The appetite of time
is insatiable
It devours all
that was once mighty
and leaves
nothing but
the odor of decay

I haven’t the wisdom
to soothe the grieving
nor comforting words
worth believing
But, I can cry
for a broken heart
and I can pray
for it’s broken parts
to find a way to come together again

It’s the nature of our nature
to be inflexibly unchanging
in view of a landscape
that is constantly rearranging
We can adapt and thrive
or we can barely survive
But, it’s the nature of our nature
to resist much that is changing

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

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

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

Alone amidst the hurried throngs
That move along a street
He’s the statue in a crowded square
Who chose to still his feet
Hoping for a cathartic tear
To mend his fear and pity
He watches all the desperate dots
Looking for the ‘I’ in city

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

I wouldn't know
the genius of Van Gogh
I only know what I feel
The glorious sight
of his color and light
is more
than I've a right to steal

Pink lilies in the tarns
Wave like satin in the wind
Veils to an underworld
Where secrets lie within

Smooth and silky ******* of sand
Amidst the ancient rock
Cast shadows in the valley
Neath the ice cream mountain top

Water hangs like bath towels
From the mountain’s misty eyes
Silhouettes of caribou
Dance across the dusky skies

Atop a celestial carousel
Sits a twinkling evening star
No need for idle wishes here
Dreams are good the way they are

When I wake I wonder
What the day will bring
Will my heart run silent
Or will it choose to sing
Will I sense the tragic death
Of yet another day
Or feel enough true gratitude
To kneel to God and pray
Will I find the joie de vivre
To take life as it goes
Or see my reflection frowning
At the world and all its woes

How much of the truth
must be missing
before everyone sees it's a lie
A tattered "Old Glory"
will come with the story
of how we let it all die

Grunts, groans
whimpers and moans
shakes, shivers, and barks
leaps of glee
at the chance to ***
on every pole in the park!

Maybe peace of mind
is living without what truly scares you
rips and tears you
into tiny pieces of yourself

To live only for those moments
greased with cake and champagne
is to miss all the precious time in between

Compassion is the thread
that runs through most people
to let them know that we are all
cut from the same cloth

How hard the storms
We seem to weather
They leave our souls
Like well-worn leather

****** resignation
Perceived as strength
And so little notice
Of suffering in length

Maybe sadness is happiness
So dearly bereaved
And we live with the loneliness
Of love’s empty shirt sleeves

Oh, we who remain
betrothed to faith
yet, always manage to falter
If truth be known
we get cold feet
and leave it at the alter

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"

I’ve noticed that wheat fields
are bare without crows
They seem to be missing
that brush of Van Gogh’s
Another sky bruised
by dreary November
in landscapes I can neither
forget nor remember

Who are you actor?
Who are you really?
Indeed, you perform well
Yet, the question’s not silly

When the smile of a clown
Thinly veils a deep frown
Its disturbing façade
Makes the blood run chilly

Full of liquor and beer
The man in the mirror
Spoke to the other
At the shed of a tear

“Selfish deeds
For empty needs
Perhaps are why
Hearts ache and bleed”

‘Neath my head
I’m apt to keep
A feathered pillow
So that I may sleep

I rid my eyes
The last of sight
So true my mind
May know the night

I close my ears
To all the sound
And hear the bliss
Of silence found

As restful night
Wakes to the morn
A fresh new day
To me is born

Don’t let the traces of
snow on the ground
and the air still yet cold
blind you
to the clouds of March
so thinly painted high in the sky
as to remind us of a Spring yet to come

Sometimes I hear Winter
Through the voice of a cello
Music written by Bach
In andante and mello

Sometimes I see Winter
Through bare trees in the silence
Birds perched on white silos
Awaiting Spring violets

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

Wise man say
It is much easier
To practice acceptance
Of the world’s imperfection
Within the silence of meditation

Wise man say:

Words spoken and then eaten
always spoil your supper

Man with big mouth
always looking for missing foot

Leave molehills as molehills
Mountains are god’s work

Temper your words with seasoning
for you may have to eat them

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

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

How pale the days
without love
No color to their memories
and tomorrow but a sketch
of a painting not yet started

Strolling through a field
In a Victorian gown
As if she were the model
For a painting well-known
As she spins a green parasol
In the Spring sun
Her hair breaking free
From the shape of a bun
Her little boy marvels
At the kaleidoscope sky
Basking in the presence
Of time floating by
There is peace in the world
On this blessed day
It blows through their souls
Pushing all clouds away

Sometimes, in the dead of night
before I've had the chance to write
they disappear into the light
of the moon outside my window
I leave the house, sit on the lawn
Wait until the crack of dawn
Still no trace of where they’ve gone
Where do forgotten words go?

What in God’s name
has this sorry world done?
When the looks of such misery
are on faces so young
When the agents of darkness
walk around in the sun
When no one will say it
but the evil has won
What has the world come to?
What has it done?

What sort of wretch am I?
Who curses God from where I lie
When I want to sing
I want to cry
But my arid throat’s too dry
To utter anything but
“What sort of wretch am I?”

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

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