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 all 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

Then, may I call myself
my brother’s keeper

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
our lovers nest
to do what we both
know is best
For there are no
straight lines between us
and time spent apart
is so everlasting

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 an 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
It seems like I work
to pay an unfair 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

I haven’t the wisdom
to soothe the grieving
nor comforting words
worth believing
But, I can cry
for a broken heart
and I can pray
for it’s broken parts
to find a way to come together again

Welcome to the landscape
It's distorted dimensions
What he sees
and what he breathes
Welcome to the skin of it
to the cracking bones of it's heavy undertaking
Now, walk with him
if you can
if you can bear the strain

When my own folly
paves the road to ruin
I rage against God

Everyone else is taken
So, you may as well be yourself
Rejoice in who you really are
and leave the mask up on the shelf

At the moment
of his greatest despair
he leaned back hard
his arms and hands outstretched
as if nailed to a cross
All he could utter
of his inconsolable grief was
“We’ll get’em next time”
But there is no next time
There is only today
and today a sort of death has crawled
up inside him to mock
all his worn-out platitudes
Like
“When the going gets tough
the tough get going”
“Tomorrow is another day”
and
“It ain’t over til the fat lady sings”

The appetite of time
is insatiable
It devours all
that was once mighty
and leaves
nothing but
the odor of decay

Sometimes I think
that dumping my vices
would in itself
create a crisis
Today the notion
to give it a try
leaves my leg hollow
and my throat dry
I find a glass of beer
to be blessed
and abstention
to be a great a test
of all that pious men
have written
about love of God
and religion
So, here’s to what
wins the day
and to hell
with what my conscience
has to say

I have no clothes
left to wear
They’re on the floor
because I left them there
They won’t get washed
lying on the floor
So, I guess I’ll stink
forever more

Why can’t my soul
quiet my mind?
They don’t seem
to be on the same page
One is in a place
I can’t seem to get to
the other
in a world of rage

The grandfather clock
in my grandmother’s house
stood silent in a corner all day
But, sometimes at night
it would grow in height
and I’d run before it had something to say

There are times that when I feel
mistreated by the world
I am reminded of just how unfair
the world can be
While observing the untold suffering of others and
my petition for happiness
seems nothing more
than an expression of ingratitude
in the form of a child’s temper tantrum

As it was
in the beginning
So, it is now
One can’t know
happiness
Unless, one learns how
to shed the last tear of the just
forever holding peace
thereafter

Tired are the eyes
that rest upon the sleep-deprived face
It comes to the mirror each morning
It keeps things from the curious companion
who leans against the bathroom sink
Waiting for some truth to break the unwashed silence