are there shadows
behind that light
are there tears unseen
in pitch of night
do you awaken eager
to face the day
has your heart been taken
or led astray
talk to me
without the smile
set the shadows free
the moon is ours
for just a while
the Sun will always be

I was feeling pretty good after a few ***** tonics,
to the point where I felt comfortable enough to converse
with this vaguely familiar, lovely lady sitting next to me at the bar.
I leaned over and quite brazenly asked;
" Do you like ghost stories?"
" I happen to love ghost stories" she replied.
I began by telling her about the ghost that tried to suffocate me
by burying my face in a pillow at exactly 3 am
the night after I saw my name appear in large black letters
on the television screen while watching a movie.
She ordered a double and asked me to continue.
I told her about the lady I work with who advised me to answer the phone
because it might be my Mother, knowing all the while that my Mother
was deceased.
Well, the lady on the phone just happened to have the same last name
as my Mother's maiden name; Joy. Not Smith or Jones...Joy.
Her husband's name was Edwin which just happened to be my Dad's name.
Then I told her about the time my sisters and I were visiting the grave site of my parents.
We were in the wrong area and searching when I stumbled across a section of headstones with the family last name but no relation as far as we could tell.
There she lay....Mary E. Owens...deceased 1951, the same year and day my sister; Mary E. Owens was born.
I must say she was a bit startled when she came over to have a look.
"Shall I continue?" I asked.
Without hesitation the pretty lady replied; "By all means, continue."
"Okay, this is the kicker. I attended a VanGogh exhibit a few years ago.
I was compelled it seems by unknown forces to his work,
but had never viewed it in person.
On the day of the final viewing I knew I had to go.
I was sick with fever from an active kidney stone
but decided to take the trip downtown by subway.
When I arrived there was a very long line. Tickets were free, but limited.
A man approached me trying to scalp tickets he had obtained.
I declined, placing my faith in destiny.
I got my ticket as did 3 or 4 people behind me and that was it.
Hundreds were turned away.
The viewing of VanGogh's work was a moving experience.
I was exhausted by the end and my fever had risen.
It was all I could do to remain standing.
While I viewed the final piece of the exhibit; 'Wheatfields Under Threatening skies',
someone spoke to me from just behind my right shoulder.
" I want to thank you for coming my good man. It means a great deal to me."
I turned to answer, but before I could reply I was stunned to see that the likeness
between this man and VanGogh himself was astounding.
I turned to look at a self portrait on a wall nearby and back to the gentleman again but he was gone.
Hallucination due to my fever...perhaps, but I'll never believe that.
"That is quite the story and you are quite the storyteller.
Now it is my turn to tell you a story before I go.
Do you see that lady in the mirror next to you?
The one captivated by your lust for life?
Look real hard, then slowly close your eyes and slowly open them again."
When I did, she was gone, but in a brief instant it was as if the entire room went quiet
and I heard a whisper that echoed as if it were inside a church,
"I loved posing for you, Vincent."

Author's note: This is a 'Ghost Story' I wrote which is a bit unusual in that it contains actual events wrapped in a ficticiuos setting (the bar). I wrote an article for the on-line publication; 'Wordcatalystmagazine' detailing my run-in with the ghost at 3 am. It's called 'Ghost Story' and it's in the Dec.2007 issue.

Through the walls of narrow minds
walk the paths they guide
within these walls
the sparrow finds
a nest to feed it's pride
burdens drag as dusk descends
sleep may hold the key
for in the dark
the bravest bend
the weak a chance to see
follow that which follows you
pull the deepest root
dilemma soon must leave the nest
to bear forbidden fruit

on the stool the Mantis sat
I watched him for a good while
until he turned to face the piano
stretched his incredibly long legs and arms
and began to play
a version of colorblind so intensely beautiful
it brought tears to my shallow eyes
and warmth to my frozen heart
just after the final note echoed down the hallway
he snagged a fly that had fallen
under the hypnotic beauty of his play
he turned his head in that peculiar way they do
and gazed at me
blinked one giant eye and said
'never assume'

I fill my heart
I fill my heart with you
when there is only blue
and everything is hollow

I grab a star
I grab a star for you
what would you have me do
I will always follow

we sail
into the open Sea
the Sky
the only blue I see
your eyes
they are the first to see
me
they are the first to see
me

you came along
you change the colors too
what a thing to do
when everything is  hollow

monsters, goblins, greys and trolls
slithering through my blanket folds
sweating bullets I awake in screams
twitchy, violent, sketchy dreams
they hide in darkness
they snicker and strut
the window creeks open
my eyes slowly shut

such an old man
I have become
they wear and they tear
like worms on a plum
please stay this night
as the Sun leaves they creep
just take my hand
when I twitch in my sleep

You collect your tears in a bell jar
for the day you run dry
you roll your memories over until they are smooth
like pie dough
you grapple with the inevitable
often afraid to move
so as not to awaken death
but listen to me, my friend
you have conquered life to reach this point
you have bathed in the sanctity of passion
and conjured imaginary places
while in the bliss of the finest music
you have beamed like the Sun
at the instant of creating new life
and turned numb with agony at the moment
of losing one so close
you have managed to elude the stones thrown your way
and graciously recover from the throws of failure
you have survived
do not fear or run from your impending leave
your mark is of tremendous value and expanse
to human kind
your love has healed and brought joy
your creations are you
and will continue to thrive in your name

embrace these days
be cleansed in your life's history
revel in your time

Beyond these unyielding doubts
cast upon me like rust-splintered chains
haunting my every thought
my every breath
there is reason
for my existence
the strength of which carries me beyond the fog
from which these chains are cast

there is purpose in my struggle
a light that burns unrelenting
searching the summits
riding the storms to their end
darkness be ******
the rain and wind of change
only serve to make me stronger
more determined
to write these thoughts
that lay in waiting
for those willing

I remain a poet
in this age of the dying word

when the time comes for me to pass
they shall lay me neath the shadow cast
by the great oak standing silent, true
watching over me
and you
when light wind blows
in sunlight's trance
I hear your whispers
through leaves they dance
I take your hand
o'er the fields we stroll
your head on my shoulder
as the church bell toll

the poet sleeps
and they appear
images so wondrous
as to bring a tear
they take his soul
and slow his heart
they fill his nights
with beauty apart
from all he knows
in his awakened state
and then they vanish
into the great
mystic

he awakens to his prosaic day
bits remain of what he cannot say
my most beautiful words
are dreamed away

there is a darkness that bleeds
into all my life's colors
no matter how bright the day may be

it forever lingers
always quick to bring
it's dull suppressing shadow
over these brief dances in the Sun

there comes a day
in all our lives
when the light is eclipsed by this
unsuspected cloud

and we no longer bask in the glow
of youth

my dreams
they are rekindled nightmares
of my most negative bits of life
they move like thick syrup along a cold plate
drawn out slowly with no resolution in sight
bringing me to the edge of madness
and then
I am awakened with a thud
as if I have fallen from the sky

perhaps a mechanism
or some caring soul slapping me into consciousness
to save me from the real dark stuff

I've experienced the other side in many ways
I've been touched
attacked
threatened
I have also heard the gentle voices of distant souls
allowing me a moment of connection  
I am not quite sure how dreams are intertwined
but I am quite sure that they are

they bring smiles
because there are no words
they fight off tears
because they want to remain strong
they write poems
of what a kind person he was
and they leave photos on a table
of him as a younger man
smiling at his wedding
his beloved holding his hand
as they reflect on their once in a lifetime day

I sat and took all this in
this funeral for a man I barely knew
but in the few moments we spent alone
on the porch at his home
just a few days before my daughter
would be married to his son
I found him to be a man
I would like to know better
a man of few words
his kind heart on display
in his quiet, gentle way
I'm sure I will see him soon enough
and we will continue our conversation
and smile
as we talk of our sons and our daughters

here
in the battered chambers
of this once vital heart
the uneven echoes
send signals of it's impending failure
the body relaxed in the haze of morphine
the mind alone in the dreamscape before death
a magnified tapestry of color
Sun and golden fields from a VanGogh painting
move within my thoughts
swaying and quelling the offbeat of distant drums

a lone leafless tree
a branch holding lines of crow
awaiting the rain
turn to see me
'follow them'
a voice whispers from beyond the wheatfield
they take flight
as do I
towards the darkest of the ominous clouds
'this is so worth it' I thought
just before the lightning snaked it's way across the blistering blue sky
releasing me from my mortal coil

I had to smile as I hovered there
watching them zap me again and again
bless them for their perseverance

How does one learn not to hate
after facebook shows me a group of teenage thugs
savagely pull an old man from his car
and proceed to kick and sucker punch him
under the guise of who he voted for
if that were the reason
then why did they pick up everything that he
dropped on the ground and place it in their pockets?
How can someone be classified as a human being
that commits such an inhumane act upon a fellow human
I contemplate what I would do if I were there
to witness this cowardly attack
I could not stand by and watch as it appears
bystanders did
My stomach is in knots
my heart is thumping like a train
in my contempt for these cowards
these pathetic individuals who swarm like wolves
not in the name of survival
but in the name of hate
when I think our species might be progressing
I see such disgusting behavior and feel years of progress
were only a mirage

I miss the future
when, if I wanted to see you
I just beamed myself from my dark room
to your waiting arms
we walked for hours along the coastline
where California use to be
of-course our feelings changed a bit
when we learned we were not truly of this earth
but brought from another dying planet
some several thousand years ago
but it was still so much better than the now
when we ****** our own presidents
and sacrifice lives in wars that we start

an old spirit who I passed on the trail of tears
spoke to me in my sleep
he told me that the future was only a dream
and to prepare myself for the end
I asked him how
and he turned back and said
'pray to the souls that your people have vanquished
that they forgive your sins
you spit in the face of mother earth
and cut her breath to make room for cows and pigs
so that you may gorge
you sacrifice your brothers in the name of false Gods
and your leaders fatten themselves off the sweat of their own
with no regard for all man's lifeblood
you took this precious gift and threw it away
and now
even in the face of death
you squabble like spoiled children
ignoring the inevitable
so pray that your children will not face the final day
for it will be fire'
and with that he turned and
I awoken...

****...8:30
late for work!

Dare I enter this darkness once again
listen to whispers of the dead
taste the tears that drip unknown
into hell's rage
**** this blight
this cancer of the human soul
to which I return unconsciously
unwittingly
pathetically unflinching
what evil did I inflict in a past life
that has sentenced me to this eternal nightmare
what spirit invades my thoughts
and pulls me deep
into this place of damnation,
my soul captivated by the fires of Ork
my heart blinded to the wonders of light

it is early morning at the beach
1:12 am to be exact
everyone else has gone beddy bye
and I can't sleep yet
because this is my time
where I live and breathe and think
without others doing the same and talking about it
all I can see through the sliding glass balcony door
is a liberty gas station across the street playing elevator
music at the pumps and selling insurance
that saves you 415 dollars a year
it's too cloudy to look for UFO's and the sherbert has all been eaten
so I decided to write something
I've reminded everyone what a nut case I am
hearing spirits and ripping politicians a new one
were pretty much my topics of conversation
I will say this...my sister's tacos were amazing
they over shop every year but **** they can cook

it's almost 1:30 and they will be rattling the breakfast dishes by 8
so I better get my crotchety old *** in bed
******* better get here early in the morning to fix
the **** washing machine
I only brought 3 pair of underwear

now
let me get started on this life changing poem
it is early morning at the beach...

I have found my place
where I wish to return
again
and again
where the wind dances along the swells
then lands upon you with the gentle
yet powerful crash of the wave
again
and again
where the Sun says so much more upon it's departure

God knew that this is where we would come
to see him
to know him
to understand that beauty like this was intended
I am lost in my awakened dream
these outer thoughts
these outer visions
these Outer Banks

the air hit my face like a slap to a helpless child
cold and unrelenting
like every morning as I leave before the Sun is up
I wanted to say something before starting the long drive
I turned but could think of nothing
perhaps there was nothing to say
perhaps it no longer mattered

eighteen inches fell last night
a Winter Wonderland here in the mountains
I may see the children before they sleep tonight
or I may miss them as I often do
traffic and that silent road have numbed me

snow has begun falling again
thick and oddly quiet
like the ravings of a mad man on tv
with the volume turned down
funny how wonderfully creative the mind becomes
moments before sanity escapes

just as I had nothing to say
when I began this typical Tuesday
I again have no rhyme
no verse
no connection to reality
as I flatten the pedal
and disappear into the white

I bought a Joker bobblehead at an antique store
it bobbled it's head as I went out the door
it bobbled and turned  
and with a laugh it said
get me out of this box *****
or I'll slice off your head
I turned right around
went back in the store
and asked for a refund
of $11.54 - including tax
I'm sorry she said
no refunds given here
now you're stuck with that *****
may God help you my dear
he's carved and beheaded
every Woody in my collection
he set fire to Buzz Lightyear
and gave Barbie a c-section
he's the devil himself
inside that bobbin' head
you'd better unload him
or soon you'll be dead
before she could put the closed sign on the door
I heard the feet of the Joker as they hit the floor
now you've done it she moaned
we've lost his *** now
I'm taking lunch
so find him somehow
before I could think of what my game plan would be
a voice, and a bob, bob, bob  from behind laughed at me
'10.99 for the Joker plus tax!?'
and I turned just in time to catch Daniel Boone's ax
between the eyes!

I have not grown wiser in my waning years
more bitter
more disappointed
more beaten
'what's your advice to me old man?'
advice?
while the world crumbles around us?
let's just hope that there is more than what we know
for if the world is left to drift further into the abyss
without intervention
then who will see these words?  
or come say a prayer over your memory?
I always thought it cruel that if our soul moves from one to another
we don't recall the previous life...
or is it just one life with no memory?
I want to remember for we shall certainly leave the ashes of this dismal place...
soon
and all those memories will be lost
in time

(R.I.P. - Rutger Hauer)

I am cornered by this world I have come to despise
it has wretched the few morsels of contentment
from my soul
being aware is a curse
in this day
and in the time of my childhood
when we lived in blind bliss
those memories have been stained as well
God help these maniacs

I have come to find this room
my salvation
here I can seperate the two
explore the side that rarely shows
where time does not press it's heavy hands
against my back

you let me know of your presence that first night
when you brushed the dollar bill from the table
as I had asked
you allow my return
I sense that you even welcome me
here in this room where you passed
to make that connection
does it mean that you are not really gone
in spirit?
do you even have that choice?

see the world through my eyes if you wish
walk beside me in the life outside this room
I am here for you my friend

drip upon a tired lake
bird sings out at an old man's wake
memory reborn for memory's sake
rumbles in a dormant soul
Sun peeks through a storm strewn sky
baby is sung a lullaby
heart holds a beat while it says goodbye
repent my prodigal son
None shall speak of this in lore
the end draws near this final war
the ripple shall never reach the shore
drip upon a tired lake

He would walk to Bears Den when the weather allowed
when his old bones felt as if they could take the steep mountain road
he would sit upon the rock that faced West
towards Winchester
and here he would search for inspiration
despite the pain in his shoulder and knees
he could block that out long enough
to find a few words
the poet of Pine Grove
they would see him on occasion
mention to the country store clerk that
the old man with the pad of paper
was heading up the mountain again
no-one knew who he was exactly
or where he came from
they just knew he was no kin to the local folk
one Winter's day a few kids made their way to Bears Den
to throw stones off the edge
they found the old man
laying sideways on the rock
clutching a pencil
and on the pad
they read the first few lines of a poem;
'Here I can see forever
here I am above the fray'
He was buried in the little cemetery
near Unison
where the Birdman and Wiley rest
it is quiet there
the breeze is constant and the view is open
it is a good place for an old poet's soul
to contemplate his art

if you delve deep into the fray
where the truly true musicians play
keeping their words and sighs intact
their hearts and tears and words impact
the tiny masses who search them out
to warm their souls and if you doubt
the world around you doesn't hear
your broken dreams
your quiet fear
look beyond the pompous trite
the subtle muddle that holds no light
there is a world though buried deep
once heard enfolds you while you sleep
close your eyes we will walk the moon
your heart and mine will sing in tune

dedicated to Angus & Julia Stone

Warning: I rarely drop f bombs in my poetry...but this is most definitely an exception. Please see link in notes. Thank you!


I was thinking on the way home from work in my car that has no air conditioning because as we all know, air conditioners in cars rarely last past 100,000 miles and make a great excuse for getting a new car. That’s why car manufacturers put ******* ac’s in cars. That's why car manufacturers don't like any new ideas like something other than that **** we've been running on for 100 ******* years. Ever wonder how we can make an electric car for the moon in the 60's, but for the most part we're still running on Exxon 50 years later?! Ever wonder why there's been no new innovations in getting our fat ***** around? Ever wonder why the few electric cars we finally have are so ******* expensive? Jesus, wake the **** up! Anyway, I was thinking about how this was the 3rd day in a row of 99 degree temps and how anything over 90 degrees was a rarity when I was a kid. So I gotta say Al Gore had his **** together…Inconvenient Truth baby! So, what the **** happened to Al Gore...thank you! So I get home and stand in front of my ac for 10 minutes because I’m sweatin’ my *** off. Then I turn on the tv to relax for a few minutes and I see that oil is still leakin’ in the Golf. Haven’t they fixed that **** yet? Why ain’t these ******* in jail? Millions of gallons of oil going through a pipe into a boat and they got no ******* plan to stop it if it ***** up? Way to go BP, you stupid *****! Oh, and thank you for keeping an eye on this **** for us…whatever department we are paying taxes out the *** for keepin' an eye on this **** for us! Also, gotta’ give a shout out to my buddies at Exxon once again who dragged their ***** through court for 20 years and ended up paying 10% of what they were originally ordered to pay for dropping millions of gallons of your precious oil into the Prince William Sound. Did you send thank you cards to the Supreme Court for kissin’ your ***** you collective pile of ****! How many thousands of lives did you ruin? Do you think about that…**** no! A few years ago I laughed when I saw somethin' on the web that said the 911 attack was planned. Now that **** was even too far out there for me to believe. Then I saw Mr. Bush tell a reporter that he saw the first plane hit the first building on tv before he went into that school. Think about that **** for a minute. JFK assassination…after years of reading books on this and seeing documentaries…I found out that even the Zapruder film has been spliced and diced from the get-go to possibly cover up a head shot from Kennedy’s left side. I said ‘possibly’ because I just don’t ******* know and none of us will until somebody that does tells us the truth. The truth...remember what that is? Maybe not...because we rarely hear it. God knows enough witnesses tried to tell the truth. They ended up either dead or scared of being dead. Ever hear of the Harper fragment? Look it up! The one thing that plays over and over in my head that points me in one direction is the two Secret Service agents being ordered back into their car filled with other secret service agents and away from the back of Kennedy’s car just before it headed down Dealy Plaza and seeing the one agent shrug his shoulders twice…as if to say…’why the **** do you want me to sit in the car doin' **** when my job is to protect the President.’ I bet you haven’t seen that, have you? Do I hate this Country, No! I love this country. What I hate is lies. What I hate is being manipulated. What I hate is greed…and those things have worked their way into our Government, our Corporations, Our media, our Courts and our thoughts. Even Eisenhower tried to warn us about this **** and Kennedy tried to stop it. Last President that actually had the ***** to stand up to these ****** that own our country now. Too many of us feel we are betraying country, neighbors and friends by questioning what is happening. It is possible to love and question. There’s a great line from a Clint Eastwood movie; 'Don’t **** down my back and tell me it’s rainin.’ Well, they been ******' down our backs ever since they slaughtered the original owners of this prized piece of real estate. Google 'Trail of Tears' and learn some history...cause you won't learn any of it in our wonderful educational system. **** it’s HOT!
I’m nobody…but if I was somebody and this was published in Rolling Stone and one week later they found me dearly departed…the victim of a drug overdose, a fast moving cancer, a karate chop to the neck or a single car accident in the desert…would you question or would you accept…question or accept….question…love ya Dorothy!

I fired one up on the loading dock
after eating lunch at the workplace cafeteria
I only smoke after a meal or when I'm contemplating death
and I may be contemplating death
because I just had lunch at the workplace cafeteria

my Mother would have a cigarette after dinner
and one before bed
that's probably where I got it
I got a lot of things from my Mother
and I lost a lot of things when she passed
much of my patience
along with a good chunk of character
I still don't cross the line
it's just gotten a bit further away

the memories of childhood have faded
like dates on old concert stubs
but the pain they both endured
in those last few years remains vivid
a stark reminder that life has balances
that illness does not discriminate
that bad decisions are unforgiving
I also believe that the after
holds balance as well
that someday
we will again be wrapped in the arms
of those we miss in life
and all shall be forgiven

****** cold it was, this February night in Virginia.
Five or six degrees thereabouts with a bit of wind.
Hard to stay warm in the shack,
even with the heat running full blast.
Had to keep the window cracked just a tad in case I dozed.
The sound of the car engines would snap me back to consciousness
as they turned onto the property - the school property.
This is my moonlight gig,
midnight to eight - Saturday and Sundays, seven years now.
No major happenings.
No Taliban attempting a takeover.
No student going over the deep end
from home sickness.
Just an occasional alarm mishap,
or ambulance call for a sick resident.
But this morning was about to change all that.

It was 4:00am and my relief was just turning
the corner at the top of the hill.
It was time for my 30 minute nap at the Security office.
I hated the idea of leaving the shack,
climbing into my cold car and driving, shivering
on my way to some shut-eye,
but it would be worth it because
by 4:00am, I'm a bit buggy
and the thirty minute catnap would revive me til quittin' time.

The security office is located inside the business office,
a two story brick building which handles shipping along with several manager's offices, including Chief of Security.
I arrived, was about to make my way up the stairs
when I decided to check out
the candy dispenser in the small room to the left
on the bottom floor.
I've known it was there for seven years,
but not once in all that time have I altered my immediate
route to the stairs.
Perhaps because my time on these breaks is limited,
and every minute of sleep is precious.
This time, for whatever reason, I changed my routine.
As I was walking towards the candy dispenser,
I noticed a framed photo on the wall.
It was a photo of a gentleman who had worked here for thirty years.
A gentleman who also passed away on the property.
There was writing...thanking him for his service.
I proceeded to the candy and chips...nothing special here
as I suspected.
I then proceeded to the Security office,
pulled up a chair, leaned back and closed my eyes.
Something was different.
In seven years I'd never felt in any way a presence other than my own,
until now.
The old 25 watt lamp on the desk behind me began flickering and making that noise a bulb makes before it goes out...bzzzt...bzzzzt.
To my right was the office door - closed.
I was able to see the light of the hallway in the inch or so of clearance at the bottom. I'm not sure what drew me to look there, but just as I did, a large chunk of the light became blocked from right to left, then back, then back again as if a woman in a long dress or a man in a trench coat was walking back and forth. I tried to convince myself that this was the hallway lights flickering as well, but I knew better.
I mustered enough courage to slowly rise from the chair, which made  an ungodly creek, and walk slowly to the door. I opened it to find no-one there.
I sat back down after turning on the main office lights.
The old saying about the hairs raising on your arms when a spirit is present is true. They were standing straight as soldiers in formation.
I waited about 20 seconds and then began engaging whoever was with me.
'Can I ask your name? Did you work here?'
Before I could ask the next question, the lights went completely out.
I blamed it on the cold until I realized that the rest of the campus still had power.
At this point, curiosity and terror were running neck and neck. I sat motionless in the near pitch darkness for 30 to 45 seconds.
I finally gathered enough wits to speak; 'If you wish me to leave, I will do so, but I ask that you please turn the power back...' before I could finish, the power returned. I did not hesitate to make
my exit. I held my breath until I reached the bottom of the stairs, praying that the lights stay on. The hairs finally returned to their normal state when I reached the shack. George was watching 'Uncut Animal Attacks' and chomping on his giant 711 mug full of ice.
'Thanks, George! see ya tomorrow!'

I returned the next night, video recorder in hand and captured what I believe were the words of Jane Kyle -  'The Shrew of Foxcroft'

bitterness shrieks through the alleyways
sadness hovers like a fog
the raging plea of hopelessness
reaches through the drunken screams
and tears at the soul of the child
who hears so clearly
waiting for the shadows to lift
waiting for the screams to succumb
to quiet cries
waiting for the Sun

In the eyes of the fleeting foxes
we were not magnificent
welcome to the machine
or rage against it
but remember
if you betray the wall
then you must bid farewell to kings
working on a mystery will bow to natural science
so hear me now my starry eyed talking heads
in the days of future past
deftones that guide us from the dark side of the moon
like time, stands still
sounds of silence will prevail
from the darkest depths of mordor
GaGas, Biebers, and bands of mindless disney orks
shall arrive from across the universe
black days shall grip this planet
down down down in a burning ring of fire
landslide
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
stayin alive
the day the music dies

in the endless possibility of dream
we talk in the calmest of whispers
ever so close
I am burning within these shadows
brushing against her
echoed laughter
the smell of her hair
and the electricity of her skin
exceeds consciousness
the beauty of the dream is in it's clarity
of that which is born from the energy
of two

I lose myself in 'View at Arles with Irises'
and wonder how close I am to seeing Vincent
standing in that field
fighting the wind
frustrated at never quite seeing the pure expression
in his head
realized on canvas
I would tell him I see it
I know it as he does
he looks pensively at the beauty he has created
slowly raises his head
and unseen in the portraits
there comes a smile
he sets the brush aside
lights his pipe
and begins to tell the story
of the smoking skull

I'm a part time poet
though you likely wouldn't know it
I get in touch on the fly
just a glitch in my eye
between the patchwork smile
the catalog file
of a mind that finds an opening
once in a while

I could never do it full time you see
it would undoubtedly be the end of me
full time negativity
twenty four seven reality
round the clock visions of the truth cannot be
I'd sink too low to view the light
into my well of darkest night
where truth and clarity
reside
where truth and clarity
reside
I'd drink and smoke in my little cell
like Poe or Plath it would not end well
and unlike them there's nothing when I'm done
but words remembered by few
or none
so I'll keep smiling and read my lines
and dance among the thornless vines
and when I get that glitch
I'll play
in the well of truth and dreams
and stay
for just a moment
then I'll be back
before the dark gray turns to black

a very thin veil
divides the living and the dead
a very tight thread

this I discovered in the depths of night
when she turned out the light
to pit fear against will

if you wither from thee
you will hear not her plea
in the softest of voice
'I hear you '

a whisper of a whisper
within the whisper of sighs
believer I am as I feel her eyes
upon me

light was returned
my nerve tested and worn
soul beautifully stirred
this night I was born

as the veil was lifted

bitter cold morning
I start the car and await the heat
thoughts of you warm my heart
as the heater warms my feet
we refused to share our lives
beyond those indelible nights we dined
wasting not a precious moment as
our young hearts became entwined
in something we did not recognize
I cannot truly say
why the fire burned so quickly
why the embers weren’t enough
to make us want to stay
…and so we fell away
and live now in each memory’s corner
for these moments to replay

Promise after promise is broken
as she lay dormant for so many years
now we spill her blood once again
fouling the oceans

Her true children weep in silence
then wash upon her shores
in thousands
as we turn the channel

Unpunished and unchanged
the butchers laugh at our apathy
our leaders turn a blind eye
their hands open

God holds her crippled body
and asks for her forgiveness
that he would create such wretched creatures
who lay waste to this gift given them
their own
Mother Earth