Are we but homeless, threadbare waifs
yearning for our mothers
Searching for love
with a primordial hunger
in the darkness of "existential horror"?

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

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

The sin that lives
in the self-righteous judgement of others
is but a stone’s throw away

There was this dream
of the trouble he would see
in death
as he had seen in life

But the sight of his ghost
disturbed him the most
as it hacked
at its chains
with a knife

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

Another cold Fall morning
when the sun dried leaves on the ground
are as crisp and golden
as the corn flakes
I poured into my breakfast bowl
When trees are growing bare
and questioning the wisdom of Nature's timing
When squirrels dash about
cursing their procrastination
It's when the only thing
I can think of what's wrong
with this time of year
is that it ends


and Winter begins

I pity those
who cannot relax at night
For I am sometimes lying there
next to them
wide-eyed in a slow tale of time

Find a way
to justify
a day of doing nothing

You don't owe the world a thing
But, maybe,
it owes you something

No one knows better
how hard it is
to stop and smell the roses
than one whose hair is on fire

Assuming that mere words
could be something other than
feeble expressions of the truth
we call a person honest
at the sheer surprise
that he does not lie

Sitting in a room draped in Victorian decor,
I was talking to a small, gray-haired man,
Expounding on the theories of the universe,
Beneath the whir of a ceiling fan

He asked for my thoughts on Quantum theory,
“Interesting my friend but, you’re not really close.”
Though his statement did confuse me,
I said nothing to my esteemed host

Indeed, it was a tremendous honor,
To be in the presence of one of history’s giants,
To say nothing of his contributions,
To the field of science

It wasn’t the least bit clear,
Why he was conversing with me,
Then, he adjusted his glasses,
And sipped the last of his tea

He said that the way to the truth,
Was through the existence of the soul,
The ancient sages were right,
The “Age of Reason” had betrayed us all.

We rose from our seats,
  Said goodbye at the door,
And walked into the space,
Next to the Victorian décor.

It answers not in laughter
It answers not in tears
It answers not my questions
this world that cannot hear

He loves the girl
Dancing in the silhouette
He wants to be with her alone
Though they've never met

The outline of her shapely thighs
Casting spells and telling lies
He wants to talk to her
But, he's so shy
He tries to make a move
But, he's so petrified

He loves the girl
In the sihouette
Strangers in the night
Who have never met

Addiction is the chili
we put in our eyes
to make us to forget
about the splinters
in our feet
If only we were more like elephants

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

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

Delusion is born
in the mind's desperate attempt
to escape confusion

I sincerely wish
I could blame the flesh
for the weakness of my mind
and in the end
I could depend
on my Judge to be so kind

May we find the separation
between
our heart's heaven
and our mind's hell
and see it as
the light of things

I want that picture
That picture of a young boy
standing proudly next to his father
That picture I lean on
when the world weighs heavy
That picture that when I'm confused
begs the question:
"What would Dad do?"
I want that picture
and yet I do not have it
and his death only serves to remind me
that I never will

Truth is truth
until proven rotten
Lies are lies
But seem never forgotten

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

Fear stares at an open grave
And yearns for home

Amidst the curse
Of my mortal sleep
I walked the border
of life and death
Others carried my sins
And defended my honor

Today
I ride into battle
Beneath a shower
of glorious apple blossoms
With this song in my heart
Worthy of both knight and king:

As swords cross
And wounds run deep
I pray to Avalon
My soul to keep
To see my foe
Know well his face
His dying breath
His last embrace

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

Anxiety is the dizzyness
of freedom
and is what I thought
Kierkegaard said
It appears there are many
who would rather no choice
than uncertainty
squirm in their heads

Put a little faith
In your ballast each day
Your sailing should be smoother
Though your boat may still sway
Calmly observe
The lesser losses and gains
It may help you weather
Greater stresses and strains
Most storms don’t have the power
To wash you away
Pray for all in this world
And let come what may

I ache for the warmth
of a midsummer day
and the slow rocking rhythm
of a hammock's sway
All Winter's gloom
on clouds far away
and if left up to me
that's where it would stay

The glass half-full
is happiness that is
permitted
in the absence of misery

There’s a man sitting on a horse
Long-faced in the rain
The man is dressed in a tux and tie
And dripping wet with pain
He knows **** well that it should be him
Standing with the bride
When he opened the invitation
He just crawled in bed and cried
He thinks he’s been in love with her
As long as he can remember
And now she’s marrying someone else
This dark day in November

Wise man say:

Enjoy today
for tomorrow always comes

It take much work
to be crazy *******

Miserable people
save all gratitude
for death bed

All world's evil
found in one baby's
lumpy diaper

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

Why it always vexes me
I really cannot say
The birds, they tried to warn me
when they flew away
Warm memories of summer
Made known they’d rather stay
to help me with the stony cold
of a winter day

War is best served by youth
For it has not yet
Had the time
To perish the thought of dying

Hope springs eternal
in the fertile ground of imagination

Time is the great conqueror
and we must bend hard to it’s will
For it is a powerful tyrant
and cares not for our petty notions
of immortality

Walking into rooms
Familiar but unknown
Standing along dance floors
Usually alone
Sitting next to ghosts
In dimly lit bars
Staring out windows
At all the moving cars
He feels like the new kid
In the middle of the year
Introduced to the class
Then put back in the rear
Like something unused
And up on a shelf
Hopping down sometimes
To shake the dust off himself
An impotent wire
That needs plugging in
Not knowing how
Is his only sin

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

Yesterday’s regret
And the dread of tomorrow
Have played their parts well
In this rendition of sorrow

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

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

The anecdote to a child's trauma
is found in a mother's face
If only a shot
of this unconditional love
could be given to the whole human race

All I have to be
Is a haunted human being
Gaunt with the shame
Of a lamentable past
Then looks thrown my way
From those I send fleeing
Frightened by ghosts
Freed again at long last

You and I
are not such bad actors
But, we have had
bad roles

Please don't take a picture
that you'll only leave behind
Don't bother with the memory
or keeping me in mind
I'd rather not be there
if you are never going to care
So, please don't take a picture
if you would be so kind

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

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

Yearning like a dense forest of trees
that stretch toward the sun
we huddle together in pews
desperate in our hope
that we too can reach the light
that will save us from the darkness

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