Every day he sits and greets the world
All he wants is talk about the beauty around us
Ready at any moment to give advice while his radio
Loudly blares jazz in the background

Each one of us has something to give
And we are all of the same human family
Reality is what we make of it
Life can be too short, but it is always worthwhile

Grace is something the select few have
Old age tries to rob it from us
Only it can not take it from our spirit
Do not forget that and carry on until your last day
Be not afraid of the end
You will not see it coming, but
Every soul leaves a mark on the ones it leaves behind

Earl, Earl, Goodbye

Action turns will to reality.
When one lives to watch,
the will is snuffed out.

Conjurers of nothing breed apathy
and those with no purpose, rot.
They let themselves be consumed,
to be fuel for those with inspiration.

The wounded gazelle is eaten
and the lion is fed.
Later the lion fades as well,
but not without eating many gazelle.
Progress is purpose and purpose brings the advancement of all.

Hell is a place downtown.
Poverty lines the streets and no one takes action.
This is where inspiration goes to die
and those debilitated gazelle are swallowed whole.
Their sacrifice pushes the cogs onward
toward oblivion and the unquenchable void
of
SELF
INTEREST.

We met in a crowded room.

Your dark skin shone
as a contrast to your pale teeth.
Neither of us said a word,
but our bodies did speak.

You glanced in my direction
and my breath went cold.

I thought of what it might be like
to dive deep within,
really deep within,
what makes you
uniquely
imperfect.

If for one second
we could truly know one-another.
What a wonder it would be.

We could swim with the thoughts
inside each other
and be truly free.

I want to be immersed
in all that you are,
so that one day
together you
and I
can
be
1


11/26/2012

When wallabies wander,
what will the world wonder?

Silly slips of slander?
Stagnating soliloquies?

If I ignite indignation,
Inquire indefinitely

All is asunder
And Amy abstains

Susie Susie
Dressed as a floosy
How does it all flow?
With tortoise shells
And mushroom bells
Growing on your toe

9/14/2011

Tick Tock!
I am your clock
My hands point toward the future
Every second brings more torture

Only you can read my face
Now go, explore your space

Many have tried
To beat my stride
Your efforts are in vain

How long will you try?
Avoiding the end
Not wanting to send
Dear old boys to bed
So I will be their final friend

9/7/2011