The bush burns brightly
in the freshly laid snow
When the light of the sun
sets it aglow
Like a 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 ink 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!

Grown to adults
and never left the crib
Addicted to consumption
and still wearing a bib
Drunk in the powerful
promise for more
Buying and selling
like a crack *****
Goods and services
Credit or cash
Salvation thrown out
with the next day’s trash

His is the face
of a heavy obligation to stay alive
For he carries the weight
of the dead
and they call to him
from their unmarked graves

Whether seeking pleasure
or running from pain
At the root of addiction
is trauma
Most find it easier
to blame it on genes
than expose
the family drama

It’s the nature of our nature
to be inflexibly unchanging
in view of a landscape
that is constantly rearranging
We can adapt and thrive
or we can barely survive
But, it’s the nature of our nature
to resist much that is changing

There’s a man on the street
dragging bags at his feet
with holes that are leaking sand
All the grains lost
have a dear cost
for time’s running out
on this man
Dizzy and frantic
His life’s in a panic
He’s a dog chasing it’s tail
The chaos ensues
when he can’t choose
Because he’s so afraid
he will fail

Anxiety is the dizzyness
of freedom
and is what I thought
Kierkegaard said
It appears there are many
who would rather no choice
than uncertainty
squirm in their heads

What manner is this in him
as to take no pleasure in vices
He had none
It gave him the appearance
of a pious man
which he was not
If there was pain
from a rough up-bringing
he seemed to be immune
to its effects
much as he was to vices
designed specifically for numbing
It was not a moral choice
Simply a road not taken

****** are the shoes
that walk the same streets
Go to the same places
Sit in the same seats
Wear the same threads
as the ones who were shot
But, what do we have
that they haven’t got?
They are gone
and we are not

Some days are like a dog
that won’t quit barking
An alarm that goes off
to stay on all day
until the sun sets
and the moon rises
Even then, there can only be
a temporary cease-fire with the
agreement that it all may begin again at first light

Wrong wrong
as the day is long
are mistaken beliefs
and they are so strong
Most resilient and
as tough as leather
Thoughts from bad wiring
all misfiring together
The groove is so deep
that it seems like the norm
thriving in the chaos
of a perfect storm

A young monk
eager to show his peers
the depth of his devotion
embarks on a long fast
After 12 days
he believes he has proven
worthy of respect
but, he finds no acknowledgement of his act
Discouraged, he goes to the abbot to tell him his tale of woe
After a long silence the abbot speaks
“Is it sacrifice for the good
of one’s soul
when no food is taken
from a full bowl?
Or is it martyrdom
thick with need
wrongly mistaken
for a sanctified deed?”

I think my cat
is big and fat
She doesn’t listen to me
So, I call her that
When she meows
I just have to grin
She didn’t sound like that
when she was thin
She will walk the hall
and take all day
That’s when I ask her
“ How much do you weigh?”
She’s getting older
but, not any thinner
I guess she could do
with a little less dinner

At times the scene
of an emotional disaster
He is the dog beaten
by he the cruel master
He and his father
rolled up into one
Father long gone
but lives on in his son

There’s a hole at my feet
that I know I must fill
and as long as it’s there
I cannot be still
Don’t know where it comes from
or how it appears
But it may be how
I cope with my fears
I work to cover
an unpaid bill
that was handed to me
against my will
But, for the most part
I think I’ll survive
As long as I don’t bury
myself alive

Miserable are those
whose weight of themselves
has become so heavy
as to care so little about others