There’s more to you
than your problems
There is more to life than fun
Most of us have much to learn
so, you aren’t the only one

There is no place in which to flee
There is no place to hide
Running is no solution
The ones who know have tried

There are no easy answers
to questions no one asks
But, if you can find
who you really are
you can toss that heavy mask

If all is quiet
in your life at the front
be thankful for a roof and dry floor
But, get out the mops
before the other shoe drops
and water rushes through
every door

One day an embittered man
examined his rage for God
He resented God’s lack of protection from his imaginary demons
In the man’s saner moments
he found this notion disturbing
but knew that all the prayers
in the world would not change a thing because this mistaken belief
is how he coped with an unjust world
Each disappointing day
that didn’t go his way
he raged against God
until he could no longer say
that God  loved him

It is what it is
But, that is all that it is
Otherwise, it’s drama

To see not light
but, only darkness
is to live in a world
under a dull and lifeless spell
A type of trance or sleep
where dreams are as black as night
and the soul is nothing other than
a fellow cave dweller

She had kind way about her
But, part of her a little on guard
Grandma grew up when times were tough
Life could be cruel and hard
Solid as rock
Yet, soft as putty
When trying to be serious
delightfully nutty
She’d bake us pies from the apples
we picked from the tree in her yard

“Behind every cloud
the sun is still shining”
and within each one
a silver lining
So, take heart my friend
on a dark, gloomy day
and don’t listen to Gus
he will lead you astray

When he heard himself say
“It is what it is”
he dropped by the office
of Dr. sloe gin fizz
The doc stumbled in
stinking of gin
and placed a bottle
at the end of the table
Doc said “Down the hatch”
Rocky said “What’s the catch?
Doc slurred “Apparently, this
can make you unstable”

So many
live as prisoners
behind bars
made of the cold steel of hate
Dead men walking
with hearts too hardened
to grant reprieves

Riding through the sunlit countryside
in a roadster with the top down
on a fresh summer day
The greens are greener
The skies are bluer
As the bright colors fill my eyes
the essence of the day fills my soul
and I need not ask
why anyone would wish to be anything but alive

What sort of chance
does a kid have
when generations before him
follow him all the days of his life
training him in the ways of unhappiness?
Expect the worst my friends
and get it but, survive
Expect the best
but, get the worst
and you die

As I find myself standing
at the foot of this hole
A ***** in my hand
A little angst in my soul
I ask the same question
Again and again
Do I dig the hole deeper
of do I fill it in?

White represents
The innocence of birth
Never will the slate be so clean
Black represents
The contemplation of death
And red all the passion between

He fears what he fears
but , that is all that he fears
Then, that look of relief
as he looks in the mirror
“At least I don’t fear imperfection”

Help break this need
to be so busy
Pursuing self-worth
in such a tizzy
To know the value
of my birth
To be secure
in my own worth
To help myself
To do my best
To stop
To sleep
To truly rest

The bush burns brightly
in the freshly laid snow
When the light of the sun
sets it aglow
Like an apple of gold
in a silver picture
The scene
It breathes
the proverbial scripture

To be yourself
or not to be yourself
That is the question

The face that lives
inside the blot
is content today
not to stir the ***
To disturb the peace
is to break the lease
with the only friend
the man has got

If he has the blues
for more than a day
He bellies up to the bar
to chase them away
Soaks up the *****
Goes home to snooze
And when he wakes
there’s hell to pay

The stains from my coffee
dropped onto the paper
Then, randomly folded
into deliberate pleats
Revealed to me
the nature of it’s purpose
The place where the clouds
of imagination can meet

When there’s light
at the end of a tunnel
and the tour
of it’s darkness is done
May we never make
the careless mistake
of missing our time in the sun

The burden of rapture
all swollen in sadness
is love that’s a fever
that descends into madness
Yet, this perfect poison
is gladly taken
like a classic martini
Stirred but not shaken

Art
Music
Poetry
Sirens luring ships to the rocks?
Or beacons lighting the way
for mariners lost at sea?

Maybe in accepting
the pain in ourselves
we might see all
that it is offering
and maybe the resistance
not the pain itself
is causing most
of the suffering

I was just an observer
of a poor man’s death
I was there beside him
when he took his last breath
Shocked awake
and dripping wet
My body shivered
in a dead man’s sweat
“Be still my heart”
and may I perish the thought
of the terror in his face
and the horror it wrought
I may not be able
to sleep soundly again
If I cannot forget
where my dreams have been

To the fear of the future
from the regret of the past
flows the gift of the present
and all too fast
Adrift on a mighty river

The music is in there somewhere
Trying to tell your soul
it’s solely there to restore to you
what the sadness came and stole
Listen to the pleasant tune
It can’t be there by chance
The more you hear
The more you cheer
and you may even want to dance

There are days I wake up
on the wrong side of myself
I walk around with a bellyful of dynamite and a fuse for a tail
Until kaboom!
I then proceed to spend the rest
of the day picking up the pieces
and reassembling them into the sane person I was the day before

Though it may be difficult
to follow through
Saying “no” sometimes
is saying “yes” to you
It may appear selfish
and down-right rude
But, looking out for yourself
is the right attitude

How much of the truth
must be missing
before it is seen as a lie?
You can bathe it and dress it
Maybe make it smell nice
But, a pig always lives in a sty

How empty the heart
that cannot love itself
For it cannot give
what it does not possess
and the world suffers

Sometimes I wonder about an auto-immune disease of the mind
when, at the slightest urging,
I can attack myself
with a such a barrage of self-criticism
It’s no small wonder I get so mean
I’m all strapped in
the self ***-kicking machine

Here’s to the good
we do have
And be glad of the bad
we don’t
To all the strength
we must have
to do
what others won’t
To embrace our fathers
And love our mothers
To respect ourselves
as well as others
Here’s to what we do have
and not dwell on what we don’t

If my heart has hardened
giving only when rationed
may circumstances serve
to awake my compassion
and I become the holder
as well as the held
all hardened feelings
timely expelled

Most fears are echoes
of a fractured past
Duty-bound to prepare us
for apocalyptic fiction

A swath of denim
in a frame of leather
On top of which lies
A cross of feathers
Cries this collage
of my personal
Abstract Expressionism

Come back again
to the window sill
to take some coffee
until your fill
Before you leave
the lovers nest
to do what we both
know is best
For there can be no
straight lines between us

Geez Louise
I’ve been brought to my knees
Gripped by some evil
besieged by fried cheese
Enduring the upset
as best as I can
If only the stuff
had stayed stuck in the pan!

I dropped my head the other day
and found myself
playing cards and tipping a beer
at a table in Miss Kitty’s saloon
I was waxing philosophical
about the life of a cowboy
living in the city of Dodge
when I was awakened by
these sirens from hell coming
from outside my window

The gift of modern living
is the gift that keeps on giving

Nearly all the leaves have fallen
and the trees look lonely and bare
When Winter moves in
they will look so thin
standing in the cold air
I hope that they will be sleeping
as warm as the cat in my lap
and in the Spring
the birds will sing
to wake them
from a long winter’s nap

If there’s too much to do
and you’re too tired to do it
Put up your feet
and tell the world “***** it”

To be so uncomfortable
in the present moment
as to rush to get to the next one
Dancing like feet
touching hot coals
A machine of perpetual  motion

If his emotions rustle
with every wind that kicks up
it’s a sign that a storm is brewing
If he is not mindful
of the temptation of chaos
it could mean his ugly undoing

If a man is not doing
what his deepest self likes
he might want to notice
who is driving
But, to get to that
deepest part of himself
it’s going to take
some deep diving

I’ve noticed that wheat fields
are bare without crows
They seem to be missing
that brush of Van Gogh’s
Another sky bruised
by dreary November
in landscapes I can neither
forget nor remember

Thou shall not ****
until enemies prove worthy
the satisfaction of our revenge
May we be ever watchful
of all who would stain our honor
so as to punish with prejudice
And in the aftermath of such exactment
ignore that tiny place in our hearts
that carries the forgiveness of Jesus
so that we be not ashamed

When you can’t make
the perfect biscuit
When you can’t have
the perfect life
Just say “yes”
to this perfect moment
to see the fiction
in your strife

Whisper what you want of me
How much longer can I wait?
My hearing really is quite good
though I don’t always see too straight
I sit beneath a starry night
listening for a sign
But alas
more hours pass
that seem like a waste of time
Whisper what you want of me
I grow tired of the wait
I want to know the secret
before it is too late
What is it that you want of me?
Maybe I can’t see
if I’m asking you above
or if I’m asking me

What is it today
that I cannot say no
that it burns in my chest
like a volcano
What is it today
that fuels the resentment
as I nod my head “yes”
in reluctant agreement
I am usually sorry
when I don’t say no
when that little voice tells me
“I told you so”

I love you
a bushel and a peck
The smell of your hair
The tiny mole on your neck
The shape of your shadow
in the bright sunlight
The shine of the moon
on your face at night
Without you
my world would be a wreck
Besides, you’re a bargain
at a bushel and a peck!