Do raindrops become
lost in the ocean
when they fall into the sea
or do they become
united as one
content with eternity?

Can life be so bad
that you’re better off dead
I asked a wise man
and here’s what he said:

“There’s no way out of life
except through death
So, beware of that spot
between a rock and a hard place”

To feel that
there is no hope
to fill
that which cannot be filled
to console
the inconsolable
to resurrect
that which will not be raised
is to know that
at least,
your pain
will not abandon you

Amidst all the disguises,
misrepresentations, and exaggerations
it eventually rises
to reveal the most surprising and
powerful version of itself
We curse at the blackards who
insult it with lies
and knight those
who sacrifice everything for the
honor of defending it

Yet, at times
and not for the better
we also bear the scarlet letter
as adulterers of the truth

Can there be any greater gift
than the lesson of how to be happy
Too many students
not enough teachers

When wind moves through it’s limbs
and blows down through my hair
I seem to forget
about the burdens I bear
And whenever this pall
cast it’s shadow on me
you will find me outside
standing next to a tree

Mindful to tread
ever so lightly
that fertile ground
we visit nightly
Careful now
it’s takes so little
to awaken adrift
in sweat and spittle
The pleasant dream
betrays yet again
hurling the psyche
into a den
of frightening, blood-thirsty nightmares

To feel the ache of suffering
is to to look no further than
the space between the lines
It is where the homeless echoes live
and they try to convince us
that faith will not get us through
this long, arduous trip from home

I remember
a summer of water colors
softly lit
by the light of the sun
Holding hands
along the lake’s hidden beaches
Waltzing in the twilight
when the day was done

Age always comes before wisdom
if wisdom ever comes at all
And what a pity
for the young and pretty
if wisdom’s not there for the fall

My we revel in the here and now
releasing ourselves from tomorrow
Time ill spent can’t be returned
and we don’t know how much has been borrowed

Sometimes inside
I see oceans
inspired
by the breadth of the sea
From atop a great hill
my heart and lungs fill
with a spirited hunger to be

Sometimes inside
there are valleys
buried in layers of sand
Where eyes have not cried
for dreams that have died
and hope is lost once again

We are little boats
in the harbor
yearning to set sail
for the sea
Tied to the docks
the fear in us mocks
our God-given right to be free

Splashes of Van Gogh’s yellow
from the daffodils of Spring
color the Winter canvas
to inspire the birds to sing
Though, a bit more than a casual hint
when flowers pop through the snow
The stubborn incumbent season
just does not want to go
It has become apparent to me
as I gaze at the budding trees
that Winter can do nothing more
than wave goodbye and sneeze

Yesterday a hazy memory
Tomorrow is but a dream
Today’s expectations working hard
to build a head of steam

Avoiding pain
and chasing pleasure
Another vice
for good measure
We cannot stay
So, we’re on our way
searching for that hidden treasure
of heaven’s fragrance
in the air
that lets us know
that love is there

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 a 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