the world is hard today
but there is still

there is still a person smiling at a stranger in the street
still the trees of summer wafting in the breeze
still the light of a warm golden evening slanting through the park
still dust motes dancing in its wake
there is still

there is still the look on a child's face when it sees its first bubble pop
still the warmth of a fire, smell smoke and sound of crackling wood
still the feeling when cold, you get in a hot bath and your legs rejoice in the numb
there is still

there is still the joy of reading a passage and thinking "yes! this is me!"
still the tight hug of a friend you haven't seen in a while
still the first glimpse of an unexplored landscape from a plane window
there is still

there is still the pure lineny smell of the first ****** snow in winter
still the satisfying crunch of an autumn leaf under your shoe
still the gritty scratching of sand between toes on the beach
still the haunting melancholy howl of a wolf in the distance
there is still

there is still the way your favourite person looks at you when you walk into a room
still the beautiful moment of pregnant silence that hangs at the end of a sonata
still the feeling of diving dry into a lake and coming up wet and free
there is still

there is still, and yet
that's it really, isn't it?

there is stillness when the world creeps off
and you are left alone with stark reality in the lamplight
and then in the silent dark
there is still

there is still, and you sit motionless in it
and the world continues around you but you have retreated
and as it all falls away a voice within you screams a silent plea
and there is still.

the days are generic like cheap beer
fade in and out and disappear
I drink them down
like they are
champagne and caviar dreams
these days
nothing is as it seems
I just expect
the rub
the bruise
the burn
the wisest fool
with nothing to learn
I hold out my heart
it's right here on my sleeve
such a
pretty
useless
silly thing
there is no new thing that is under the sun
another beer and the day is done

a young boy, thin and bony
grew up,
grew up quiet and lonely
a young boy, the sweetest boy
grew up,
grew up filled with joy

a teenager, still quiet and lonely
grew up,
grew up with two friends only
a teenager, the nice guy
grew up,
grew up vulnerable and shy

a middle aged man, gone rotten
grown up,
grown up forgotten
a middle aged man, left broken
grown up,
grown up with emotions never spoken

Love is a free thing
So free and flightless
No strings attached
To this airy thing
So tangled and loose
Rose in our hearts,
Tightened our own grips
And forgot true meaning
Love needn't any obligations
No rules no ties
Love is so lovely it comes in all size...
Love is carried , wisped
I love you I am not
Afraid
I loved you
It feels free to love
All things
No strings attached
Heart fully on line

Most of What I saw leaves me Calm Now
People just trying to do their Best
and Looking for the Higher Ground
from Which to BE

I can relate to that
Its easy when people keep their distance,
like a respectful stranger
But not so easy when they Jump on You,
like fleas
pulling, pulling pulling downward
But That is What Love Asks sometimes
Too Be there, and extend the arms

I have never stuttered in pen
misspoken in ink
or choked in my writing
the way I do
whenever I speak
my fingertips always know
the right words to say
my tongue is still learning

Warm cords striking the piano gently.
My feelings accept isolation.
I agree with the unpopular opinion.
These thoughts; a cognitive dissonance.

All of this could be a consequence.
A superstition of intemperament.
I cannot recognize anything.
It feels like one big elaborate dream.

Through the static I feel the presence.
Eerie notes block my judgement.
I feel sympathy for something that doesn't exist.
My mind's eye feeling out of tune.

Tears from my forehead trickle down.
Single keys punctuate the atmosphere justly.
Everything in my heart becomes blind.
With the pianist caress; it becomes empty.
A warm place stuck in time.