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"

Rise to the blessing
of the morning sun
Open all the windows
it’s will be done
Let it chase away the darkness
of the cold, still night
Let there be clarity
where there was no light
May the sun’s luminescence
baptize all the faces
of those so receiving
of it’s bountiful graces
For a day without storms
is a good day indeed
and may that be remembered
in one’s hour of need

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

I work hard
every day
to make things
go my way
So much so
that in fact
I lose sight
of how to act
While at work
I'd rather not
get myself
tied in a knot
If truth be known
I'd rather play
but, then again
I like the pay

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

It had been a day
of holding back tears
Putting fingers in holes
of a leaky ****
A wall that had been sturdy
for so many years
crumbling into a person
I think I could like

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

So many rain clouds
One for each parade
Marching down
the streets of town
where smiles are unmade

Oh how my emotion rules me
I can only bow before it
as it’s loyal subject
If only I could rid
this mighty king of it’s crown
to end this tyranny
and reign peace upon the land

Curse this hat upon my head
For it can’t keep the sun at bay
It won’t shield my eyes
From all the bugs that fly
And so many come my way
**** all the goo in my hands
I think that I would understand
If the boss man could not stand
My act for another day

It's difficult to see
the charm in a day
when so much
is taken for granted
Let's be mindful to pray
at the start of the day
then be grateful
for the seeds we have planted

Wake up
in the cold rain
of a dark alley
to feel the desperate
nature of existence

He loves the girl
Dancing in the silhouette
He wants to be with her alone
Though they've never met

The outline of her shapely thighs
Casting spells and telling lies
He wants to talk to her
But, he's so shy
He tries to make a move
But, he's so petrified

He loves the girl
In the sihouette
Strangers in the night
Who have never met

They come to you
At night with lies
To feast on shallow
Breaths and sighs
May God heed
Your prayers with speed
And soothe the child’s
Bewildered cries

Sandman
Be his friend this night
Keep them away until first light

Spare him the nightmare
The brink of his waking
The sweat of his body
It’s tireless quaking

Mommy and Daddy
Throw him under that train
Leave him in sheets
Stiff in dried stains

Why won’t they leave him
Alone in his bed
Or, at least, show some mercy
And send monsters instead

Should I be still
forever hungry
in the land
of good and plenty?
Should I fill my belly
yet starve my soul
and leave this yearning
to be whole
Solely to the question:
"Is there nothing more?"

God might wonder
how can a man not be changed
by witnessing the birth of his child
It’s one of those clues
that the world does not revolve
around one’s enormous head
An epiphany that should begin to
free one’s spirit from the bonds of
self-absorbing narcissism
But, then again ..

I heard the songs of sirens
Sweetly humming through the night
Their naked silhouettes appeared
Beneath the grey moonlight
They knew that I was watching
But, was allowed my stay
To gaze upon these wonders
Who so freely danced and played
Precious nymphs of Nature
In worship of the sky
I fear it but a surreal dream
Adrift a field of rye

Though it may be difficult
to follow through
Saying “no” sometimes
is saying “yes” to you
It may appear selfish
and down-right rude
But, looking out for yourself
is the right attitude

You would rather your heart
ten times broken
than suffer the torture of gloom
Blank faces in mirrors
hang on dark inner walls
that won't let you leave the room

As I stand in the nourishing light
of midday
I drink in the sun
and bask in it’s warmth
with gratitude

Delusion was that place in my heart
that I sometimes mistook for the truth
But, as I get older
I begin to miss
that place where I spent
much of my youth

There is living
without living
and two kinds of dead
Please don’t put me
in the grave
before the eulogy
is said

Better to know
The worth of things
Rather than their cost
And never suffer the
Consequence
Of losing what
Can’t be lost

Every moment has it's building
Every hour has it's time
Every day has it's passing
Every past the simple crime
of suffering the regrets
of what might have been
and the irony of worry
of what could happen
and when

I have many faults
and logged many a sin
If I had to explain it
I wouldn't know where to begin
But, as I look at the world
I'm beginning to see
Hell may be too crowded
for the likes of me

It's ok
to enjoy today
for tomorrow always comes
Eat your cake
and have it too
before left with tomorrow's crumbs

There’s a part of myself
That nervously watches
As I stare into space
Slowly banging a drum

And just like a ******
I batton down hatches
To prepare for the storm
That’s so unlikely to come

Obosobo
of long ago
was the spirit of the night
It's dark and ugly nature
robbed the world
of all it's light
Trapped beneath
the horizon's floor
the sun then heard a mighty roar
The earth cried out with all it's tendered might
"I cast you out
Obosobo
I've had enough
You have to go
But, if you truly
want to stay
you may give me rest
between each day"

Valiant are those souls
who are willing to brave
the treacherous waters
of traumatic pasts
They sail with a wind of conviction tempered with caution
Worthy of an ancient mariner
it is an adventurous,
perilous voyage
yet full of hope that one day
their stormy seas will set them free

As I ride into work
I catch myself dreaming
of a nice, long nap
before a day yet begun
My bed is the grass
of a cool, green meadow
draped in the light
of a warm, Autumn sun

He's singing in the rain
and feeling no pain
He knows it's insane
but, he's drinking again
Up high on a cloud
He's obnoxious and loud
dancing and singing in the rain

Most fears are echoes
of a fractured past
Duty-bound to prepare us
for apocalyptic fiction