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

I have no clothes
left to wear
They’re on the floor
because I left them there
They won’t get washed
lying on the floor
So, I guess I’ll stink
forever more

Warm your hands
Next to it’s fire
Bow to it
And call it sire
No one may ever know
Where you have been

But if you do
Know full well
Your soul’s no longer
Yours to sell
And you may never
Be the same again

Bound by the scars
That make up who we are
Perhaps we’re like the song bird
That will not fly too far
Though the cage door be open
We can never be set free
From the familiar surroundings
Of our own captivity

Fancy the bare tree of January
As the Sorcerer’s magic brush
There to paint a Winter’s gray sketch
As a fresh and vibrant landscape of Spring

My tears held back
are so heavy in my eyes
that I could cry
and cry I would
if to make my heart light again
and these eyes see again
the glorious rainbows
lit by the sun

“May ******* everything”
is something I sometimes feel
But, I can’t let the poison
take from my heart
the good that the bad wants to steal

Grace is for the day that ends
the sunlight’s long goodbye
It’s when the world may sleep again
‘neath the moonlight’s watchful eye

Hope is the sun at the break of day
for all who wake to rise
to a promise of life renewed
for faith they won’t let die

If Yesterday
be scarred by bad memories
and Tomorrow
possessed by dark dreams
They both have the power and influence
to make Today
come apart at the seams

Hang your troubles
on the Tree of Sorrows
Look for ones
to steal or borrow
Then step around
the tree again
grateful
that another’s pain

is not your own

As I walk through the forest
of my dark and cluttered mind
I leave a trail of bread crumbs
in order to help me find
my way below the canopy
of all that makes the night
I pray I find the morning
and all its familiar sights

He sometimes thinks of his boyhood friends,
Those long summer nights that seemed without end,
They walked the dark streets,
With ants in their seats,
When they had all the time in the world to spend

Invading backyards doing handstands and flips,
Acting like Elvis and swiveling their hips,
On most of those nights,
Some music took flight,
On the air from their lungs passing through their pursed lips

They sang and whistled the hours away,
After cooking up tunes all during the day,
And their only care,
Was the warm evening air,
Baking harmony into a Doo-*** souffle

As we awaken
and rise for the day
we prepare to go
our separate ways
This morning I feel
the need to say
you are my dearest
and I’ll miss you today

White represents
The innocence of birth
Never the slate so clean
Black represents
The contemplation of death
Red all the passion between

Carried by the charged breath
of an ever expanding universe
Time flies into tomorrow
on the wings of itself

To the fear of the future
from the regret of the past
flows the gift of the present
and all too fast
Adrift on a mighty river

Every day
has it’s due
and usually spent
with no clue
That from childhood
to married
then finally buried
So many these days
and yet so few

If you go to a room
With an idle clock
Close the door
And engage the lock

There you live
For 20 years
And that clock
Moves not it’s gears

Will you age?
Will you wither?
I know its nuts
But I’m not sure either

Sometimes
we are like time travelers
either brooding in a reincarnated past
or living nervously in an uncertain future
But, tragically absent from the present

Time waits for no one

No matter the misery one keeps

So, wake up if you dare

From unavailing despair

For the keeper cares not if you sleep

We don’t run
We don’t skip
We don’t even walk
We slog
through the mire
of each other’s suffering

As I rise
I do thee wake
A prayer I plead
I no longer ache

From the future’s curse
Of fret and worry
To the ache of regret
I have tried to bury

No more need to rule
No itch to conquer
All ledgers accounted for
By my tenure

As nothing obeys me
I have been so crowned
The King of Nothing
And to that I am bound

On the wings of seagulls
rides the ocean air he breathes
He shuts his eyes
and in his mind
he's once again
at sea

He fears what he fears
but , that is all that he fears
Then, that look of relief
as he looks in the mirror
“At least I don’t fear imperfection”

Sometimes
I look at travel photos
And recognize myself in places
I know I have never been

Within the time-worn walls
Of an old European village
I hear strange but wonderful music
over the cacophony of conversation

I see myself in a cafe
Engaged in a debate about
Art, politics, or the contents of my glass
And I am again reminded
That man does not live by bread alone

Sometimes we have
the brains of a sparrow
with neural pathways
so small and narrow
When the black and the white of things
stand next to each other
we either can't
or won't be bothered
to see the shades of gray
because it's just easier that way

The more time I have
The more time to squander
Distracted by thoughts
That begin to wander
Leaving my wits
In scraps and tatters
As if what I think
Unmistakably matters
I need not task
My every moment awake
But the less idle my mind
The fewer chances to take

Maybe in accepting
the pain in ourselves
we might see all
that it is offering
and maybe the resistance
not the pain itself
is causing most
of the suffering

When you can’t make
the perfect biscuit
When you can’t have
the perfect life
Just say “yes”
to this perfect moment
to see the fiction
in your strife

Whisper what you want of me
How much longer can I wait?
My hearing really is quite good
though I don’t always see too straight
I sit beneath a starry night
listening for a sign
But alas
more hours pass
that seem like a waste of time
Whisper what you want of me
I grow tired of the wait
I want to know the secret
before it is too late
What is it that you want of me?
Maybe I can’t see
if I’m asking you above
or if I’m asking me

Miserable are those
whose weight of themselves
has become so heavy
as to care so little about others

Some days are like a dog
that won’t quit barking
An alarm that goes off
to stay on all day
until the sun sets
and the moon rises
Even then, there can only be
a temporary cease-fire with the
agreement that it all may begin again at first light

These powerful men
Who call themselves men!
Are nothing more
Than a deceitful blend
Of cowardice and hate
And then it’s too late
For us to discover
What they are in the end

If the recipe for a happier life
demands a better attitude
then we need as determined chefs
to serve more dishes of gratitude

Adults are but older children
Who have outgrown their parents
In search of better supervision

One can spend a lifetime
scaling down expectations
to fit in the same space
with one’s limitations

It answers not in laughter
It answers not in tears
It answers not my questions
this world that cannot hear

Assuming that mere words
could be something other than
feeble expressions of the truth
we call a person honest
at the sheer surprise
that he does not lie

In the absence of gratitude
self-Pity is there
to fashion yet another
cross to bear

As I sit in the backyard
and savor the serenity
of the sun setting over a tree
I truly know
this moment of tranquility
is but a whistle stop for me

War is best served by youth
For it has not yet
Had the time
To perish the thought of dying

Men of a martyr
Live on the outer
Like disciples of Christ
Who are so enticed
To follow a message
To live like they oughta