If only for a day
I could be a leaf
a leaf that rides an Autumn wind
from a orange colored tree top
to a meandering stream of a Fall-bitten mountain side
adrift and yet content
with the random nature of the world

Every person on this earth
Has a truth
And when that person dies
That truth does not die with him
For better or for worse
It lives bent and twisted in the shadow
Of someone living

Sometimes taking
Sometimes giving

When there’s light
at the end of a tunnel
and the tour
of it’s darkness is done
May we never make
the careless mistake
of missing our time in the sun

On the inside
of the window pane
I hear the tapping
of a summer rain
It cools the fire
of the noonday sun
And all is still
until it’s done

Sometimes I do not remember
auditioning for this part
The lines are unfamiliar to me
and have been from the start
I manage to get through
most of the scenes
but at the the end of day
I know I have acted poorly
in role I’d rather not play

Desperate to get
what he thought
the world owed him
He became a victim
of his own thoughtless crime
Dying in a field
betrayed by his father
who wasn't around
to help keep him in line
He thought of the words
someone had told him
"Don't be defined by
who left you behind"

Tis my brother's memory locked
From what he does not tell
He walks along his wall alone
To guard his private hell

Tis my brother's soul so scorched
At times his mood morose
It's when his demon's flames are freed
So, I do not stand so close

Tis my brother's fate to suffer
And this is what I fear
I have nothing else to offer
But a sympathetic ear

May the light of a smile
put a song in your heart
and see you thankful
for a place with the living
May the beautiful promise
of a better tomorrow
be the gift
that keeps on giving

There are days I wake up
on the wrong side of myself
I walk around with a bellyful of dynamite and a fuse for a tail
Until kaboom!
I then proceed to spend the rest
of the day picking up the pieces
and reassembling them into the sane person I was the day before

I see a little boat
in a harbor
waiting to set sail
for the sea
It floats as prisoner
tied to the docks
waiting for it's chance to be free

But I have no view
of a harbor
and I do not live
by the sea
Yet, I'm haunted by visions
of this sad little boat
I sense it has a message for me

Does it want us
to sail off together
and throw caution to the wind for the day?
Is it enough of a boat
to keep us a float
or will we sink to the bottom of the bay?

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

Easy to be smitten
by a puppy and a kitten
Hard to turn away
when both are at play
For it’s not once
but twice we are bitten

He stares from across the room
Mad for every bashful lash of her eyes
Every ungraceful turn
and near stumble
Each uncomfortable moment
makes it abundantly clear that
she must be rescued
from the brute force of all this mockery
So, tonight he rides
as the knight
she thought would never come

Come back again
to the window sill
to take some coffee
until your fill
Before you leave
the lovers nest
to do what we both
know is best
For there can be no
straight lines between us

It was so uneventful
lowered into the ground
and with nothing to show
for his labors

All he wanted
was a fancy white box
so he could impress
his new neighbors

Those without arms
cannot hug you
and without warm hearts
cannot love you
Perhaps you can’t give
what you did not receive
and there is only God
to forgive you

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

He came to study the brooding skies,
Of blues and pewter grays,
Before they bowed and curtsied,
To the lighter, warmer days
And paint emerging scenes of Spring,
With Winter in its shadows,
Among the empty, amber fields,
Sprouting into blissful meadows,
Of saving grace

Is he like a lowly worm
that crawls along the ground
Blind to what’s in front of him
not knowing where’s he bound
Has he lived a good life
or been dying a slow death
Has he lived his life freely
or struggled with each breath
Is there more to feel sorry for
More actions to regret
Will there be more apologies
Perhaps more blood to let
Is all that’s left are tired thoughts
with nothing new to ponder
Or is it time to look for grass
on the greener side of yonder
?

Maybe happiness is gratitude
That I’m not anywhere but here
Completely in the moment
With little doubt or fear
Wearing a warm and gentle smile
That rides in with the wind
Asking the child I thought was gone
To come out and play again

Let there be only
loving words spoken
so another harsh cycle
be beautifully broken
To free a generation
from a circle of pain
that it may soon wash off
in a cool cleansing rain
of tears so long sought after

There’s a hole at my feet
that I know I must fill
and as long as it’s there
I cannot be still
Don’t know where it comes from
or how it appears
But it may be how
I cope with my fears
I work to cover
an unpaid bill
that was handed to me
against my will
But, for the most part
I think I’ll survive
As long as I don’t bury
myself alive

When my own folly
paves the road to ruin
I rage against God

I dreamt of a desert
Where I sat with a sage
His comments were brief
On the mellowing of age
“From the ache of all yearning
To the wisdom of learning
One must guard passion
From excess and rage”

Wear not
the irate head to bed
‘Spite the words
that have been said
Anger is a state of mind
that leaves your slumber
in such a bind
So, in the interest
of better sleep
Eat yours words
and not a peep

… until the break of day

There will be no smiles today
There will be no laughter
There will be no acts of love
or the moments after
There will be no celebration
There will be no glee
Only thoughts of those I've lost
and what they meant to me

Was it the best of times?
Or the worst of times?
Maybe it’s best
That we look at the past
Through rose-colored glass
And let sleeping dogs lie

The grandfather clock
in my grandmother’s house
stood silent in a corner all day
But, sometimes at night
it would grow in height
and I’d run before it had something to say

Be mindful of nostalgia trips
And recollection of past years
Step lightly down old memory lane
Or it may produce some tears

For every triumph in one’s life
There are bound to be regrets
So, remember all the good times
And hope the rest you can forget

There’s a special cell
For me in hell
For all my considerable blasphemy
And you may find it odd
That I have talked to God
And he told me that
I may need a lobotomy

In pulling my shrinking underwear on
I noticed again that my feet were gone
All I could see was disgusting flab
So I bellowed this out like Captain Ahab
"**** thee whale!"

I pity those
who cannot relax at night
For I am sometimes lying there
next to them
wide-eyed in a slow tale of time

Better anger than non-belief
One that sees the Lord
as a well-carved but lifeless piece of wood
does not seek to strike it

Don't find many smiles
in those very old photographs
Maybe, it's the look of hardship
hiding in the sepia
Barely a grin
Not quite a frown
Glad to be alive
But, not quite gratitude
Expressions that seem to say
"Don't worry friend
it will all be over soon enough"

Gently the morning light
meets my sleepy eyes
It softly taps my shoulder
Like a mother’s plea to rise
The world it seems to be rather harsh
for it’s always asking when
I’ll get up to earn my way
back to bed again

Tired are the eyes
that rest upon the sleep-deprived face
It comes to the mirror each morning
It keeps things from the curious companion
who leans against the bathroom sink
Waiting for some truth to break the unwashed silence

The songs of birds
The morning mist
The cool, wet air
gently kissed
by the breaking sun
Before losers lose
and winners win
Before all the madness
can begin
the battle for the day
is all but won

When I stand weak
In the judgement of others
Trembling at the verdict
of my shaky self-worth
May I think of the love
Of my very sweet mother
Who thought nothing more dear
Than the day of my birth

The anxious face
sketches like a mothman
with two fiery red eyes
amidst a flurry of large violent lines of black ink
that look more like the claw marks
of an animal
desperate for escape

As the sun slowly rises
between the greening hills
a silent stream meanders past
and an old abandoned mill

A farmer’s mare is straying
along a country lane
a noisy crow disturbs the peace
atop a weather vane

Behind the thinning morning mist
cows can safely graze
as I watch I reminisce
a life of simpler days

In a very big house
on a hill made of money
Rising to the sky
from the ground
An overweight man
Fat from ill-gotten gains
picked from all the pockets
in town

How much of the truth
must be missing
before it is seen as a lie?
You can bathe it and dress it
Maybe make it smell nice
But, a pig always lives in a sty

Most days
the mist of morning
will rinse away
my dreams
But when the dreams
are nightmares
I hear echoes
of their screams

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

If my heart has hardened
giving only when rationed
may circumstances serve
to awake my compassion
and I become the holder
as well as the held
all hardened feelings
timely expelled

It is both eerie and sad to sit
in this dark room
listening to the tuning
of his instruments
For they now lie abandoned
in a forgotten corner
along with his dreams
that rose in the steam
of yesterday’s morning coffee
Now are the casualties from battles of dysfunction
long dead but not forgotten

I would like to hear again
From my brother’s violin
And see the world
As not the sin
That took it all
Away from him

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.

If he has the blues
for more than a day
He bellies up to the bar
to chase them away
Soaks up the *****
Goes home to snooze
And when he wakes
there’s hell to pay

If there’s too much to do
and you’re too tired to do it
Put up your feet
and tell the world “***** it”

Along an old highway road
there in a field
among scores of wild flowers
sits a lonely, little house
it looks abandoned
and not much to look at
it’s the worse for wear
there’s been no one there
to give it attention
and some proper care
to many the house goes unnoticed
but, I was drawn to its solitude
I pictured myself on it's front porch
watching a sunrise
or rocking in a chair at night
gazing upon the moon and stars
provided especially for me
in my little house