Sometimes inside
I feel oceans
Inspired
by the breath of the sea
From atop a great hill
my heart and lungs fill
with a spirited hunger to be

Sometimes inside
I see valleys
lined with sheets of dry sand
Where parched eyes can’t cry
for dreams that have died
and all hope is lost once again

Oblivious
to their despair
it roams the house
without a care
It's in the clothes
and on the dishes
All against
their sincerest wishes
and as the kids
come through the door
the ******* plague
falls to the floor
This war on dirt
cannot be won
and the keeper's job
is never done

A violin
for the absence of flowers
A cello
for the snow-sprinkled trees
An oboe
for the bird that missed the trip south
And silence
for Winter’s dis-ease

There is no strength in cruelty
It is an ugliness with only weakness
as it’s base
An unsightly reflection
of damaged people causing more harm in defense of their open wounds

Such simplicity
yet magnanimous in its undertaking
One marvels at the whole of it
in awe of the glorious painstaking detail
Colors calm and easy
leaving no part of it's aura unappeasing
It's nature so sincere and moving
the stricken feel the need to bow

Wear not
the irate head to bed
‘Spite the words
that have been said
Anger is a state of mind
that leaves your slumber
in such a bind
So, in the interest
of better sleep
Eat yours words
and not a peep

… until the break of day

Heavier is the heart
that has aged from the weight of history

Every thought uneasy
Every step a stumble
If the stomach were only queasy
waiting for the world to crumble
Few are those
who never walk the path of uncertainty

Anxiety is fear
that has nowhere to go
So we route it to places
we hope it won’t show
Before it gets strong
we move it along
before it gets fed enough
to flourish and grow

The serenity of wheat
sways in the sun so sweet
I walk in peace
on the golden fleece
that bends beneath my feet
I stand next to a tree
and as far as I can see
this kiss of gold
‘spite what I’m told
is exclusively for me

How ironic the insight
that my mind
spends much of it’s time
blind
to the reality that it is
stuck in the head
which is stuck up the ***
of a blundering fool

In a very big house
on a hill made of money
Rising to the sky
from the ground
An overweight man
Fat from ill-gotten gains
picked from all the pockets
in town

Be not a martyr
with emotional pain
And do not barter
You’ll only suffer it’s gain
It thinks that it’s use
is to hang from a noose
bleed on the soul
to leave a stubborn stain

A violin
for a single flower
Cellos for all
the gray barren trees
An orchestra
and it’s infinite power
for an ‘Ode to Joy’
to set the world at ease

There are some mornings
upon my awakening
A new day’s been granted
and it’s there for the taking
I assemble myself
from bad parts off the shelf
My house of cards stands
but not without shaking

Ah, the ripened Autumn skies
Stained by rustic colored dyes
Bleeding from a fading sun
Pleased it's work is nearly done

Criticism of oneself
Is often the harshest
Do unto you
As you would have others
Do unto you

Can a shadow
be seen in the darkness?
Is a tear felt
in the sea?
Is there a sound
when no one’s around
or does a tree
fall in secrecy?

Say goodbye
to the days of summer
as we ponder Autumn’s waking
It’s warm memories
fall from the trees
forgotten until Spring’s remaking

Back in the days
of puppies and kittens
When my pages were full
Of stories unwritten
I’d begin each day
with my very best friend
chasing the sun
until the day’s end
But, as time wears on
and I get older
As I slow down
and the wind grows colder
I always remember
What I had been told
“You’re a short time young
and a long time old”

Love is that random act of kindness
that we think we don’t have the time for

Music is a language
spoken by so few
yet, inspires so many
To be not deaf
and not hear it
would be a cruel twist
of irony

Fall reminds me of the evening
It flows into the Winter's night
Springtime is tomorrow's dawning
of the Summer's enduring light
A year, a day
Who's to say
how much time
we have to play
and revel in each season's sweet delight

How can we awaken
without crying
How can we question
without tears
How do we answer
without lying
How do we laugh
without fear

I have an applecart
It's contents are just so
Everything has it's place
Everything a row
I know too well
that if I let
the applecart
get too upset
I'll change into a man
I do not know

Take my face
into your hands
and tell me
that you love me
Though a reason
for each grain of sand
exists for you to spurn me

The anxious face
sketches like a mothman
with two fiery red eyes
amidst a flurry of large violent lines of black ink
that look more like the claw marks
of an animal
desperate for escape

From 3 o’clock till
half past 4
is when the monster
is at your door
If you are careless
And let him in
that’s when the nightmare
will begin
He’ll shave your head
to leave it bare
and he will be back
to enter there
Then you will know
there’s no such thing
as a harmless dream

Imagine lying
in a lush green field
cradled within an ancient glen
Timeless is
the still life portrait
of what the gods
were like back then

Men who really don’t want peace
want only a respite from war
Adrift on high seas
and without the disease
are those who won’t come ashore

On the inside
of the window pane
I hear the tapping
of a summer rain
It cools the fire
of the noonday sun
And all is still
until it’s done

Ah, to feel the stir of passion
And then be burned by it
Better than enduring
the slow suffocation of apathy

Lying in the driveway
sleeping in the rain
a man melting before my eyes
and leaving such a stain
"Just a dream" I tell myself
and forget about what it means
But, the next day in the driveway
the bluish tint of jeans

I have an eye
for sunsets in the sky
A feeling for a breeze
that rustles through the trees
An ear for the tears
falling from a rain
and the silence on a casual stroll
down a country lane

May the sun
be the face of god
and all it’s light his robe
as he takes
a morning stroll
across this sleepy globe

Sometimes we have
the brains of a sparrow
with neural pathways
so small and narrow
When the black and the white of things
stand next to each other
we either can't
or won't be bothered
to see the shades of gray
because it's just easier that way

Wise man say
the worth of a day
and the serene of between
it's highs and lows
lies not in what one does
for oneself
but, lies in what one
does for others

Anger is at the root
of all that upends them
It is the very marrow
of their frustrated despair
Armed against a world
that cannot befriend them
Only because
it doesn't know that they're there

After the grueling anger match
between God, the world, and I
I offer this lame explanation
before I begin to sigh
"God, I have to tell you
before you show me the door
I haven't blamed you for anything
that I haven't whipped myself for"

The world cares not
how much of it's weight
you are willing to carry

How sad we are
that the good of living
is when the bad
doesn’t know that we’re there
We fly under the radar
in hopes that if spotted
the evil won’t even care

Fear and Rage
Brother to brother
Whenever they awaken
One says to the other
What kind of suffering
can we cause today?
That’s when one hears
the other one say
I just love the smell of ******
in the morning

There’s an old salty ******
at the back of a ship
that’s sinking into the sea
I can hear the words
from his stiff upper lip
as he sadly recites to me
You can’t save me
You can’t save me
So, turn your eyes away
I will sleep
In the cold, dark deep
and you will see another day

I should like
to wear the shades
the tans and grays
of winter days

Quietly sit
in stone cold silence
to render calm
this inner violence

To molt the skin
of what I'm feeling
To know the floor
from the ceiling

Not begrudge
my heart's abiding
Learn to face
in me what's hiding

Maybe it’s those
closed pores in your heart
you are mistaking
for a few slivers of light
from God

Silly hearts
****** toons
and goofballs
make light of all that is heavy
for us
and won't leave
a bucket of tears
without a barrel full of laughs
for balance

Delusion was that place in my heart
that I sometimes mistook for the truth
But, as I get older
I begin to miss
that place where I spent
much of my youth

Nothing seems
so heavy
to a fragile heart
so broken
than thoughts
so unhappy
they go
so unspoken

It's easy for me
to love folly in a child
with a heart so pure, innocent,
and wild

And while the puppeteer sleeps
How divine the dream
that frees the marionette to dance