I grapple with the everyday
nothing smooth
a sumo wrestler on ice skates
a one armed juggler
a 4 eyed ******
the muck and slime
that passes for normal
has overtaken my well
climbed my wall
I'm unfit to fit
too unscrewed to view
through a filtered lens
don't smile at me when you pass
but stop and ask what the **** is wrong with you
wake me up
and maybe I'll speak
maybe I'll peek around the corner this time
to see how high the **** has gotten
to see my childish dreams forgotten
and buried in the lies
that I've become

four bodies lay
here in this small, square piece of ground
made especially for you gents
they dragged your bodies from the shore
the morning after your ship was torpedoed
while protecting the North Carolina coastline
many remain forever in the Graveyard of the Atlantic
brave souls you were
giving your very lives
in defense of an ally
and seventy-five years later I take a few moments
to acknowledge your bravery and your sacrifice

upon returning home I replay moments from my trip
to Ocracoke and Hatteras Island
and during my short stay at the British Cemetary
when I felt honored
to be standing in the presence of the lost souls
of the Bedfordshire
a voice whispers...'We are at Peace'

I watch through a sliding glass door
she sits in her wicker chair
in the yard
with clouds unrelenting
there's a chill pushed by a strong breeze
yet she reads
I had hoped against odds
to find her here
inside
a smile waiting before I leave
a kiss to linger in the hours apart

our lives
our love
slip silent into these empty moments
of realization
fade deeper and closer
to a time when I will stare
into an empty yard

Forged in rolling seas of dreams
the mystic well resides
dancing thoughts ride torrent streams
where imagination hides

frozen skies and neon clouds
carry words in crystal rain
faces wearing waves like shrouds
swallow wayward ships of pain

home to endless echoes
a twisted, feeble howl
eyes shift under sweating lids
satan's breath wreaks foul

playground to these hollow hearts
of Angels wandering lost
trade your soul for wicked wants
and Heaven be the cost

I walk outside my lucid skin
my waking thoughts return
I feel the sting of evil's tongue
the conscious breath does burn

as the shadows speak to one another
in whispers above my traveling thoughts
what to make of this seeker of deeper dreams

I surprise them when I hear their voices
through the lucid silence and
the bending seams

like a surgeon's surprise
when a patient's eyes
flash open from deepest slumber
they are drawn to me
in my dream scape sea
and 333 is my number

though I be the one in search of answers
there are questions within you I raise
for the King of lost souls
and graveyard dancers
can provide you a glimpse
of your living days

I shall soon begin my second life
in pursuit of the whispering dead
they've anxiously awaited my unraveling
from the daily drone I dread

my spirit stirs to their mournful pleas
or excites in their playful jests
I sigh as she warms to my blood
in my half sleep her soul rests

they know me as they know their own
they find comfort within these walls
my energy is theirs to take
to walk these earth bound halls

I opened the desk to look at the only photo I have of you
the colors have faded
and the edges are charred
but I don't remember when or how
did I do that at some point in a drunken fit
perhaps to draw my gaze from your beauty
or to symbolize how I was burned
the nights are long here
retired and struggling to find life
trying not to wait for death
you were night and day
love and hate
truth and deception
and in our brief time together
I was more alive than ever before
or since

you haunt me

The two young poets happened upon the old Library on the same day
When she arrived she noticed the young man off in the dark corner
Deep in thought
He noticed her as well but did not let on
She took her place near the window
Where the Sun washed that part of the room
She opened her notebook
And awaited a spark to send her on her rhyming way
She had vague ideas of a pristine palace that floated among the clouds
Atop a chunk of deep green earth


The young man was absorbed in a story of a young girl
Her life had been taken abruptly
She was halfway to the other side; the ‘in-between’
As I once heard it referenced
For she was not ready or willing to accept her death


The hours passed and as the Sun began to wane
The young girl departed


The following day she arrived to continue her work
And immediately noticed the mysterious boy in the corner
She returned to her spot by the window
In the Sun
And began working meticulously on her poem


After a short time she noticed that the poet across the room
Appeared to be finishing his work
And was preparing to leave
Her curiosity outweighed her apprehension
And she approached the fellow poet before he arose


“I couldn’t help but notice that you were working on something…
A poem perhaps?”
“Why yes;” he replied
“Would you care to read it?”
“Only if I’m not keeping you from being somewhere.
You looked about to leave.”
“I would rather be here.” he answered.
“Well, I’ll only be a minute.”


And with that she returned to her place by the window and began to read
He noticed that her beautiful smile quickly turned to a look of deep concern and discord
As she finished, she appeared shaken, almost frightened
She walked slowly back to the boy


“I didn’t care for your poem. It is much too sad. Poetry should not be sad, it should be beautiful and magical. What you see in your dreams. I’m sorry, I must be going.”
“Have you never had a nightmare?” he queried
“Yes, but I would never write a poem about it.”
“And why not? Shouldn’t something as deep and meaningful as poetry span all of our emotions, all of our fears as well as our joy? Like the perfect verse, should not our thoughts be balanced?
Would we not cheat ourselves and our audience if it were not?
Balance is the key
Sun and Moon
Day and Night
You and I"


With that she turned and left the boy
alone in the dark corner


For three days his words weighed on her
How dare he interrupt her perfect world
On the fourth day she returned to the old library
Not sure if she hoped he'd be there
Her feelings still hopelessly askew
She entered the room and felt both relief and sorrow
For the boy was not at his table
Off in that dark corner
'balance is the key...you and I'
she knows now
how those words moved her
As she turned to walk to her place near the window
She was stopped abruptly by the sight of him
Awash in Sunlight
Wearing a smile as bright as her own
Sitting, waiting at her table

I had hoped
as I had many times before
that it would not come
but the night would eventually depart
like the thousand friends I believed I had
vanishing like the shine of new paint over the course of time
sleep is better spent in daylight as the machine rolls mercilessly
over the depleting consciousness of those lingering desperate souls
and when the machine rests
I awaken
to roam the silent scenes and landscapes of the unbound thought
the minds well
this holy realm of darkness

fire
with no deterrent
makes its way through the valleys
over the hills
and through the silent towns
engulfing the barely alive
and the already dead
there are no alarms
no screams
no running
just the sound of crackling fire
peaceful really

Mother inhales
looks out upon the flames
it is time to begin again
after I rest

what is love
in a world that's dying
what is joy
in a world so trying
what is truth
in a world where lying
is an art form

what is faith
in a world so blind
what is hope
in a world unkind
what are dreams
in a world where mind
is unexplored

what is peace
in a world unfed
what is poetry
in a world unread
what is living
in a world who's bed
has already been made

I will find
in the remnants of a lost love's thought
some semblance of warmth
some piece of a dream past
some hope that it may rise again
from the embers
of a once blazing heart

here
the watchers gather
and talk amongst themselves
of things they have witnessed
for even in this age of awareness
those that believe,
those that know
are destined to gather
here

the night sky
the farm house long vacant
the coincidences
only they see
have them walking a path of light
few can fathom
like birds on a wire
they await
the inevitable storm

As the Winter storm approaches
to cover my world in white
a blanket pure as fresh picked cotton
endless in my sight

I shall sit outside my mountain home
and watch it all unfold
a foot or more would warm my heart
if this old man's truth be told

See and hear the softest noise
in each flake's slow descent
a beautiful word
a symphony heard
inspiring event

I will close my eyes in prayer
as the final flakes are falling
and will be at rest
when the white is gone
for this day
is my calling

I remember how November began
too many late shifts for this old man
pulling up and over Pine Grove Mountain
in the early morning hours

mist and a frightening silence along the roads
were following me
I shivered half cold and half fear as I reached to add some heat  
and when I looked back
he was standing in my lane
beast of a buck
white as snow
majestic
broad shoulders to accommodate his massive rack
staring me down
head raised proudly in the second before I swerved
the second that cost me my life
as I was held transfixed in his beauty

I rose above the trees and viewed my crumpled jeep
on its head
tires still spinning
the beast still eyeballing me as I slid into the ether

It is December now
and I watch as my kids open their gifts for the first time without me
they are older and their hearts will heal before the coming of Spring

the grass has covered your stone
such a sad thing to be hidden
though just a name
it has rained for several days
and the nights stay warm
others are here
and they too mourn
silently
on bent knee
to tend to theirs

I want to tell them about you
I want them to see your name
once again unveiled
such a sad thing to be hidden
one as beautiful as you
quiet heart
in a loud world

the Sun now hides
as dark clouds open
tears and drops of rain
fall as one
the wind stirs
and I see you in my thoughts
you are not forgotten

I have been near enough to death
to know it well
its unwavering dispassion
its unflinching reality

as I breathe into her
and hear the sound of empty lungs
it has ripped all the curtains I had sewn
all the false smiles and pat answers
a lifetime of rehearsed dialogue and robotic gestures

I was now naked before myself
and the lies that became me
now face me
and dissolve

I never hear when they speak
only hours later
in the painfully lit basement of my home
with earphones and patience
do their words reach me
such was the case last October
I was driving through Wilderness, Virginia
for the first time and happened to pass
Saunders Field. I caught sight of the plaque
that stood at the bottom of the hill
and a trail that led into the woods
where the fierce skirmishes took place
it was a bit chilly and windy
and the road nearby was busy with passing cars
not an ideal place for an EVP session
but I felt compelled to try
and walked the edge of the woods
then a short portion of the trail
I asked many questions directly to anyone
who may be listening
'How many souls perished here?'
'Are you one of those souls?'
'Did you suffer?'
'Why do you stay or visit this place?'
as usual, I heard no voices during the 18 minutes
of questioning
however, the presence was undeniable
I was not alone here
this I knew
on the way back down the hill to leave
I reached out one final time
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now'
again I heard nothing, turned the recorder off
and departed

it was several days before I could return home
and review my recording
but my curiosity as always
grew stronger the longer I had to wait
I was disappointed as I began to listen
nothing heard as each minute passed
only the whisper of wind and cars
until I came to my final statement in those last moments...
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now.'

'Leave me under ground........'

here lay the bones that dry
in the desert Sun
alongside those of the turkey vulture
that devoured the skin
before it rotted
here lay the shoes
that dropped as she run
screams that ran along the sand
until an iguana
heard a faint sigh
here lay the rusted remnants
of his 56 Ford
only 6 miles away
and 12 miles beyond
lay the bones of this sick *****
who in his frenzy to ****
forgot to stop for gas

here
at the bottom of the Sea
where the Sun doesn't reach
the water is coldest

here
even the spineless creatures stay away
I hold my breath
and swim through the darkness
the ghosts of shipwrecks
the faint cries of whales above
send echoes to the edge of death
and yet
here
is where I feel
alive

my heart will soon expire
during a blinding rage against
a travesty passing as light breeze
in the storm of this ungodly hour
we sit silent in our own mundane and minute plans
miniscule needs, fraudulent desires
night holds no wishes
no dreams
there is no life in the eyes of these sad children
only the grin of instant gratification

I remember when there were dreams
when there was room for thought
room to search the vast landscape of our consciousness
the curse of having lived before the digital age

we are fading as we flash our rehearsed smiles
we are cooking in our own tasteless juices
we struggle deciding on coke zero or diet pepsi  
as our brothers are beheaded

and we don't blink

It was July of '64, I think
not long after a bunch of ******* sick with greed, hate and vengeance masked as patriotism  
blew the President's head off
I was trying to hold onto my childhood at 9
it became rather difficult after that
I saw that famous news guy take off his glasses and weep before the nation
on our 25 inch black and white Zenith
I looked at that guy like a dog looks at something completely askew
something not at all normal that has just entered it's world

I was outside, behind my house in Southeast D.C.
Anacostia
playing along the incline where the coal made it's way from the
old apartment building's basement window opening
there was always some that they would spill when loading up
to feed the giant furnace
Tommy Arthur, who had criminal written all over him at 16
his greased back jet black hair, Banlon shirts, baggy grey slacks and high-top All Stars walked by with a friend
stopped to light his Lucky Strike
and asked me to show him how I could jump from one tree to another
I had done it 100 times, no big deal
my chance to show off for the town's bad ***
I reached the top and took my usual look around
there was the roof of my house, Sam's Market on the corner,
Baby and her brother Stinky playing on their porch
Baby still had the cast on her leg from the car that sent her flying
She was running across U Street to make it safely to base during a game of 'hide and seek'
Stinky...trust me, you don't want to know why he has that name.
I turned toward the tree limb belonging to the tree that grew alongside this one
it was an easy jump really, not more than 4 or 5 feet
perhaps I was a bit too cocky
after all, this was Tommy Arthur
other than the upper half of my 2 middle fingers on the right hand
and even less of the left, nothing touched limb
I was woefully short
I saw ground coming quickly
laced with broken coal chunks and little else
I smacked the hill face first
awkwardly twisting slightly to the right just prior to impact
Tommy and his friend, mouths agape
respectfully asked if I was allright
just before leaving
instinctively smelling trouble
blood was shooting from an opening above my left eye
at the upper corner of my forehead just below the hairline
my white tee shirt was quickly soaked and bright red
It was quite a relief when the cobwebs cleared and I realized I was alive
and even more incredibly, suffered no broken bones as far as I could tell
seeing that I was facing no more than a few stitches to close a head wound
my attention now turned to what good use I could make of my horrific appearance
besides having a great story to tell my buddies

I started walking towards the backyard gate
which was just a matter of 20 or 30 feet
I thought about what I'd do once I reached the house
but it all played out perfectly
as I climbed the steps to the back porch
and slowly made my way to the kitchen just inside
I see Mom with her back to me and she's frying chicken
I slowly enter and remain poised just inside the kitchen entrance
after a minute or so she turns with a pan of frying *******, wings and thighs
she sees her youngest son with a fully bloodied tee shirt
and blood spewing from his head
a chicken wing flew past me and I believe cleared the porch
other chicken parts and grease were strewn about the kitchen, dining room
and hallway
I was shown little sympathy for my wound
and after some very intense cleaning up was taken to Dr Phillips for stitches
Dr Phillips was never surprised to see me

The scar remains after 53 years
I returned once or twice and drove past the house
and looked at those trees I had climbed so many times

on that July day in 1964
I had fallen nearly 3 stories
landed head first into hard ground
and walked home with no more than a cut
all logic says I should have broken my neck
but in my life logic plays a very small part

and in this gaping hole that once harbored
the love of ages
my shadow casts itself upon a barren wall
my thoughts fall to the corner
and mix with dust
for there is no place
there is no-one
there is only the sound of an empty room

the falling Sun changes only the shadow
from short to long
and to disappear

I am very tired
yet I have much work to do
I have yet to write of the child in me
that kept you close and made you smile
I have yet to write of the terror in me
that held life and death on a precariously short leash
I have yet to write of my love for you
though draining and awkward
was the love meant for this soul

Take me to where the light follows the waves to my feet
as she settles
behind the horizon
and I will write my final words
in the hours that remain
in the moments I have saved
in the grace of the setting Sun

...it all works toward a balance
no matter how messy
no matter how neat
abundant
or discreet
abused
elite
live
die
.....repeat

when your dreams
are where you'd rather be
it is time
to live them

across the timeless
shimmering blindness
oceans of our love
we melt in mindless
liquid and spineless
dying in our love
drifting
floating
waves eroding
Sunlight of our love

in death we are freeing
the core of our being
transcending blood and bone
our bodies now rust
in a cosmic gold dust
as we dance upon sea
air
and stone

I walk through silent rooms
that harbor shadows of our past
I wake to whispers in the night
your spirit's form is cast
elusive, though touching every thought
a distant, haunting view
I hide my grief
a shroud I wear
that folds its grip round you
I begin each day a penance paid
pacing my empty cell
awaiting healing of the soul
when light peeks through this hell
like dew returned by morning Sun
I ask you wait for me
to leave these silent rooms we share
our spirits walking free

There's a poem in my head unwritten
a phrase that lurks just out of sight
a snow covered field that hides a kitten
afraid to cry
its fur of white

there's a sadness in my soul uncertain
of which direction it should take
a play without a stage, the curtain
drawn and black as the deepest lake

there's a landscape in my mind untold
where thought is new as each setting Sun
where dreams are washed in light of gold
and words like children run