I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.

The goddess drowns
Her smiling image does not frown
Unconcerned that she is going to disappear
For a complete year
How happily she was welcomed
All sang about her pride and cheered
Nine days of worship brought her glory
Creating crowd and history
Now leaving just clay and straw structure
With a tragic law seen with aperture
She is dragged out in the chariot
Carried on shoulders with sound of clarinet
Once Bethroned and triumphant
Now dispersed with chants
Once idol dressed in gold
Later reduced to mud
But she will return
We have to wait for another year

I ran with the fleet footed
only to be left ever so far far behind

I sat with the quick witted
only to find out we are not of the same kind

I prayed with the most religious so devout that only for God had they any time


I am a tent maker
I fiddle as I so please
I am at ease with my maker
He says bless you
every time that I sneeze


I am never at ease with one or many many more
I guess it was that surprise punch to the gut so I am always looking out there for more

I make friends only slowly
But I'm quick to let go
I live where there is found soot on the surface of snow

I have a family but only by blood . My son lives in Boston
My sister died in Orlando

I exist in my nowhere in the middle of my state
Just waiting on circumstance
so someday I can escape


"I am what I am and that's all that I am"
That's what Popeye would be sure to often say
Of course that is considered now to be so passe


If all of the I's in "if" were unbound I think more people would be willing
to stand for their ground

But when the "f" is surrounded by words I think it has people thinking they have fallen down

So I will end now
I really must go
I will get back to you
As sure as the sun
melts the soot on the snow

I reached for the stars,
And I think I may have reached too far.
The stars, they blistered and scorched my hands,
While I was just trying to understand
Of why in the first place I was there;
Up in space throwing a glare
at the moon.

The moon who shun a godly, divine light,
And at night
Who was so bright, white,
And elegant.
Space who was dark, and as dim as my soul:
The colour of ash and coal.
I was just trying to obtain a stupid goal
That I had.

And the moon was white, and the space was black.
The stars were gold and I had my back
Towards the earth.
But the gold stars and the white moon were not all that
When they brought down an evil wrath
On me.
So the sun, who I actually feared,
Cradled and held me near.
Rocked me from side to side and called me dear.
Circled the earth and formed a year
To teach me that looks can be deceiving,
Misleading,
And can lead to infinte internall bleeding.

Don’t love poetry
Because you’re on a hot writing streak;
Love poetry because you love poetry
And poetry loves you back
In all obstacles, times of staring into space,
And inspirational thoughts and ideas.
Love poetry because of the partnership
Between you, the author, and poetry, the bioluminescence
Of the literate ocean.

Don’t love life
Because you think you’re living the best one.
All lives are unique;
How troublesome it is
To consume time in chasing what only others
Can see and do accordingly.
Outside of being instructed,
Work, any kind of daily routine,
Create your own steps
Not by “hitting it big-time”
But humbly walking where you are
And embrace the sights right where you are
Because even the tiptoes of a journey
Lead you forward and allow you time,
Not for all views, but at least seeing one ordinary view
As glitzier than glitz itself.

Don’t love anything
If the reason you do is to impress anyone or everyone.
When you do what you do,
The truth will strain the ones who scoff
But leave you with the one(s) who see your heart
In what you do.
Live. Be open. Respond. Love. Stand your ground.
You’ll be surprised what or who comes around.