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

We don’t run
We don’t skip
We don’t even walk
We slog
through the mire
of each other’s suffering

Difficult to know
what’s in one’s heart
when one so rarely
looks there
And taking a peek
into Pandora’s box
risks the release
of a nightmare

Oh how my emotion rules me
I can only bow before it
as it’s loyal subject
If only I could rid
this mighty king of it’s crown
to end this tyranny
and reign peace upon the land

To restore the years
the locust have eaten
You must honestly review
time weathered and beaten
Where have you been
trying to know who you are?
It’s not only the world
that wouldn’t let you be you
You may not know it
but, you did it too
Nodding yes to those
who were planning from the very start

To waste the precious you

As I ride into work
I catch myself dreaming
of a nice, long nap
before a day yet begun
My bed is the grass
of a cool, green meadow
draped in the light
of a warm, Autumn sun

Let there be only
loving words spoken
so another harsh cycle
be beautifully broken
To free a generation
from a circle of pain
that it may soon wash off
in a cool cleansing rain
of tears so long sought after

It may be harsh
It may be cruel
To sit before
a bowl of gruel
But, please do not
complain of it
It could be worse
It could be sh—

He walked the hill into the evening
until he reached the top
The moon was serenading him
so he took the time to stop
to look upon a lonesome tree
that had not been there before
Neath the light
of a starry night
like the painting
he so adored
He whispered a tiny heartfelt prayer
for those in town below
that had likely lived their lives
never having seen the show

Your indecision
comes with the clue
that your head is telling
your heart what to do

It’s too hot
to lie in the shade
Sit in front of a fan
or drink lemonade
It’s too hot
for suntan lotion
Take a dip in a pool
or jump in the ocean
It’s so hot
that my body is straining
to keep up with my shadow
and even it is complaining

All the birds have flown away
and a nest is what remains
I feel more and more
like that beat up bike
that's been left out in the rain

There is this winning strength
in those humble, intelligent, and compassionate people
who know all too well
the bent of human weakness
and yet, do not let it
betray their basic decency

He thought he was
a child of nature
Loving all creatures
you see
He couldn’t believe
what had just occurred
“How could this happen to me?”

As he sat in the road
all ******
talking to the EMT
he suspected
it was a woodpecker
that had mistaken his head
for a tree!

Time can take
the bloom from your rose
the spring from your toes
turn your poetry
to a vapid prose
To be unhappy
is such a waste of it
so shed your grave clothes
and make haste of it
because time
truly waits for no one

The songs of birds
The morning mist
The cool, wet air
gently kissed
by the breaking sun
Before losers lose
and winners win
Before all the madness
can begin
the battle for the day
is all but won

Unhappy
are those
who mean to collect debts
from those
not indebted to pay
It’s an odd little game
that nobody wins
yet, people
seem willing to play.

Beware of the man
with the sharpened wit
He be a swordsmen in disguise
Using the air in his lungs
he duels with his tongue
splitting damnable truths
between lies

Oh sometimes
how the grateful mistake
scratches the itch
of self-loathing

The longer we live
the less we know
and the more
everything
becomes our teacher

Always in the back
of things
Behind a curtain
A shadow
A silhouette
Never blowing a horn
There was no horn to blow
no air in the lungs
no will in the legs
to play and march
in a parade

As the sun peeks over the edge of night
he slowly opens his eyes
and wakes not with an eagerness of spirit
He grows weary of battle
For this love and hate of himself
is always at war
and if there is any lacking in his resolve
victory for love will be hard-won
if won at all
Fatigue will plague his every moment
until the darkness grants his leave
It is then he can close his eyes to sleep once more

The dam of tears
has more leaks
than the child has fingers
He knows that if the dam breaks
there will be no surviving it
Another casualty
in the land of Nod