Here’s to the good
we do have
And be glad of the bad
we don’t
To all the strength
we must have
to do
what others won’t
To embrace our fathers
And love our mothers
To respect ourselves
as well as others
Here’s to what we do have
and not dwell on what we don’t

What is it today
that I cannot say no
that it burns in my chest
like a volcano
What is it today
that fuels the resentment
as I nod my head “yes”
in reluctant agreement
I am usually sorry
when I don’t say no
when that little voice tells me
“I told you so”

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 am a heathen
who just went vegan
and now I have nothing to eat
I have nothing but juice
and now I'm reduced
to searching for food in the street
they found me at dawn
on somebody's lawn
seasoning the boots on my feet
and to my dismay
I heard the cops say
boots are not what vegans can eat!
help me.

As I stand beneath
this beautiful tree
I ask it's limbs
to hug me tender
and raise me up
so that I may see
the color of Autumn
in all it's splendor

Yes, beware
The Ides of March
Tis the Spring
Of our discontent
But, Lord, what fools
These mortals be
When they heed
The ears they lent
There is nothing
Either good or bad
But thinking
Makes it so
And if the head
Won’t yield to reason
Then up the ****
It goes!

There be a time
When old St. Peter
Decides your fate
For all eternity

So, ask the Man
To stop the meter
On the all the sins
He be charging thee

Dream blue skies
Of all the seasons
Breathe free the green
The fields of Spring

Live your life
For God’s good reasons
But, teach yourself
To dance and sing!

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

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’s a little white church
in Barcelona
Not far from the lighthouse
overlooking the bay
It’s where I spent
my Bible school summers
and sometimes Christmas
in a Sunday school play

We'd walk to the smoke house
down on the shore
Savor some soft ice cream
from a nearby stand
Run out on the breakwall
that sat in the harbor
Greet the fine sailboats
with a wave of the hand

There’s little so dear
to my precious memories
than this cozy warm village
of my childhood days
Where everyone gathered
for dinner at grandma’s
Can someone please pass
the potatoes this way?

Nearly all the leaves have fallen
and the trees look lonely and bare
When Winter moves in
they will look so thin
standing in the cold air
I hope that they will be sleeping
as warm as the cat in my lap
and in the Spring
the birds will sing
to wake them
from a long winter’s nap

Nestled in a blanket of pristine snow-covered countryside
an old barn in winter
A crow sits atop it's white ragged roof

Amidst the vast and blinding silence
that surrounds this frozen remnant of an era gone by
a reminder
that very little happens here now

It's an aging but graceful beauty
Standing proud as though untouched
by time
and an ever-changing modern world

What sort of chance
does a kid have
when generations before him
follow him all the days of his life
training him in the ways of unhappiness?
Expect the worst my friends
and get it but, survive
Expect the best
but, get the worst
and you die

How can one
embrace insanity?
Hug this unhuggable
sideshow
It’s a rollercoaster ride
at a carnival of crazy
I stare at the abandoned pieces
of myself
and the defeat of it
makes me want to cry
because a cage
is where I belong

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

Sometimes I wonder about an auto-immune disease of the mind
when, at the slightest urging,
I can attack myself
with a such a barrage of self-criticism
It’s no small wonder I get so mean
I’m all strapped in
the self ***-kicking machine

The hours are always elapsing
No matter how idle their passing
There in Time's pages
Everyone ages
'til nothing is done without gasping

Acts of kindness
and generosity
are often cloaked
in anonymity

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?

If God watches this weary world
through the eyes of birds
Are their heads bowed
in the rain
of his unspoken words?

There’s a stone cold figure
At the edge of the river
Helping poor souls get aboard
His hell-bound ferry
Takes all it can carry
Down to the Black Bottom Gorge


Oh Black Bottom
Oh Black Bottom
Don’t you fret none
Cause I done got ‘em
The ferryman softly sings


If they don’t know by now
Why they’re here or how
They ain’t never gonna
Learn a **** thing

One day I rose
from where I was sitting
to embrace the world's love
as if it befitting
then fast lowered myself
at the lack of humility
and shuddered for days
at the responsibility

Some fear weakness
More than dying
Some would die
Before found crying
They’d rather drink
Than face their fear
And God forbid
They shed a tear

****** are the shoes
that walk the same streets
We go to the same places
Sit in the same seats
We wear the same threads
as the ones who were shot
But, what do we have
that they haven’t got?
They are gone
and we are not

Color my mood
A melancholy blue
The bill for it’s absence
Is now again due
May the power of its pain
Produce enough rain
To wash me so cleanly
Of it’s signature hue

Ambling through lives
Thirsting for meaning that seems
To turn to dust
Searching for a selfless direction
That may lead to all that inspires us

Tempted by a dark flame
We fear will consume our souls
In a desperate need of the salvation
Calling to us
From one side to the other
We walk a bridge of fire

Today is the day
that I will be less a human doing
and more a human being
If not but for one moment
I will know how
to be something other than
a mule pulling a plow

And then the sun rises......

These special deliveries
Heaven sends to the earth
Each silently waits
until that moment of birth
When it finally arrives
New lungs fill with air
to let everyone know
what to handle with care

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

Sometimes I feel like an idiot
In search of a village
and can’t get offered the job

I saw a band of pixies
Among the mushrooms
In my yard
It may have been the drinking
Or I had been working
Much too hard

But as the sun was setting
On the window ledge
That night
I thought I may have seen it all
Until they began
To fight

They were all so very angry
And I thought this might
Be fun
Until things got too out of hand
And a pixie
Pulled a gun

I rapped upon my window hard
And yelled
‘There’ll be none of that!’
Then the gun quickly disappeared
Beneath his
Little hat

Now those little imps best beware
Until I
Settle down
Into my new position
As the sheriff
Of Pixie Town

Here lies the cat
upon my bed
I walk on by
in silent dread
Careful lest
I wake the pest
and stroke forever
the squatter’s head

I dream of an empty chair
in a field of golden wheat
It’s a lonesome scene of solitude
with no one in the seat
I peer
I stare
Nothing seems to be there
but a surreal world
of Monsieur Magritte

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

Let no more tears
Push against this leaky wall
For one more drop
will surely make it fall
Then, maybe at least
I'll be rid of the beast
But, the pain I want vanquished
will be missed most of all

The music is in there somewhere
Trying to tell your soul
it’s solely there to restore to you
what the sadness came and stole
Listen to the pleasant tune
It can’t be there by chance
The more you hear
The more you cheer
and you may even want to dance

Running and jumping
As if on the moon
Light as a pixie hop
Aboard a mushroom
They’re veiled in the presence
of make-believe things
No thoughts of the future
And the worry it brings
How I so envy
The magic to be
bound by the charm
Of young naivety

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

From a humidor
for gods long vanquished
Wisps of smoke
drifting high in the sky
Lest we forget them

like
a monk’s brilliant mosaic
of colored sand
inspired by God
and then gone
with the wave of his hand
art may capture one
of beauty’s glorious
but fleeting moments
and ease the pain
of its stubborn impermanence

Humor me God
as I err against you
myself
and all those around me
Humor me please
for I need the laugh

I have come to the conclusion
that it is both unfair and unreasonable
to expect any one person
to be happy all of the time
and also to judge that discontent
as some sort of personal failure
How could it possibly be that simple?
May any sustained absence of one's happiness
lead to an enduring appreciation of it's return

Just as he finished burying
the last of his unwanted memories
they were disinterred again
at the order of the coroner
His hands blistered
back sore
shovel still in hand
he was told
"Dig 'em up. Dig 'em all up
and when you're done,
bury 'em again because
we got to get your mind right”
It was then that he felt
there will come a time
when he won't need that ****** shovel

I love you
a bushel and a peck
The smell of your hair
The tiny mole on your neck
The shape of your shadow
in the bright sunlight
The shine of the moon
on your face at night
Without you
my world would be a wreck
Besides, you’re a bargain
at a bushel and a peck!

There were crows in my dreams
Before my father died
They became the haunt of me
With the stare of their steely eyes
I bowed my head and prayed each night
Before the Grace above
To rid my dreams of the crows
And see instead a dove

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

In the early spring
when flowers bloom
the daffodils dance
by the light of the moon
Their time is short
yet dance with glee
for the night can’t own them
and they will always be
children of a rising sun

From a sea of hate
He rises
Creating enemies
on either shore
Turning man
against his brother
until their country
was no more

If his emotions rustle
with every wind that kicks up
it’s a sign that a storm is brewing
If he is not mindful
of the temptation of chaos
it could mean his ugly undoing

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