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

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

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

Obosobo
of long ago
was the spirit of the night
It's dark and ugly nature
robbed the world
of all it's light
Trapped beneath
the horizon's floor
the sun then heard a mighty roar
The earth cried out with all it's tendered might
"I cast you out
Obosobo
I've had enough
You have to go
But, if you truly
want to stay
you may give me rest
between each day"

At the moment
of his greatest despair
he leaned back hard
his arms and hands outstretched
as if nailed to a cross
All he could utter
of his inconsolable grief was
“We’ll get’em next time”
But there is no next time
There is only today
and today a sort of death has crawled
up inside him to mock
all his worn-out platitudes
Like
“When the going gets tough
the tough get going”
“Tomorrow is another day”
and
“It ain’t over til the fat lady sings”

The benefit of occupation
and the company of peers
or solitary confinement
in a house of mirrors

If I could only
Ignore the ego long enough
To listen to the voice of reason
I could stare into the yellow of the flame
And know that which seems to elude me

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

My heart for those
who so love a rose
For they wither along side
it’s mortal repose
But, may they not fret
it’s sad wilted face
There will be another
to take it’s place

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

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

As I stand in the nourishing light
of midday
I drink in the sun
and bask in it’s warmth
with gratitude

Winter follows
The long bow of a cello
And all in it’s realm
Must play to it’s tempo
As the last of the leaves
Fall to the ground
And trees must wear
This season’s white gown
All God’s creatures
Ready for sleep
And the peace of their slumber
Is the cello’s to keep

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

The thorn
is unpleasant
but can be a mentor
Pain
a reminder
of what it is there for
How long the student
to become the master?
Pity these lessons
can't be learned any faster

As I pour myself
another drink
I tell myself
not to think
of moving thoughts
from pen to paper
then suffer from
a reckless rapier

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

Geez Louise
I’ve been brought to my knees
Gripped by some evil
besieged by fried cheese
Enduring the upset
as best as I can
If only the stuff
had stayed stuck in the pan!

He sometimes thinks of his boyhood friends,
Those long summer nights that seemed without end,
They walked the dark streets,
With ants in their seats,
When they had all the time in the world to spend

Invading backyards doing handstands and flips,
Acting like Elvis and swiveling their hips,
On most of those nights,
Some music took flight,
On the air from their lungs passing through their pursed lips

They sang and whistled the hours away,
After cooking up tunes all during the day,
And their only care,
Was the warm evening air,
Baking harmony into a Doo-*** souffle

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

There are those
who don’t dread death
or fear what could be
their last breath
Cherish moments
that befriend the present
Live like kings
and not like peasants

It's ok
to enjoy today
for tomorrow always comes
Eat your cake
and have it too
before left with tomorrow's crumbs

Should I be still
forever hungry
in the land
of good and plenty?
Should I fill my belly
yet starve my soul
and leave this yearning
to be whole
Solely to the question:
"Is there nothing more?"

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

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

A girl named Camille
lives alone on a hill
in a big, empty house
that only silence can fill
And when someone rides by
they might hear a faint cry
from a frown that is sobbing
on her room’s window sill

There are those whose passions
Are never stirred more
Than through talk of ideology,
Religion , and war
They draw lines in the sand
And declare for their land
That transgressors be met
With the edge of a sword


They eat at the same table
Drink from the same trough
Shout out all the slogans
Wear the same cloth
They stand strong and tall
Behind a thick wall
Claiming God as their ally
Through the foam and the froth

Their numbers are many
These beggars of men
Ignoring compassion and reason
Again and again
Pray they drop their knees down
and abandon their frowns
Allowing God in their hearts
Where the devil has been

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

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

Find a way
to justify
a day of doing nothing

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

How the mind is like the sea
capable of great rage
and also of such bountiful stillness
when it's waters are calm
so seems all the world

Painted at the speed of light
to capture their fleeting splendor
Throwing caution to the wind
and feelings found so tender
A symphony of blue and yellow
in the Mediterranean sun
A dozen golden flowers
Immortal every one

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

He does love God
But, he fears the devil
and that which he preaches
may not be on the level
His head has been wrought
with these lustful thoughts
It turns on the street
as if on a swivel
One stray from the path
could incur God’s wrath
and he’d forever be
in league with evil

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

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.

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

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

Hope springs eternal
in the fertile ground of imagination

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

I think
therefore I question
I question
therefore I anguish
I anguish
therefore I tremble
I tremble
At the the thought
of the answer

My tears held back
are so heavy in my eyes
that I could cry
and cry I would
if to make my heart light again
and these eyes see again
the glorious rainbows
lit by the sun

I’d like to see
the tree full of ribbons
to let me know
I can come home
Before I arrive
at my father’s doorstep
I’ll brush off my shoes
and spit in my comb

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

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

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

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”

There has been no worse an indicator of marital bliss than
an abundance of money
and yet no greater a predictor of
marital discord than the lack of it

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

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