The pedals for me
A seat for you
On a bicycle
Not built for two

The wind at our backs
Pushing the load
Free us to coast
Down a country road

Pick one for you
And one for me
After we stop
By an apple tree

Spin round and round
In a field of rye
Bask in the sun
'Neath a blue sky

After a day
That ends too soon
We'll race across
The face of the moon

You are the hand
I am the glove
This the dance
The dance of love

For as long as it lasts
The dance of love

I should like
to wear the shades
the tans and grays
of winter days

Quietly sit
in stone cold silence
to render calm
this inner violence

To molt the skin
of what I'm feeling
To know the floor
from the ceiling

Not begrudge
my heart's abiding
Learn to face
in me what's hiding

May we never be
that lonely dog
that barks into the rain
and leave behind
this indifferent world
another invisible stain

Ah, the ripened Autumn skies
Stained by rustic colored dyes
Bleeding from a fading sun
Pleased it's work is nearly done

The sudden demise
of a few relatives
left him shaken and horrified
at the discovery
that in addition to all it's inherited weaknesses
death too
runs in the family

Sadness won’t deny the truth of feeling
But allows for tears to be tasted
and to know the truth of healing
is that the tears are never wasted

Painted at the speed of light
to capture their fleeting splendor
Throwing caution to the wind
and feelings found so tender
A symphony of blue and yellow
in the Mediterranean sun
A dozen golden flowers
Immortal every one

Walking into rooms
Familiar but unknown
Standing along dance floors
Usually alone
Sitting next to ghosts
In dimly lit bars
Staring out windows
At all the moving cars
He feels like the new kid
In the middle of the year
Introduced to the class
Then put back in the rear
Like something unused
And up on a shelf
Hopping down sometimes
To shake the dust off himself
An impotent wire
That needs plugging in
Not knowing how
Is his only sin

Sometimes I think
that dumping my vices
would in itself
create a crisis
Today the notion
to give it a try
leaves my leg hollow
and my throat dry
I find a glass of beer
to be blessed
and abstention
to be a great a test
of all that pious men
have written
about love of God
and religion
So, here’s to what
wins the day
and to hell
with what my conscience
has to say

How sad
the long face of a friend
or one who has
stood so long
on a side of the mirror
as to call him as none other
Both think some fear and loathing
are feelings they share
Each thinks the other phony
Hence, the contemptuous stare

“Behind every cloud
the sun is still shining”
and within each one
a silver lining
So, take heart my friend
on a dark, gloomy day
and don’t listen to Gus
he will lead you astray

Welcome to the landscape
It's distorted dimensions
What he sees
and what he breathes
Welcome to the skin of it
to the cracking bones of it's heavy undertaking
Now, walk with him
if you can
if you can bear the strain

I can picture myself
in the painting "The Hay Wain"
Standing next to the wagon
in the Stour's riverbed
To go back in time
for a moment's simplicity
may almost be worth
a place with the dead

From 3 o’clock till
half past 4
is when the monster
is at your door
If you are careless
And let him in
that’s when the nightmare
will begin
He’ll shave your head
to leave it bare
and he will be back
to enter there
Then you will know
there’s no such thing
as a harmless dream

As I find myself standing
at the foot of this hole
A ***** in my hand
A little angst in my soul
I ask the same question
Again and again
Do I dig the hole deeper
of do I fill it in?

To feel that
there is no hope
to fill
that which cannot be filled
to console
the inconsolable
to resurrect
that which will not be raised
is to know that
at least,
your pain
will not abandon you

As I find myself standing
at the foot of this hole
A ***** in my hand
A little angst in my soul
I ask the same question
Again and again
Do I dig the hole deeper
of do I fill it in?

May we one day be toasting
the bright, morning sun
with the blessed chalice
full of nectarine dew
And if our quest
should test our resolve
raise a cup in its place
when the day is through

First an irritation
and some pressure in my chest
A wave of lava rises
and I'm surfing at it's crest
"Tell'em I'm coming
and Hell's coming with me!"
As I threaten to erupt
and what I thought would fill an ocean
only fills a cup!

The dam of tears
has more leaks
than the child has fingers
He knows that if the dam breaks
there will be no surviving it
Another casualty
in the land of Nod

I can blot out the sun
and not let it shine
You'll be desperate for lies
that are but wishes of mine

The dust from regrets
you thought left behind
Is what you will choke on
when you mistake it for wine

I may smother your dreams
and leave your soul hollow
Extinguish the flame
of all hope that may follow

My power depends
on the weakness in men
For those that stay broken
can't be broken again

So, look if you dare
and can cope with what's there
Let's meet in the darkness
if you don't easily scare

Imagine the frustration
of one's soul as it observes
the mind and the body
thinking and acting in ways
so contrary to it's being

Soft pink rose petals
touched his lips that day
and burned through his body
like the sun through the wings
of Icarus
For he had reached for ecstasy
and cared not for consequence
It was a good day to die

Leaning in a dimly lit doorway
he raises the bottle to his lips
Gulping down the last of that cheap wine
he contemplates the world
and decides that all have been born
into an intensity of need
It’s edge so sharp
that to escape from it
is to feel a sweet relief
He has found that the bottle
can dull the blade
and this is why it
has become his friend
It keeps him company
in those dark places
where he hides
from the lathe

Sitting in the padded cell
his mind hanging by a thread
Foam-filled mitts taped around his hands
so he cannot harm his head
Reliving the early lessons
of his father's wrath
Beaten by the very spoons
used to teach him math
If the answer was incorrect
his father screamed "You're wrong!'
then rapped the poor kid's noggin
like a Chinese gong

One lonely cornstalk
in a dying field
surrounded by casualties
but, this one will not yield

The sun that was so good to them
had turned into a foe
the draught had taken most of them
but, this one will not go

One stubborn stalk of corn
standing all alone
" you live on
when all are gone”
the farmer sadly moaned

There in a field
Along an old highway road
Among scores of wild flowers
Sat a lonely, little house
Abandoned
And not much to look at
It was the worse for wear
There had been no one there
To give it attention
And some proper care

For many, the house had gone unnoticed
But I was drawn to its solitude
I pictured myself
Sitting on its front porch
Watching a sunrise
Or rocking in a chair at night
Gazing upon the moon and stars
Provided especially for me
And my little house

Better dead
than disillusioned
wishing so desperately
for light to get in
Forever cursing
the comfort of darkness
Dare speak the devil
who is tired of sin

I'd like        
to float on cotton
amidst the clouds
up high
Sleeping through
all the world's noise
as if  
it were a lullaby

Music from the piano
on a rainy day
A note for all the raindrops
and each thought of my dismay

Music from the piano
lightens up the gray
I rely upon my friend
to drive the blues away

There’s a man on the street
dragging bags at his feet
with holes that are leaking sand
All the grains lost
have a dear cost
for time’s running out
on this man
Dizzy and frantic
His life’s in a panic
He’s a dog chasing it’s tail
The chaos ensues
when he can’t choose
Because he’s so afraid
he will fail

How the mind is like the sea
capable of great rage
and also of such bountiful stillness
when it's waters are calm
so seems all the world

I beseech thee dream weaver
For tomorrow's sake
May you spin no frightful yarn
that may force by bed awake
Grant me this one request
of a good night's sleep
So, when I rise, I'll be my best
from slumber long and deep

From the crushing tears pressed upon her bed
To drifting among the clouds
She heard it first inside her head
Then whispered the words aloud
Don’t you cry
Sweet butterfly
Soon enough you will be free
For life is but a moment
Compared to eternity

It may be harsh
It may be cruel
To sit before
a bowl of gruel
But, please do not
complain of it
It could be worse
It could be sh—

Wrong wrong
as the day is long
are mistaken beliefs
and they are so strong
Most resilient and
as tough as leather
Thoughts from bad wiring
all misfiring together
The groove is so deep
that it seems like the norm
thriving in the chaos
of a perfect storm

If I had the picture
of Dorian Gray
May I be willing
to give it away
For my greater good
I hope that I would
free my soul
to find it’s own way

Father, tie a ribbon
To an old oak tree
That will let me know
You’re still waiting for me
Don’t let the ugly past
Turn your love away
Please don’t forsake me
Because I went astray

If you choose to take a turn
Down that old oak lane
Find a branch that you can reach
Absolve me from the pain
Of regretful memories
And so much that has passed
Let me trade them for a ribbon
So I can come home at last

A great deal of art
is hidden from the eye of the beholder
Left unfinished
until awash in the glow
of an inspired observer

Lay the king down
Feel the pain of defeat
Overwhelm the relief
Felt from crying

Cover the frown
With a humble smile
Though the inside is sure
It is dying

That fleeting moment
of divine inspiration
floats like a leaf
on a warm Autumn day
Gather it quickly
and pull it close to your heart
before a cold wind
comes and blows it away

That fleeting moment
of divine inspiration
floats like a leaf
on a warm Autumn day
Gather it quickly
and pull it close to your heart
before a cold wind
comes and blows it away

How can we awaken
without crying
How can we question
without tears
How do we answer
without lying
How do we laugh
without fear

Cantering through the clover
Listening to a golden flute
He savors this day
With little to say
And dreams of aesthetic pursuit

“I mean to be the master”
He whispers his dubious heart
“The beast cannot win
If I do not give in”
A fight it has been from the start

He has lost some difficult battles
Maybe more than he can count
The inevitable toll
Has tired the poor soul
But strengthened the rebellious mount

The nature of the untamed savage
And the conscience of an inner man
Are engaged in a war
Like never before
The broker doing all that he can

It’s cold and it’s daybreak
and he’s in his chair again
Alone on an empty porch
No thought to where he’s been
He begins this drunken pantomime
with a violin and bow
singing this haunting melody
feeling mighty low

“Why did she leave me?”
“Whatever did I do?”

But, he knows all too well
his story's a bit untrue
She did not abandon him
because she never was
“Better to have loved and lost
than to do what a loser does"
As the sun completes it’s rise
he decides to go to bed
“Folks, I’m here all **** week”
Then bangs the door into his head

She had kind way about her
But, part of her a little on guard
Grandma grew up when times were tough
Life could be cruel and hard
Solid as rock
Yet, soft as putty
When trying to be serious
delightfully nutty
She’d bake us pies from the apples
we picked from the tree in her yard

The stains from my coffee
dropped onto the paper
Then, randomly folded
into deliberate pleats
Revealed to me
the nature of it’s purpose
The place where the clouds
of imagination can meet

He looked upon
These shells of men
Upon the cobblestone
Again
It sadly touched
His heart to know
This colleague had no
Place to go
And took such comfort
From a flask
There was no notice
Of what was asked
“**** the poison
Inside thy head!
Be thee alive?
Or be thee dead?”

Fall reminds me of the evening
It flows into the Winter's night
Springtime is tomorrow's dawning
of the Summer's enduring light
A year, a day
Who's to say
how much time
we have to play
and revel in each season's sweet delight

Silent is the stillness
that has long remained undisturbed
To listen to it
is to know the unease
of it’s quiet foreboding