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

When wind moves through it’s limbs
and blows down through my hair
I seem to forget
about the burdens I bear
And whenever this pall
cast it’s shadow on me
you will find me outside
standing next to a tree

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

Where my world
meets their world
I caught a glimpse today
A precious scene
of does and fawns
and the fawns had come to play
Behind my kitchen window
I dared not make a sound
But then, I think they noticed me
and were gone in leaps and bounds

Breath was what mattered
all the days since his birth
Now dressed in fine pine
and a suit of his worth
Slowly descending
into the soil's firth
For death be it only
what lies in the earth

So many
live as prisoners
behind bars
made of the cold steel of hate
Dead men walking
with hearts too hardened
to grant reprieves

Some decisions are easy
But some we are left to wrestle
With bad and the good
The what-ifs and the shoulds
Eventually ground up in a pestle

There’s much to fear from living
When you don’t know what you’re doing

There’s much to fear from dying
When you can’t see where you’re going

From the outside looking in
It would seem that one can’t win

So, get in the boat with Michael
And start rowing the boat ashore

The face that lives
inside the blot
is content today
not to stir the ***
To disturb the peace
is to break the lease
with the only friend
the man has got

It was through
But a single reed
That I held up in my hand

My eyes took aim
At the winter sky
As I walked through chilly sand

And for a time
I felt as though
The sun was smiling at me

It lit my way
The rest of the day
Before it hid behind the sea

I'm unarmed man
dancing in the street
to the tune of a gun
fired at my feet
I cannot stop moving
for if I do
I'll see my pride leaking
from a ****** shoe

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

To be so uncomfortable
in the present moment
as to rush to get to the next one
Dancing like feet
touching hot coals
A machine of perpetual  motion

He thought he was
a child of nature
Loving all creatures
you see
He couldn’t believe
what had just occurred
“How could this happen to me?”

As he sat in the road
all ******
talking to the EMT
he suspected
it was a woodpecker
that had mistaken his head
for a tree!

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”

Dreams are to escape
The laws of physics
They’re the playgrounds of analysts, psychics, and mystics
Ethereal visions of a make- believe earth
But in the end
We’re unsure of their worth

I remember
a summer of water colors
softly lit
by the light of the sun
Holding hands
along the lake’s hidden beaches
Waltzing in the twilight
when the day was done

Lying in the driveway
sleeping in the rain
a man melting before my eyes
and leaving such a stain
"Just a dream" I tell myself
and forget about what it means
But, the next day in the driveway
the bluish tint of jeans

If you feel the earth breathing
through the ocean's briny tide
Sense a mountain watching
as you walk along it's side
Color the forest canopy
as it migrates through the seasons
Marvel at Nature's tantrums
and the mystery of her reasons
Float upon a silent stream
as it meanders through your soul
You know that there's no part of you
that is greater than the whole

Difficult to know
what’s in one’s heart
when one so rarely
looks there
And taking a peek
into Pandora’s box
risks the release
of a nightmare

Big “I”
Little you
and everyone else too
As long as it
comes out the winner
If it’s let in the game
things won’t be the same
The ego is a natural born sinner

She appears along the avenue
In Victorian elegance
Her feet bouncing beneath her skirt
As if itching for a dance
She twirls her lacy parasol
High into the air
Moves across a crowded walk
As if no one else was there
May dear sweet Eliza-Doo
Woven in the fabric of her time
I find myself an unhappy man
Living without her in mine

All the birds have flown away
and a nest is what remains
I feel more and more
like that beat up bike
that's been left out in the rain

The rooms in this house
now sit in silence
They are but shrines
gathering the dust
of fond memories
Sometimes, when I walk past
their doors
I think I hear playing
But, then, I step in to the crushing
disappointment of quiet, empty space
They have left us alone
Dazed and confused
with no inkling of what to do next
And the heartache
Did I mention the heartache?

Beware of the man
with the sharpened wit
He be a swordsmen in disguise
Using the air in his lungs
he duels with his tongue
splitting damnable truths
between lies

How ironic the insight
that my mind
spends much of it’s time
blind
to the reality that it is
stuck in the head
which is stuck up the ***
of a blundering fool

Riding through the sunlit countryside
in a roadster with the top down
on a fresh summer day
The greens are greener
The skies are bluer
As the bright colors fill my eyes
the essence of the day fills my soul
and I need not ask
why anyone would wish to be anything but alive

I yearn for that moment
the serenity I’m seeking
Found in a landscape
Not noticed before

Spellbound by it’s beauty
and no words for the speaking
The peace so completes me
I may hunger no more

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

Can life be so bad
that you’re better off dead
I asked a wise man
and here’s what he said:

“There’s no way out of life
except through death
So, beware of that spot
between a rock and a hard place”

Wise man say
that a valiant effort
can never be anything less
than a righteous failure

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

I can fancy myself a painter
Standing where the sea meets the shore
With my feet in the sand
and a brush in my hand
the canvas as an open door

to an ocean of abandoned dreams

How ironic
this entropy of thought
that life
as a series of random occurrences
is nothing
but the death of destiny

Where does a person's feelings lie
when a child can't afford to hate?
Maybe love
turned away many times
was no longer willing to wait

The evil of it’s pursuits
knows no bounds
for it is a powerful time traveler
It lives in the past
but, feeds on the future
to grieve the present
And, it is truly
the enemy of us all

I  have died
many deaths
and labored through
many shallow breaths
Dreading so, what I might face
If I peered into the space
between the frames
of my mind's worst horror movie

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

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”

I did not know
where I was heading
for most of the night
with a drink in each hand

Until I woke
early the next morning
face down on the beach
one eye in the sand

Evil is innocence
unspeakably betrayed
as it laughs at it’s partner
about the deal that was made

How dull the instrument of alcohol
In service of emotional pain
For come the dawn
the effect is gone
and the wolf is at the door again

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