on a clear cold night
came a streak of warm blue light
I awoke under the Sun

I walk
head down through the bitter cold
only a light buckskin for warmth
there is little food
and no time for rest

I am near the front
no idea how many are lost
the old, the sick
the little ones

the memory of these days
along the trail of tears
will die
like the burning embers of a once mighty fire

these horrors will not be spoken
in the teachings of those whose greed
and cold hearts
outweighed their compassion
whose concrete jungles mar
the once majestic landscape

the years of separation grows
but the atrocities shall never be vanquished
in the realm of the spirit world
and those who initiated the culling
pay their penance
and walk the trail for eternity

i bought a wall clock while at the beach
with a lighthouse on it
i put a battery inside before finding it a home
it's a bit noisy and i have it laying on one of my
dining room chairs
until a home becomes available
not sure how that will go
since none of my paintings
or other oddities
will voluntarily give up their spot
i really didn't need the clock
but i liked it...so i bought it
logical...yes?
maybe i should shop for a wall extension
i have asked myself 100 times
why i haven't removed the battery
today i turned it over so that the front is facing up
this fixed the noisy part of the problem
by muffling the ticking
in the cushion of the seat
i suppose i could just remove the battery anyway
since i never really use an unhung clock to tell the time of day
but something is keeping me from doing that
something tells me that the clock won't start again
should i remove the battery
and those ships depending on the lighthouse
may be forever lost at sea
but what happens when the battery dies?
i suppose i will find out
if i live that long

In silent, moving pictures
brilliant flashes of horrific red
shrugs of shoulders when told to stay
turning of heads toward the grassy knoll

in silent, moving pictures
it screams to us
'A ****** hidden in the wood'
vision from the past of this fallen Hero
yet missed this day
and taken away
all but one

the vast universe is within our grasp
galaxies crystal clear, though light years away
yet what is viewed in front of us
we cannot decipher

in silent, moving pictures
the killer is killed
no words are revealed or ever written
those who spoke, forever hushed

in silent, moving pictures
it screams to us
but the screams become faint
and what is known by few
will pass to no-one

the last lover leaves
before dawn
before the necessity of conversation
stale coffee reheated
brings the numbing reality that this was your last chance
old man
there's nothing left
no slivers of heart to give away
no thoughtful whispers in the dark that clever lovers say
you can no longer dance with brittle bones
your game has left you
and they were all games
were they not?
until the last sliver

now walk the shoreline as you always do
when they leave
and ponder the idea of love

you toy with me
distant friend
fingers through my hair
whispers as you dart about
our secret game will remain
our secret
but I must know if you are child or adult
woman or man
past lover in this or an earlier life
reveal to me the answer my spirit
so that you may walk in my dreams
and open the door to both worlds

In the Winter of his 40th year
he looked upon the stones
and remembered their faces
when they were younger than he
he remembered how the essence of life
was in their smiles
sustained him through years of darkness
allowed him to survive it
he remembered when they first saw their Grandson
in his arms
as he once was in theirs
'these are your Grandparents kids
they are why you are here'

the wind blew and the leaves swirled
and the Sun was low
as I held them close to me
touched their names and gave them back their smiles

Hold fast the crescent moon
stay the edge til the orb be full
time and spirit will arch your view
crack the void with specks of light
breathe deep in a pause of hope
step away from a second lost
freeze the spiral pattern laid
blank the screen of thought
succumb not to the tide that pounds
your bleeding heart like a thousand drums
deny the ocean another soul
turn
and feel the Sun

we have drifted far from the maddening crowd
yet we look back with both envy and pity at the sleeping world
we are surrounded by colors we have never seen
on the ground and in the skies
my God, how beautiful it is
yet we know
by coming here
we invite the shadows as well
they stalk the vast fields and will envelop us in their darkness
when we are most vulnerable
this is the price we pay
to visit the always awaiting oasis
but, oh the rewards for those who dare take this path
what sights we see
what sounds we hear
what dreams may come

I am many men of many dreams
swarm of poets, spectrum of moods
relentless in my pursuit
of the perfectly articulated thought

Should I bore you
it will not be by repetition,
varying slants on a similar theme
I will lead you into my rage
allow you to taste your anger
then share with you
my most bittersweet tears

I am an open wound
lightning rod of emotion
who cherishes the human storm

I will never be in books
my history will end with my last breath
but what I give you will never be tainted
by that which comes with discovery

I cannot remember the memories I forgot
I'm sure they are there somewhere
between despair and uncaring
un sharing them
thus
they have diminished
like unfinished furniture
left in the cellar
dwellers of the dark

the whispers that bring me out of sleep
leaving only echoes to mull in my awakened state
knowing he is there
lapping my fear
the shadows that follow at the edge of light
the invisible touch that stops my step cold
this cannot be
i plead within my sanity
and yet i know he is there
just outside looking in
his cold breath runs like dancing flies down my neck
he will haunt me
through this life and perhaps another
he talks not in words
but in the wind when the night is still
in the shadows that move and meld and breathe
in the pictures he leaves for me
lest I forget
the evil that awaits the coming night

everything begins to slow
the words
the names
the memories glow
not too long ago it seems
you became the savior
of my dreams
a life less full
than most would hope
a child's new life
a means to cope
I watched you grow
as I grew old
I watched your life
like a dream unfold
from your very first step
to my very last thought
you were everything

the words are few and fleeting
they hide outside my door
my poet's mind retreating
a hollow empty roar
i turn to quiet nights
and share old words with the dead
these lost and passing spirits
whisper kindness in my head
the sleep it comes sporatic
the Sun no longer beams
to light my inner sanctum's eye
to capture poetic dreams
i yield to blank submission
the flickering screen and stare
i feel no sense of mission
the poem tree is bare

where the hell am I
I don't recognize this place
we are led like cows to slaughter
blind to this disgrace
we take their poisons with a grin
while they get filthy rich
they play us like a lab of rats
then kick us to the ditch
our taxes buy their mansions
the market is their bank
they wallow in their sick perversions
their eyes are dark and blank
this is the final scene
where we proceed or wave the towels
do we let these ******* get away
or feed them to the cows

beyond the shadow of superficial words
lay the soul of a doubted hesitation
a great barrier stands between skimmed thoughts
and the core of the mind
the world is a falsehood of plastic glances
and mirrored sentences

through dismal days and longer nights
and the shielded minds that come and go
i've come to accept with lonely pain
only mine i know

she looked upon the tree
as i looked upon her
charcoal shades
distant Sun
she filled the space
with her imagination
her emptiness as real as my own
how i wished to fill that space
quell her sadness with my own
but i had promises to keep
false dreams to carry out
i approached to ask she wait for me
so that i might clear my scripted day
and invite her in
but i turned away
and became a shadow neath her distant Sun

Following the release of 'Moving Pictures' in 1981, I saw Rush in concert. I never missed a tour from that point on until they retired in 2015. I took girlfriends, buddies, then my wife and then all 3 of my kids when they were old enough. Neil Peart was to me the greatest drummer of his era as well as one of it's most prolific writers. Never seeking notoriety or acclaim, he remained in the shadows and continued to lead Rush into quiet immortality. Perhaps in death he will attain the accolades he avoided in life. I am devastated to hear of his passing, but happy for him that he will now reunite with his wife and daughter who preceded him. Rest in Peace Neil, and I hope you realized the joy you brought to the millions of fans who knew and will never forget your humility and immense talent. Fans who never met you, but like me, feel they have lost a dear friend.

the Mothman Cometh in dead of night
who knows his pain
who knows his plight
left unchecked in their faulty haste
born in pools of chemicals and waste
a slip of nature
he roams the skies
with wings of a condor
and red blazing eyes

it is said he had vanished
when the bridge came down
but I believe he remains
at the outskirts of town
I have been to Point Pleasant
and his presence I feel
on the river
on the streets
in the steps of John Keel