‘Neath my head
I’m apt to keep
A feathered pillow
So that I may sleep

I rid my eyes
The last of sight
So true my mind
May know the night

I close my ears
To all the sound
And hear the bliss
Of silence found

As restful night
Wakes to the morn
A fresh new day
To me is born

Father, tie a ribbon
To an old oak tree
That will let me know
You’re still waiting for me
Don’t let the ugly past
Turn your love away
Please don’t forsake me
Because I went astray

If you choose to take a turn
Down that old oak lane
Find a branch that you can reach
Absolve me from the pain
Of regretful memories
And so much that has passed
Let me trade them for a ribbon
So I can come home at last

Men of a martyr
Live on the outer
Like disciples of Christ
Who are so enticed
To follow a message
To live like they oughta

Sometimes I think
that my search for meaning
in humanity
errs on the side
of humanity

Tenuous contrasts
Of dark and light
Shades of gray
In portraits of white
Form timeless images
Of bygone ages
Evidence of Time
And the war it wages
They’re nostalgic reminders
Of a simpler time
When the world was young
And life lived sublime

I avoid the pictures
That document the years
Resist the poses
In front of the mirrors
Convincing my mind
To allow me to stay
Forever young
Like Dorian Gray

Who are you actor?
Who are you really?
Indeed, you perform well
Yet, the question’s not silly

When the smile of a clown
Thinly veils a deep frown
Its disturbing façade
Makes the blood run chilly

There in a field
Along an old highway road
Among scores of wild flowers
Sat a lonely, little house
Abandoned
And not much to look at
It was the worse for wear
There had been no one there
To give it attention
And some proper care

For many, the house had gone unnoticed
But I was drawn to its solitude
I pictured myself
Sitting on its front porch
Watching a sunrise
Or rocking in a chair at night
Gazing upon the moon and stars
Provided especially for me
And my little house

We had our fears
and shed our tears
we labored on
through hidden years
when we look back
on lessons learned
we hope, at least
some bridges burned

I am a heathen
who just went vegan
and now I have nothing to eat
I have nothing but juice
and now I'm reduced
to searching for food in the street
they found me at dawn
on somebody's lawn
seasoning the boots on my feet
and to my dismay
I heard the cops say
boots are not what vegans can eat!
help me.

Sometimes I feel the Reaper
Winking at me
He wants to come over
For a chat and some tea
He’ll tell me that I am nothing
But an echo from the past
My future behind me
That I’m fading fast
He’ll score some very clever points
To weaken my resolve
Then sincerely assure me
There’s no problem he can’t solve
But like my neighbor’s crazy dog
Who barks up an empty tree
He and I
Won’t see eye to eye
And he may not enjoy his tea

Cantering through the clover
Listening to a golden flute
He savors this day
With little to say
And dreams of aesthetic pursuit

“I mean to be the master”
He whispers his dubious heart
“The beast cannot win
If I do not give in”
A fight it has been from the start

He has lost some difficult battles
Maybe more than he can count
The inevitable toll
Has tired the poor soul
But strengthened the rebellious mount

The nature of the untamed savage
And the conscience of an inner man
Are engaged in a war
Like never before
The broker doing all that he can

Winter may not be the best time
To look upon the trees
Some stand before us naked
Content if we don’t see

That they are less than beautiful
With their wardrobes gone
Hoping we do not notice
The need to put something on

It’s not like they’re embarrassed
Because they are asleep
So, be careful not to wake them
And for the moment, leave them be

like
a monk’s brilliant mosaic
of colored sand
inspired by God
and then gone
with the wave of his hand
art may capture one
of beauty’s glorious
but fleeting moments
and ease the pain
of its stubborn impermanence

Maybe happiness is gratitude
That I’m not anywhere but here
Completely in the moment
With little doubt or fear
Wearing a warm and gentle smile
That rides in with the wind
Asking the child I thought was gone
To come out and play again

As I rise
I do thee wake
A prayer I plead
I no longer ache

From the future’s curse
Of fret and worry
To the ache of regret
I have tried to bury

No more need to rule
No itch to conquer
All ledgers accounted for
By my tenure

As nothing obeys me
I have been so crowned
The King of Nothing
And to that I am bound

When I wake I wonder
What the day will bring
Will my heart run silent
Or will it choose to sing
Will I sense the tragic death
Of yet another day
Or feel enough true gratitude
To kneel to God and pray
Will I find the joie de vivre
To take life as it goes
Or see my reflection frowning
At the world and all its woes

Strolling through a field
In a Victorian gown
As if she were the model
For a painting well-known
As she spins a green parasol
In the Spring sun
Her hair breaking free
From the shape of a bun
Her little boy marvels
At the kaleidoscope sky
Basking in the presence
Of time floating by
There is peace in the world
On this blessed day
It blows through their souls
Pushing all clouds away

Dreams - the very marrow of hope
May be the lifeline to the living
Destroy one’s dreams
And the hate
Of their dead weight
May be unforgiving

Smashing dreams or smashing bones
It matters not
Both acts of ******
Stirred from the same ***

Perhaps, it is enough
To cope with the noise
Of one’s own random, undisciplined thoughts
Never mind the madness
Of others

For one
His own mountain
For one
His own stream
The peace
To wash over
The mind’s
Empty screams

He came to study the brooding skies,
Of blues and pewter grays,
Before they bowed and curtsied,
To the lighter, warmer days
And paint emerging scenes of Spring,
With Winter in its shadows,
Among the empty, amber fields,
Sprouting into blissful meadows,
Of saving grace

“I have to look for your father”
We’d hear our poor mother say
When he had little fear
Standing on the great pier
During a storm on the bay

When father had the Black Irish
We’d hear our poor mother pray
"God, keep him off the **** pier"
When bad weather is near
So the sea can’t wash him away

I don’t find myself
In the woods anymore
Running through orchards
Or watching boats from the shore
When I was a kid
That is all that I did
After putting on shoes
And running out the front door

I'd like to hear Mozart
from the starlings in Vienna
Then pull them from the azure
and put them into my piano

I'd like to see the cypress trees
waving in the wind
Pleading for my intention
to sketch them once again

Paint the weathered boats of Delft
along its waterway
Fill a mural with peasant girls
sleeping in the hay

When it's time to awaken
from this pleasant reverie
I'll need to take a step towards earth
and return to reality