not have made the journey,

Would not have been so sorely tasked.

 

All the wonders one foresees

While other roads the mind forsakes.

This path was not meant to be.

In the end...  a heart breaks.

 

When the Leaves Leave

It's snowing now; has been for a day

Or more. The evergreens are pregnant

Pure with white, and the sidewalks sigh

With the weight until shovels clear

And the sun arrives and it can breathe again.

 

Now the elm tree waits, hoping Springtime will

Renew all the innocence and joy that

It once knew 'til the Winter winds

Blew her covers far away

And laid bare her soul for the world to see.

 

And you were gone in the early Autumn air.

As the leaves were falling, fate was

Planning, too. And you left me here

Standing stark and alone; sighing, shivering

With loss no one has ever known before.

 

...Sadly now, the leaves have simply blown

Away 'til threadbare limbs flail wild in

Winter winds. And I'm wondering,

Are you somewhere safe tonight?

And does God have mercy for those left behind?

 

You Don't Understand

I know that we speak the same language.

You know that I've said it ten thousand times,

But somehow we're just not communicating

In enumerating a tired old theme.

Taking apart every syllable,

Every nuance laid threadbare before us, picked clean.

And still you don't hear, or do you ignore?

Would it help if I shouted and screamed?

 

The rules of polite conversation sometimes

Tie the pitiful hands of the articulate

When the ears of the listener deafen and turn

In directions too often not meant to be tread,

Leaving the speaker, the teller of stories, to

Squirm in frustration much to the point

Of wishing the listener, to his dismay,

Were strangled, beaten and left for dead.

 

Such a simple, magical plan...

Pity you don't understand.

 

I Don't Need Scissors

I don't need scissors to cut out your heart

And toss it aside without shedding a tear.

Actions and words have more cutting an edge

Than the most finely honed pair of stainless steel shears.

I won't abide by your mollified codes that

Demand acquiescence to civility.

You won't find me yielding or wielding an edge

To the notions of polite society.

There is a line which, when crossed, kindles sparks

That build to a wall of impenetrable fire

That can't be put down,

Cannot be extinguished,

But only grows deeper and hotter and higher.

 

You had to hurt me.

You had to dig.

You knew the ending right from the start.

Now it's my turn, and I won't be kind...

And I don't need scissors to cut out your heart.

 

Boom Box Theory

Every evening, 11 PM, we

Hear him pull through the alleyway

Headed to what must be the solace of

Hearth and home at the end of his day.

Not that the engine of his Tracker is

A loud unmuffled roar;

Not that the potholes in the alley scream

Of rattles bottomed out;

Not that he's greeted at his door by

Loved ones gladly welcoming his

Tired bones to a weary rest

After an arduous evening out.

How do we know our neighbor is home

Just as our sleep time is settling in?

"Boom-ba da boom-ba da boom, boom, boom"

Our walls quake with the deafening din.

How can he stand it?

What evil demon possesses his spirit...

Rules over his mind?

Piercing his ears to the marrow of bone,

Leaving all semblance of logic behind,

Filling his head like a horn of plenty...

He'll probably be deaf by the time he is twenty.

 

Pernicious Glitch

Joy... Anger... Pain... Sorrow...

Love... Elation... Hate... Depression...

Fear... Confusion... Agitation...

Jealousy...  Aggravation...

Logic doesn't seem to fit

The pattern of emotion

That the Human factor tends to lend

Our dismal dreary days.

No wonder we become confused

With minds befuddled and bemused

When pathways clutter and refuse

To follow logic's ways.

Like pieces of a patchwork quilt

All cut and scattered on the floor,

Like bricks before the house is built,

All separate and alone;

Until they're placed and stitched or mortared

In a pattern prearranged,

The pieces are just pieces...

The bricks are merely stone.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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 that 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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

 

Mine Forever

In a world that 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

That 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

That baits and goads to pull the lever

That would leave me cold and still.

Until such time, we stride together,

Hand in hand we climb the hill

 

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

That 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.

 

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

That cuts you to the bone.

 

Fish

I'm no big fan of seafood;

Never have been;

Never will be.

Though many love it, I find fish

Is not my cup of tea.

Those funny little aliens

Snatched from another world,

Where we would die in minutes

Were we untimely hurled.

I love to watch them flying

Through their liquid atmosphere;

Courting danger every moment

With no trace of fear.

Eyes that gaze expressionless

Into the sea ahead.

Caution-tempered innocence,

Unaware of dread.

 

Yes, fish are fascinating,

And to watch them is a treat;

Just as long as they're not placed

In front of me to eat.

 

Lawyers

They say the way to fix the law

Is to get rid of the lawyers;

A theory of some merit, I suspect.

A certain small percentage

Gives them all the "nom de plume"

Of a greedy, slimy, hateful, horrid sect.

Ethically unethical...

Self-serving in their creed...

Praying on the avarice

Inherent in mankind...

Hiding truth deep in the dark...

Keeping justice blind.

But hope lies in awareness

If we only take a look.

The advocate can change;

Can write a new page in our book.

With true concern and real compassion

We can turn a leaf,

And lawyers lose their reputation

Of praying on our grief.

 

Competition

Don't be too hard on yourself

If you don't win each time you try.

It's the trying that's important.

You never need an alibi

If you have given every measure

Of true effort in your quest.

Competition stirs the spirit

Bringing out your best.

Demons try to undermine us.

Selfish dragons snap and snarl.

Pushing, pulling, nagging, yelling,

Baiting... Begging not to quarrel.

Just remember in the end

You've just one life to save.

You can't let competition

Put you in an early grave.

 

Logic

My all-time hero is Mister Spock;

Not the doctor, but the trekker;

The science officer of the Enterprise.

Born of logic, freed of feelings,

Void of human fallacies.

No emotions evidenced

When gazing in his eyes.

Although his stoic countenance

Was carried to extreme;

Too complex for us to understand,

The aspect of his character

Is simple in its form;

Pointing to the frailties in man.

 

All things must be logical;

Adhering just to facts.

Science forms the singularly

All-embracing tract.

 

Fortunately, Spock was not

Completely void of feeling.

Even though his training hid it well.

His human half emerged and helped

To guide in his decisions

Like Pavlov's dogs

Responding to the bell.

 

So, even though I do admire

This "simple logic" notion,

I wouldn't really want to be

Void of all emotion.

 

Organization

What makes us do things just the way we do?

Who makes up all the rules of order?

Tell me. Was it you?

What makes a captain

More than a private?

What is a C.E.O.?

What gives police authority

To tell us where we cannot go?

What makes us put our things in order

And make a daily plan?

Explain to me why we do things

As we do, if you can.

Is it habit?

Is it logic?

Is it strategy?

Is it drawn upon a map

For all the world to see?

Can we simply let things happen

As they would anyway?

Why must we be organized

In planning out each day?

 

The Forest

When I was young

I loved to take off

Strolling through the woods;

Especially in autumn when

The leaves began to turn.

To watch the rabbits scamper

As they forage through the brush,

While squirrels stockpile food before

The weather gets too stern.

The tall trees tower over me

A hundred feet or more.

The babbling brook sings out its' cheerful song.

The life that fills the forest

Overwhelms the mortal mind.

It touches deep the soul

And lets you know that you belong.

 

Candles

We burn candles in our house.

It's kind of a tradition.

Not so much for the light they give,

Although the glow is nice.

We light them for the cleansing

They provide; the sweet aroma

Of vanilla, lilac, potpourri or spice.

Every fragrance you imagine

In your wildest dreams,

Plus a few of which you're not aware,

Placed in candles, sealed in wax

Until the fire screams,

Insisting you release them in the air.

Slowly melting, softly dying,

Giving of itself;

Flame that flickers, dancing to and fro.

Mesmerizing, hypnotizing

As it casts its spell.

There's something special in a candle's glow.

 

Eating

Eating is fun!  I like it. In fact

I do it all the time.

Perhaps at times I do a bit too much.

Munching on those tasty morsels:

Candy, cakes and pies,

Ice cream cones, bananas, cheese and such.

It's pure delight;

A welcome sight

When hunger's little pangs

Come strolling up to me on beggars' feet.

Perhaps I'd even lose some weight

If I ignored his plea;

If I didn't oh so dearly love to eat.

 

Brat

You can be such a bitchy brat

When life doesn't go your way.

I would console you,

But no matter what I do or say

It all gets twisted, turned around,

Mixed up, misunderstood;

As if you were expecting

Ill advice instead of good.

 

No matter what occurred to put

That scowl upon your face,

It's time to lighten up

And make your world a happy place.

No need for making everyone else

Miserable as well.

You just create a wash

Of your own private little hell.

 

So, don't take things too serious.

Don't dwell on this or that.

Life's too short to spend it

Being such a bitchy brat.

 

The Traveler

He can't sit still for long at a time.

His feet get itchy to roam.

Mind wandering to far off places;

His walking boots are his home.

A malcontent? I'm thinking not;

Just curious is all.

He simply must investigate

That mournful distant call.

It beckons like the sirens

Calling out to passing ships.

Its lure becomes obsession

As the frenzy stirs and whips.

There's nothing to control the urge;

No way he can evade.

The traveler must follow.

The journey must be made.

 

Building Blocks

Construction workers use them.

So do children at their play.

Housewives, clergy, taxi drivers

Use them every day.

 

Half a life is spent in learning;

Building a strong base.

When we try to run without them,

It's a losing race.

 

A life without foundation

Is often filled with strife.

Pinnacles are reached by using

Building blocks of life.

The Artist

Capturing the earth, the moon and stars

On the canvas of the mind,

The artist paints;

Creating worlds apart

From normal thought,

Worlds of wonder...

Things unseen by the naked eye.

Scenes not quickly understood;

Requiring thought

And quiet reflection,

Until his sight emerges from the canvas,

And the work becomes his soul.

 

Life Is Like a Ceiling Fan

It goes around, and round around

In never ending circles,

Stirring up a little breeze

To make its presence known.

Never asking questions...

Designed alone for comfort...

Offering relief to all

Who step into its zone.

 

A thing of giving;

Never wanting,

Never a demand...

Arms outstretched

As far as they can go...

Harvesting the air and

Giving forth its gentle blessings.

Life is like a ceiling fan?

If it were only so.

 

Neighbors

We have good neighbors, I suppose;

Though we see them hardly ever.

They wave politely, "hi- de-ho"

And go about their way.

I see them prying out their windows

As we're coming in,

Out of curiosity

I guess you'd say.

I see them on occasion

Hanging over back yard fences

Catching up on gossip

They're afraid they might have missed.

It worries me to see them laugh

Then look in my direction.

It makes me wonder why

I'm on their list.

I only hope in time of need

Or hopeless desperation,

When all the world is dark and cold and grim,

That I can call and they'll respond

With kindness and compassion,

The same way I, in turn,

Would give to them.