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
You can’t know
happiness
Unless, you learn how
to shed the last tear of the just
and forever hold your peace

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

Most days
the mist of morning
will rinse away
my dreams
But when the dreams
are nightmares
I hear echoes
of their screams

I’d rather
the consequences
of 6 days in sin
than suffer the hypocrisy
of repentance on Sunday

Is he like a lowly worm
that crawls along the ground
Blind to what’s in front of him
not knowing where’s he bound
Has he lived a good life
or been dying a slow death
Has he lived his life freely
or struggled with each breath
Is there more to feel sorry for
More actions to regret
Will there be more apologies
Perhaps more blood to let
Is all that’s left are tired thoughts
with nothing new to ponder
Or is it time to look for grass
on the greener side of yonder
?

Never one
to hold his tongue
the devil child within me
transforms the light breeze of peace
into a tempest of chaos
blowing storms over
my sea of tranquility
I need to give him
a warm loving embrace
of understanding
but all I want to do
is slap the brat’s face

It is what it is
but all is as it should be
Be thankful your trouble
isn’t all that it could be

Nothing like heavy suffering
to appreciate the lighter weight
of it’s absence

How can one
embrace insanity?
Hug this unhuggable
sideshow
It’s a rollercoaster ride
at a carnival of crazy
I stare at the abandoned pieces
of myself
and the defeat of it
makes me want to cry
because a cage
is where I belong

He stood in this forest
of trees at night
and he couldn’t help but stare

at the light
peeking through the leaves
letting him know it was there

He gazed upon
this beacon of hope
waiting to say a prayer

asking God
what he wanted of him
and why should he even care

Then came
an ethereal answer
as if riding upon the air

“Look for all that is good
in your life
Then be grateful enough to share”

Can’t seem to read
between the lines
Can’t seem to see
the shades of gray
The adults in the room
have much work to do
if the children
are to remain at play

When the ingratitude
of never having enough
breeds feelings of defeat
when life’s not that tough
Come cries of self-pity
that aren’t all that pretty
because our shots off the tee
land in the rough

Forgive my sins
for they are great
and wish my past
be not my fate
I pray my heart
be void of hate
and hope this prayer
is not too late

In the absence of gratitude
self-Pity is there
to fashion yet another
cross to bear

The fright at the brink of his
waking
The sweat of his body’s
quaking
Only moments before
his face pressed to the cold steel
of the rail
Eyes fixed on the roaring machine
that force the wide in his eyes
each morning
Be a friend Sandman
Keep it all away until the light
Sworn by any natural law
not to betray him
they toss him to that steely
night freighter
only to return to their warm beds
It would be easier
if they were monsters instead

Sofie loves the sun
and now she’s having fun
thankful that Spring is near
and Winter’s nearly done
She skips out around the yard
rhyming like a bard
Her poems are like
these playful songs
to heal all the badly scarred

Care not
what you ought
and what you were taught
or your life
may be void
of any original thought

Along an old highway road
there in a field
among scores of wild flowers
sits a lonely, little house
it looks abandoned
and not much to look at
it’s the worse for wear
there’s been no one there
to give it attention
and some proper care
to many the house goes unnoticed
but, I was drawn to its solitude
I pictured myself on it's front porch
watching a sunrise
or rocking in a chair at night
gazing upon the moon and stars
provided especially for me
in my little house

Those without arms
cannot hug you
and without warm hearts
cannot love you
Perhaps you can’t give
what you did not receive
and there is only God
to forgive you

The azure blue
of an infinite sky
is dotted with soft white pillows
The cool, clear water
of meandering streams
runs amidst the oaks and willows
These fields of dreams
that sway in the wind
are painted with a tint of gold
They wave at me
as I go by
for me alone to behold
God is at work
God is at work
Don’t wake me up
It’s God at work

Might our sharp tongues
be duller today
and words not tossed
to fall where they may
Might we be mindful
of the mouth's ugly ways
when goodwill is missing
from the things that we say

One can spend a lifetime
scaling down expectations
to fit in the same space
with one’s limitations

A bad day
Is when I feel that
to save myself from turning to stone
is to avert my eyes
from the world’s head of snakes
A good day is when I don’t watch the news

It is easier
to be ourselves
acting as someone else

That which is
clearly smothering us
is strangely
what we can’t live without

Time enough
for work and worry
Thoughts all a flutter
and in a hurry
So when there is pause
to relax and rest
It’s up to one
to do what’s best
and step off the ride
to let the world glide
on by

To be without love
is to feel but a sliver
of the world’s pain
and nearly
perish from it

So beautiful was she
that to gaze upon her
was to be willing
to lay down life for her
as was her right
and the world’s privilege
The sight of her
could inspire the worst of cowards
to courageousness worthy of a knight
protecting his queen
If only to live a short time
happy in the moment
of such sacrifice

A great deal of art
is hidden from the eye of the beholder
Left unfinished
until awash in the glow
of an inspired observer

How do we know
watching grass grow
that we are alive and kicking?
We are safe in the cage
but, we will still age
and the time on the clock
will keep ticking

Misty eyes are here
Missing all the cheer
The desperate stare
of cold despair
for reasons that aren’t clear
It’s supposed to be a time
of joy and peace of mind
But, if an answer lies
in those misty eyes
It’s just too hard to find
Misty eyes
Misty eyes
No matter how hard the tissue tries
It can't dry up
those misty eyes

Every second
of every minute
of every hour saved
is then sacrificed
to the gods of technology
It is an evolution of sorts
where people are beginning
to merge with machines
Humans of an earlier time
will eventually become known as “the ancient ones”
and will stand on rungs closer
to the Neanderthal than to cyborgs

I find that inside
my chaotic head
is a dangerous place to be
and when I’m aware
that I’m living there
I urge myself to flee

The evil of it’s pursuits
knows no bounds
for it is a powerful time traveler
It lives in the past
but, feeds on the future
to grieve the present
And, it is truly
the enemy of us all

The words from this
passing stranger
were like music to his ears
For the first time
in his difficult life
he felt calm amidst his fears
To be less consumed
by the weakness of flesh
meant connection to his soul
It was the filling
of his heart’s content
where there was once a gaping hole

God might wonder
how can a man not be changed
by witnessing the birth of his child
It’s one of those clues
that the world does not revolve
around one’s enormous head
An epiphany that should begin to
free one’s spirit from the bonds of
self-absorbing narcissism
But, then again ..

Somewhere over the wall
of intolerance
lies a future
free from fear and the past
We can’t seem to get
over the top of it
and we know our patience
can’t last
Help us over the wall Lord
Help us over the wall
And in the interest
of our salvation
Please oh please do it fast

Frozen there
by a tundra stare
No one really truly cares
what his reasons
for this careless wandering
All are not hospitable
for they are but miserable
in the throes of squandering


another precious day

If I had the picture
of Dorian Gray
May I be willing
to give it away
For my greater good
I hope that I would
free my soul
to find it’s own way

A thousand tiny paper cuts
brought him here to death
The vengeful words
of his angry thoughts
expired with his final breath

To walk in the woods in Autumn
is to feel it’s tired old soul
As it prepares for another long nap
the seasons have taken their toll
The leaves wave goodbye to their neighbors
as they harmlessly
float to the ground
There isn’t enough water
running by the old mill
to move the wheel around
It gives me pause for reflection
of how I’m in awe of it all
Living on the cusp of Winter
as everything slows to a crawl

I'd like        
to float on cotton
amidst the clouds
up high
Sleeping through
all the world's noise
as if  
it were a lullaby

Walking through a field
lush with wildflowers
Making my way
towards a warm setting sun
A vision of death
or a flight of fantasy
Only time
will tell which one

Confront the wolf
that nips at your heels
if you grow weary
of running
You can always keep trying
to outrun the beast
but, it’s faster than you
and more cunning

This simple act
has become a pact
I have with the kitchen floor
I sweep it several times a day
because it’s keeping score
It knows when I sweep it often
It knows when I sweep it not
And when it feels neglected
it gets slippery in spots
I have many other things to do
than Tango with the broom
but, my floor would rather see us dance
all across the room

Pain makes
narcissists of us all
Only Jesus

Nothing but the vastness
of it’s own empty space
for the mind
that so desperately
searches for words

There is living
without living
and two kinds of dead
Please don’t put me
in the grave
before the eulogy
is said

It is said there’s a woman,
For every man,
But it's not written in stone,
Only written in sand