Old things for new
Old things for new
Cried a poor peddler
through a high province of Peru
He thought of the story
of the rain that got in
It filled the world up
to wash away sin
It was but an ark
that had saved not the least
of all that were chosen
from man and the beasts
And how had that mattered
in the Andes of Peru?
Long after the water
could reach Machu Picchu

The powerful image of a hungry child
crushes my self-pitying thoughts
and I feel sad for the poor waif
that can't get enough to eat
and disappointment in the fool
that forgets his good fortune

Science is not the enemy
of centuries of absurd religion
And in the end
it will become it's friend
but not without evolution
or revolution

Nothing but the vastness
of it’s own empty space
for the mind
that so desperately
searches for words

Sometimes we may have thoughts
about ourselves and others
that lurk in the dark shadows of human frailty
and lose sight of
what makes us so complex
and uniquely divine

I am but a teaspoon of water
in a large and omnipotent sea
along for the ride
in it's powerful tide
despite objections from me

The glass half-full
is happiness that is
permitted
in the absence of misery

There is no strength in cruelty
It is an ugliness with only weakness
as it’s base
An unsightly reflection
of damaged people causing more harm in defense of their open wounds

Sometimes inside
I see oceans
inspired
by the breadth of the sea
From atop a great hill
my heart and lungs fill
with a spirited hunger to be

Sometimes inside
there are valleys
buried in layers of sand
Where eyes have not cried
for dreams that have died
and hope is lost once again

He does love God
But, he fears the devil
and that which he preaches
may not be on the level
His head has been wrought
with these lustful thoughts
It turns on the street
as if on a swivel
One stray from the path
could incur God’s wrath
and he’d forever be
in league with evil

this mask I must wear
it leaves me with a cold sense
of unbelonging
it makes me a stranger
among many other masked strangers
and though I am but a few miles away
I feel far from home

I want that picture
That picture of a young boy
standing proudly next to his father
That picture I lean on
when the world weighs heavy
That picture that when I'm confused
begs the question:
"What would Dad do?"
I want that picture
and yet I do not have it
and his death only serves to remind me
that I never will

The temptation to look again
Is too much to resist
I can’t hide the disappointment
As the ugly truth persists

The little hand won’t cooperate
And the big hand is even worse
Yet, I remain a clock watcher
And some days it’s such a curse

I’m aware of all devices
Designed to show me time
And not a one can return to me
What I thought was mine

Maybe I can convince some folks
Get everyone to agree
To set the big hand back each day
So I may enjoy my tea!

No one knows better
how hard it is
to stop and smell the roses
than one whose hair is on fire

In a white room
on a white wall
there hangs a still-life of flowers
Although it seems
all but a dream
it's message of peace
has great power

There are many
poets it seems
that tell the story
of shattered dreams
We have to listen
to what they say
because the pain
won't go away

We had our fears
and shed our tears
we labored on
through hidden years
when we look back
on lessons learned
we hope, at least
some bridges burned

May we all be spared
the lens of poets
for ignorance is bliss
and only they truly know it

I lie in the silence
of your golden sleep
the look of youthful innocence
is on your face to keep

As I gaze upon
your peaceful smile
You pass the night
in graceful style

and manage it
without a single peep

How can people see insanity
In those who are trained to act?
And they themselves can’t distinguish
Between boldfaced lies and fact?

How difficult the lives
of those who spend
much of adulthood
searching for the parts of themselves
lost in an embattled childhood
and once found
assembling those jig-sawed pieces
into what was thought never to be whole

Allow the particle of self
to join the wave of humanity

A violin
for the absence of flowers
A cello
for the snow-sprinkled trees
An oboe
for the bird that missed the trip south
And silence
for Winter’s dis-ease

If Time is the great conqueror
and we must bend to it’s will
If it is such a powerful tyrant
then, why is it so easily killed?

With all the unknown variables
in the complex equation of our lives
for X to equal happiness
we must be always solving for the
value of X

I have an applecart
It's contents are just so
Everything has it's place
Everything a row
I know too well
that if I let
the applecart
get too upset
I'll change into a man
I do not know

Yesterday a hazy memory
Tomorrow is but a dream
Today’s expectations working hard
to build a head of steam

To observe the soothing grace
of trees slowly swaying in the wind
Is to release myself
From the stressful pace of the day
and breathe the freedom
of the present moment

Cherish those rare moments
when we have the ability
to settle and relax
into thoughts of our youth
and remember the simplicity of ourselves

The fright at the brink of his
waking
The sweat of his body’s
quaking
Only moments before
his face pressed to the cold steel
of the rail
Eyes fixed on the roaring machine
that force the wide in his eyes
each morning
Be a friend Sandman
Keep it all away until the light
Sworn by any natural law
not to betray him
they toss him to that steely
night freighter
only to return to their warm beds
It would be easier
if they were monsters instead

Walking through a field
lush with wildflowers
Making my way
towards a warm setting sun
A vision of death
or a flight of fantasy
Only time
will tell which one

The burden of rapture
all swollen in sadness
is love that’s a fever
that descends into madness
Yet, this perfect poison
is gladly taken
like a classic martini
Stirred but not shaken

Tightly bound to folly are we
In as many ways
as there are human fears and desires
And sooner or later
all we want in this world
is to be free

Poor Dog
lying in the road
there must have been
no place to go
My friend
you must have known
this was no place for you

In a car
rushing by
I'm the one
who's sick inside
no matter how you died
there was nothing I could do

Old dog
I'll say a prayer
as you lie sleeping there
Find a place in my despair
and haunt my whole day through

Very hard not to notice
this man in the street
He wears these nice threads
and fancy shoes on his feet

"And for today only
new lamps for old"
To hear him tell it
a deal worth more than gold

"I'm trading light for darkness
Sight for your blindness
Love for indifference
and I'll throw in a some kindness"

He is as convincing
as any soul one can meet
But today no one is buying
from this miserable cheat

When he heard himself say
“It is what it is”
he dropped by the office
of Dr. sloe gin fizz
The doc stumbled in
stinking of gin
and placed a bottle
at the end of the table
Doc said “Down the hatch”
Rocky said “What’s the catch?
Doc slurred “Apparently, this
can make you unstable”

My heart for those
who so love a rose
For they wither along side
it’s mortal repose
But, may they not fret
it’s sad wilted face
There will be another
to take it’s place

My heart to those
who so love a rose
They wither along side
it's mortal repose
But, there should be no mourning
it's angelic face
For a divine likeness
will bloom in it's place

I don’t find myself
In the woods anymore
Running through orchards
Or watching boats from the shore
When I was a kid
That is all that I did
After putting on shoes
And running out the front door

We are little boats
in the harbor
yearning to set sail
for the sea
Tied to the docks
the fear in us mocks
our God-given right to be free

There’s an old salty ******
at the back of a ship
that’s sinking into the sea
I can hear the words
from his stiff upper lip
as he sadly recites to me
You can’t save me
You can’t save me
So, turn your eyes away
I will sleep
In the cold, dark deep
and you will see another day

A violin
for a single flower
Cellos for all
the gray barren trees
An orchestra
and it’s infinite power
for an ‘Ode to Joy’
to set the world at ease

The irony is
that the fear of death
gives rise to the fear of living
Meeting uncertainty
with an unshakable faith
is the gift that keeps on giving

A silent scream of terror
from a frozen face of fear
Although a bit scared
he couldn’t help but stare
at the painting on the mirror

Lay your head
upon the grass
'neath the wispy willows

Close your eyes
sleep with the peace
that dwells in Nature's pillows

Ease your mind
into the silence
Ride a horse
up to the Highlands

Amidst the clouds
of sweet serenity

White represents
The innocence of birth
Never will the slate be so clean
Black represents
The contemplation of death
And red all the passion between

Is it the Shakespeare
or is it love
Is it a rapier
on the wings of a dove
****** into his open heart
testing the poison
of Cupid's dart
Is it an elixir
poured from a sonnet
or he is bewitched
from the look of her bonnet
Is it Shakespeare
or is it love
or maybe the kiss
of her sweet scented glove

Whenever it’s dark and gray
On a winter’s rainy day
Content for a single ray
Deep into the month of May
Shine baby shine
Shine baby shine
Tell me the line
That will make you mine

From behind a window pane
I watch the relentless rain
I’m suffering from the pain
Of a broken water main
Shine baby shine
Shine baby shine
Will you be so kind
To put this gloom behind?

Sometimes I think
that my search for meaning
in humanity
errs on the side
of humanity

As the sun peeks over the edge of night
he slowly opens his eyes
and wakes not with an eagerness of spirit
He grows weary of battle
For this love and hate of himself
is always at war
and if there is any lacking in his resolve
victory for love will be hard-won
if won at all
Fatigue will plague his every moment
until the darkness grants his leave
It is then he can close his eyes to sleep once more