I have no clothes
left to wear
They’re on the floor
because I left them there
They won’t get washed
lying on the floor
So, I guess I’ll stink
forever more

Warm your hands
Next to it’s fire
Bow to it
And call it sire
No one may ever know
Where you have been

But if you do
Know full well
Your soul’s no longer
Yours to sell
And you may never
Be the same again

Bound by the scars
That make up who we are
Perhaps we’re like the song bird
That will not fly too far
Though the cage door be open
We can never be set free
From the familiar surroundings
Of our own captivity

Fancy the bare tree of January
As the Sorcerer’s magic brush
There to paint a Winter’s gray sketch
As a fresh and vibrant landscape of Spring

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

“May ******* everything”
is something I sometimes feel
But, I can’t let the poison
take from my heart
the good that the bad wants to steal

Grace is for the day that ends
the sunlight’s long goodbye
It’s when the world may sleep again
‘neath the moonlight’s watchful eye

Hope is the sun at the break of day
for all who wake to rise
to a promise of life renewed
for faith they won’t let die

If Yesterday
be scarred by bad memories
and Tomorrow
possessed by dark dreams
They both have the power and influence
to make Today
come apart at the seams

Hang your troubles
on the Tree of Sorrows
Look for ones
to steal or borrow
Then step around
the tree again
grateful
that another’s pain

is not your own

Amidst all the disguises,
misrepresentations, and exaggerations
it eventually rises
to reveal the most surprising and
powerful version of itself
We curse at the blackards who
insult it with lies
and knight those
who sacrifice everything for the
honor of defending it

Yet, at times
and not for the better
we also bear the scarlet letter
as adulterers of the truth

As I walk through the forest
of my dark and cluttered mind
I leave a trail of bread crumbs
in order to help me find
my way below the canopy
of all that makes the night
I pray I find the morning
and all its familiar sights

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

Do raindrops become
lost in the ocean
when they fall into the sea
or do they become
united as one
content with eternity?

Cradled in the arms
of Glenda herself
I could sleep
Sleep like I may never wake
or want to
for the rest is needful
and the dreams devine
I could bathe in the comfort
of clover and poppies
at the foot of Emerald City
waiting to hear the good witch tell me
“Good night sweet prince”

As we awaken
and rise for the day
we prepare to go
our separate ways
This morning I feel
the need to say
you are my dearest
and I’ll miss you today

White represents
The innocence of birth
Never the slate so clean
Black represents
The contemplation of death
Red all the passion between

To the fear of the future
from the regret of the past
flows the gift of the present
and all too fast
Adrift on a mighty river

Carried by the charged breath
of an ever expanding universe
Time flies into tomorrow
on the wings of itself

Every day
has it’s due
and usually spent
with no clue
That from childhood
to married
then finally buried
So many these days
and yet so few

Sometimes
we are like time travelers
either brooding in a reincarnated past
or living nervously in an uncertain future
But, tragically absent from the present

If you go to a room
With an idle clock
Close the door
And engage the lock

There you live
For 20 years
And that clock
Moves not it’s gears

Will you age?
Will you wither?
I know its nuts
But I’m not sure either

Time waits for no one

No matter the misery one keeps

So, wake up if you dare

From unavailing despair

For the keeper cares not if you sleep

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

Splashes of Van Gogh’s yellow
from the daffodils of Spring
color the Winter canvas
to inspire the birds to sing
Though, a bit more than a casual hint
when flowers pop through the snow
The stubborn incumbent season
just does not want to go
It has become apparent to me
as I gaze at the budding trees
that Winter can do nothing more
than wave goodbye and sneeze

As I rise
I do thee wake
A prayer I plead
I no longer ache

From the future’s curse
Of fret and worry
To the ache of regret
I have tried to bury

No more need to rule
No itch to conquer
All ledgers accounted for
By my tenure

As nothing obeys me
I have been so crowned
The King of Nothing
And to that I am bound

On the wings of seagulls
rides the ocean air he breathes
He shuts his eyes
and in his mind
he's once again
at sea

He fears what he fears
but , that is all that he fears
Then, that look of relief
as he looks in the mirror
“At least I don’t fear imperfection”

Sometimes
I look at travel photos
And recognize myself in places
I know I have never been

Within the time-worn walls
Of an old European village
I hear strange but wonderful music
over the cacophony of conversation

I see myself in a cafe
Engaged in a debate about
Art, politics, or the contents of my glass
And I am again reminded
That man does not live by bread alone

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 more time I have
The more time to squander
Distracted by thoughts
That begin to wander
Leaving my wits
In scraps and tatters
As if what I think
Unmistakably matters
I need not task
My every moment awake
But the less idle my mind
The fewer chances to take

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

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

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

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

Some days are like a dog
that won’t quit barking
An alarm that goes off
to stay on all day
until the sun sets
and the moon rises
Even then, there can only be
a temporary cease-fire with the
agreement that it all may begin again at first light

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

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

Beware of the employment of hate
For there is no target
unworthy of it's attention
and it abides by no rules
of common decency or sense

There’s more to you
than your problems
There is more to life than fun
Most of us have much to learn
so, you aren’t the only one

There is no place in which to flee
There is no place to hide
Running is no solution
The ones who know have tried

There are no easy answers
to questions no one asks
But, if you can find
who you really are
you can toss that heavy mask

If the recipe for a happier life
demands a better attitude
then we need as determined chefs
to serve more dishes of gratitude

My we revel in the here and now
releasing ourselves from tomorrow
Time ill spent can’t be returned
and we don’t know how much has been borrowed

Miserable are those
whose weight of themselves
has become so heavy
as to care so little about others

Fear stares at an open grave
And yearns for home

It is easier
to be ourselves
acting as someone else

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

As I lay me
down to sleep
I pray for slumber
long and deep
I hope to go
where there are no borders
harsh commands
or marching orders
A dream of where
I have no fear
to do the things
I can’t do here
I want to go
where I can fly
with no concern
about how high
And when I wake
I’d like to know
That there’s some place
I can always go

To be free

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

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

Wise man say: “There are too many ways to look the fool without
arguing with one.”

I can see the world
through a murky lens
clouded by storms
of my making
And if I am cursing
that which I can’t see
then, it’s only myself
I’m forsaking

It is what it is
But, that is all that it is
Otherwise, it’s drama