I wanted to write you a poem... but at the same time I didn't... I wanted to talk to you... I rehearsed possible things to say and I got as far as "hello"... I tried one day and all I got out was a quite and low "hi"... I think thats what I said, I don't really remember...I was nervous and maybe didn't say anything at all... I'm really bad at this.... I don't know how I ended up so shy or why I am...

true story... my first girlfriend came into my work... all dressed up... walked up to me and said, "So, when are you going to ask me out?"... I was 21 at the time... I haven't gotten much braver since... I finally did ask someone out once... I was 43 at the time... it was a rush... she said no, had a boyfriend... but still... I did it... finally...but... old habits... I wanted to write you a poem. ..  the same way I wanted to talk to you... but I didn't...

His face was heavy and craked
with a lifetime of broken bedtime stories
between the painted brushstroke colors
trapped in the tears his eyes cradled
and sang to sleep everytime the moon
showed its thin silver crescent smile
she quoted Bob Ross before
she sat a barstool away from him
and a snort of a laugh escaped his mouth
and the minutes passed into hours
and the shots became doubles
and the empty barstool now swayed
and creaked under the weight of them both
and they laughed
until twelve minutes until three
when the bartender kicked them out
and they  got lost between the dim light
of a crescent moon
and a tangle of bed sheets
and soft pillows filled with flowers
that smelled like orchids dreaming
and she guided his hand between her ribs
and placed it over her heart and whisperd
its cold in here....
and he traced the outline of her pulse
with his fingertips
and left a trail of fire
beneath her bones
and he could hear voodoo beating
its drums in her blood
and he felt her smile split his ribs open
and her hands fondling his withered heart
and she spoke in foreign languages
of old tounges tied and knotted
in the arts of love
and the room grew dark
as the moon was swallowed
by clouds and witchcraft  
and his eyes bleed out their colors and tears
and he broke down sobbing
and she took him into her arms
and beneath the ocean of her eyes
where their tears swam together
with the salt of the sea
and the night was swallowed
by the sun breaking the horizon
and they both disappeared
into a song known only to mermaids

she is a dream wearing a black dress
with glints of starlight
escaping the surface of her skin
and her hair flows long
into the river of the night sky
and she carries the warmth of home
in the cool colors of her eyes

you’ll think off her every time
your favorite song comes on
all of them

she is the heart beat of every melody
the love whispered in every prayer
the name you will never know
and the name you will never forgot

a dream wearing a black dress
floating in the grace of starlight
along the river of night
the road to the flowers
that bloom in eternities hand
a warm heat beating
in a dream wearing a black dress

Tell me something worth knowing
tell me what does
your heart beat for
tell me stories of butterfly kisses
carrying love to the dark side
of the moon
tell me of oceans
that have no graveyards
of sunken ships or broken hearts
tell me of lips
that have spoken no lies
and kissed no truth
that tasted of poison
tell me the secrets hidden
in your blood and your bones
tell me how to find the road
that leads to the forever
my heart can call home

Maybe there was a poem waiting in the empty barstool
but I missed the opportunity to hear it whisper itself in my ear
because I was too busy making myself cower in the corner
wishing I hadn’t skipped out the day life
was suppose to teach me how to start a conversation
and I ended up with a double dose of awkwardly shy
so the back table and the corner is my usual nesting hole
and silence is my most constant companion
and it really is quite comfortable
and there isn’t anything to complain about
I don’t get lonely very often
unless I’m stuck in a crowd of small talk
I’ve grown rather found of being alone
and the endless hours of solitude it provides
and I have had a rather good life
and it’s still has some road left to it
and friends and love
have been an intricate part of the journey so far
with more of both than maybe I deserved
but still every now and then
there is a new pair of eyes
and a kind voice and a smile behind a counter
that makes me wonder if I couldn’t do something more
than write fictional love poems to imaginary girls
and women who don’t exist
and the barstool is still empty
and I can hear a kind voice
and picture the eyes that spin wildly above a gentle smile
but then again maybe it’s all just an illusion
and the whole scene is made up
by my companion of silence
in the hours of solitude I seem to be so fond of

If I could hold him one more year
one more year
and have him not age a single day
hold him at this age
so free from care
yet so caring
just one more year
and have him never age

Forever young
Forever gentle
Forever kind

Let youth not leave his hands
Let time not weigh down his days
Let nothing lead his heart astray

Just one more year
and have him never age
so free from fear
so free to dream
so brave in youth
just hold him to this age

Forever young
Forever gentle
Forever kind

Just one more
one more
forever more
to hold him to this day

My self worth sleeps
with my self loathing
and the devil is watching
the whole thing go down
and whats one more scar
on a dented heart
and it hurts to breath
but it feels good to bleed
so I keep something sharp
underneath tear soaked pillows
and there is a dream somewhere
saying all this pain is worth it
and there is a reason somewhere
saying to keep my head up
and there is someone
who wants to listen
and there is someone
who wants to say something
and its all been said before
but maybe we can say it
one more time and maybe theres something more to living
than watching the devil
watch my self worth
sleep with my self loathing

She smelled of earthly verse
and soft scented lust of poetry
and her name burned
in the forest of the tiger
where pleasure was forged
from sins desire
and sewn into petals
made of flesh in shape of flower
and what god or man would dare
to venture and give prayer
to offer their heart to sacrifice
for the blessing
of the kingdom and universe
she keeps hidden
beneath her *******
where love is found
in the scent of her earthly verse
and lust for poetry

Behind the curtain
of closed doors
and words dressed
in gowns of metaphors
what of love is found
in flesh of lust
and what of lust is found
in raging blod of love

Under sheets of starlight
and blankets woven
from fresh flowers
bloomed from sin  
and why should
we wear this skin
if not to indulge in things
made from fire

In beds of verse and silk
and words of flame
burning your image in the night
I find your name painted
in the sound
and beating of my heart

In a dreamers grave
my bones will dry and fade
where my love died
buried under metaphors
for I could not find my way
behind the curtain
of closed doors

I stare out to the blanket of stars
painted across the night
and I feel the calling of home
somewhere out in the distance
beyond the reach
and touch of my fingertips
but so deeply rooted
into the beat and rhythm
of my heart
and to what distant glimmering light
have i been torn
from what star was my blood born
and how long before I return

and I have had my homes here on earth
in the faces and names
that I have found love
on the beds and the couches
I have slept and crashed
as a king
and a peasant
and lover and friend
I have lived in houses
made of wood
and hearts made of blood and soul

and yet it is always the stars
that leave me longing
for the home that is away
and inside my bones

The three kind mice
are the oldest of the old
the wisest of the wise
the kindest of the kind

The first of all life
the first of all mice
the first of Hempstock blood

They see without seeing
they know without knowing
they give without expecting

They gave the tick and the tock
to the hands of the clock
and the sand to the wind
and the glass to the hour
and time its name and its nature

They gave the moon
the blanket of night
and the lullaby of stars
and the ocean the warm breath
and goodnight kiss of the sun
and dream its name and its season

They gave the tree
the root and the trunk
and the trunk the branch
and the  branch the leaf
and life its name and its being

They gave the heart
a rhythm and a beat
and a home beneath
flesh skin and bone
inside of all that would be
and love its name and its reason

The Hempstock mice know all
all that is good
and all that is bad
and all that is too horrible to be known
they are the oldest of the old
they come from a place before
the place of nothing
and the time before
the beginning of the first time before
and if you believe the rumors
or if you don’t believe the rumors
they will be here long after
the last time of all

They have traveled the abyss
and set sail in and charted the void
they can gnaw through time and space
and reality is nothing
they cannot bend
or turn
or rearrange
or extinguish with just a thought

Let us be thankful
that they are animals of kindness
creatures of wisdom
spirits of love
and mice that believe in forgiveness

Their paws are hands that craft things
all things
from the first heart of the first star
to the black feathers
of the first raven and crow
they will craft the quill and the ink
that will write last word
of the last story to ever be told

They named the gods
that named your parents
that named you
and painted the names
of tomorrows children
in the heart of yesterdays dreams

They have seen the end
since before the beginning
and when nothing comes back
they will swallow

Time

and

Dream

and

Life

and keep them safe in their belly
and gnaw through to new beginnings
and their paws will be busy hands
crafting things
all things
and when they have made
the universe comfortable once more
they will let us fall
from the belly of their womb
and we will be the children of tomorrow
born from the heart of yesterday

Oldest of the old
wisest of the wise
kindest of the kind

Mice of all mice
mothers and fathers
of love and forgiveness

The Hempstock Mice

They lay in bed breathing easy breaths of exhaustion with their fingers locking their palms in a gently kiss, his eyes starting deeply into the universe of colors in hers and softly he spoke, “I feel that I have loved you longer than I have known life, longer than I have been... I can’t remember a day or time that my heart did not know or sing your name, I can’t recall a memory that you are not a part of... as if I have loved you from within my mothers womb all the way to this very moment...it’s as if we never meet... as if somehow we just always were.  Tell me, is it true... have you always been here, here in my heart... from it’s very first beat?”, he asked as he moved their hands over the middle of his chest where his heart sang below.  “Or are you just a dream... or am I?  Is any of this real?”
“I am not just a dream... I am Dream, I am all dreams... I am the dream of all the stars wishing to be made of flesh and I am the dream of every child wishing they could fly.  I am the dream of every god wishing they were never given names.  I am the dream of the salt and the blood swimming in the sea and I am the dream of every grain of sand and every leaf floating on the wind... and it is all real, as real as you and I, every dream every whispered, every dream sown into every wish... and you... you are more than just a dream... you are my first love and my last love, always, you are the time in every moment of every breath of everything I do... I can not exist or live without you and you do not live without my dream of loving you... and Life is our child, all life, and we give life dreams and love and time and let it run wild and free.  We are tied to each other in mystery and magic and knowing of things that can’t be known or spoken... We exist for an eternity together and then in a moment we are gone and we sleep and we rest and all goes quite and not a thing is dreamt and time does not move or exist while we sleep...”
“And what of our love while we sleep?”
“It watches over us and keeps us safe.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
“Do we come back... do we wake up again... will we remember?”
“Yes and no and yes... you will be Time and I will be Dream again... in the time ahead, and we will live and love and dream and give life to dreams and dreams to life and time and love to both... it will all be different and it will all feel the same and this will and will not be true but it will never be a lie... a new story for a new Dream and a new Time, as there is always a time before now and a time ahead of now... but for now we will rest and sleep and love will keep us safe.”
He went to speak again and she gently pushed a finger to his lips and without making a sound Dream said, “shhhhhh... sleep, sleep Time, sleep...”
And Dream and Time slept and the time of now was gone and love sighed and sat and watched and yawned knowing what could not be known or spoken and smiled to know that the circle would come round again and Life would be born from Dream and Time and love would be there waiting to be given and shared and lost and found and broken and healed and it would laugh when it could and it would cry when it needed and no matter what, it would always be there as a part of Life and Time and Dream.

He dreamt of mice
and he dreamt of gods
and he dreamt of mice
that were gods
and gods that feared mice
and he dreamt of secrets
that he could not tell
and of memories
that were not his
and he dreamt of days
that wished they could see nights
and nights that ignored mornings
and he dreamt
that the planets were fish
and that the ocean
was let loose to swim in the sky
and through the emptiness of space
and that man was never made
of flesh or bone
and that men where children of mice
mice that knew too many secrets
and they would not share
any of those secrets with man
but they would share
their milk and their cookies
and tell men how to avoid cats
when cats dream
because when cats dream
they become bigger than mice
and become more loved than gods
and in their purring
is the death song
of the kingdom of mice
and without mice
and their kingdom safe
that man would be lost children
that looked like worms
to the planets that swam like fish
in the ocean that floated
in the emptiness of space
and then he woke
and did not remember
what he had dreamt
and scurried across the floor
and ate some cookies
and scanned the darkness
for any cats that might
dare to sleep
and in sleeping dream
and dream the beginning
of the end of everything

Her smile felt like home away from home
that felt more like home than home itself
Her name had the warmth and comfort
of holding hands while cradled
in the shape of spoons
She was the escape plan
that was nothing more
than sitting still
and breathing in the moment
and enjoying life
Whether the day was good or bad
The night quite or filled with storms
She was the perfect sound
of hearts beating
when singing of true love

He woke before the sun crept through the drapes and the curtains and the moon were still light blue against the black sky and his bed and blankets were warm but below the surface temperature of his skin was a cold that held winter hostage in his bones and his eyes were open but his heart refused to budge beyond the bare minimum of beating to keep itself alive and he tried to move his legs but they were in favor of his hearts control and the hours passed and he found himself twisting and stumbling through the boredom of his hands and spent too much time being self indulgent in self gratification and the sun had been spilling across his bed and his sheets hours before he found himself in a brief moment of unsatisfying ecstasy that did little more than leave a small stain of self loathing on his skin and his sheets...

It was past noon by the time he found himself doing as little as possible while sitting on his living room couch eating his breakfast/lunch staring at the blank screen of his television he was too tired and too lazy to bother to turn on.   Trapped inside his fingers and his sketch pads and note pads where dreams and ideas of great ambition and the weekend was fading into another three days of regret, things he meant to work on, things he meant to research, people he meant to call and meet with, would be put off for another week or two or months or years or till death did him part from living.

He sat mostly motionless, stuck between napping and a desperate want to do something... anything... and one o’clock became three o’clock became thirty-eight minutes past four....

and eventually he cracked open his typewriter and his heart went quite long enough to hear its own beating and then it helped him move his fingers and let his mind wander and dream and tell stories of mice and gods and moons and loneliness...

and it wasn’t much, but for at least a few hours between now and his death he could feel his heart began to warm his bones and release the winter that had been held hostage within them... the day was not won or lost and there would be more days of struggle and more days of failure and occasional days of success of effort and that was his price of being, his payment for living through the bad to get a little good, change was not an easy battle when battling things unknown but he would try more and more and in the end did not hope to win but he did hope to live beyond just the motion of doing so, to live with the effort of purpose of doing something more than nothing at all

There is a small hole
in the brick wall under the counter shelf
just big enough for a tiny door
a tiny door that may or may not
lead to a kingdom of mice
mice that do not fear cats or men or traps

noble mice
clever mice
kind mice

mice that may or may not be true gods
that may or may not have blood
older than Odin or Zeus or Athena or Isis or Horus
pulsing through their veins and raging in their hearts
old mice of old myths of old times of old fables
living lives of true importance
guarding the virtues and secrets

of why and why not
of how and how not
of when and when not
of where and where not
of and of not

mice that are guardians
of all that is good to know
and all that is too horrible to know
and must be kept secret
from being known at all

no easy task

not for men
not for cats
not for gods

and not for mice

not even for mice that may
or may not be gods

so when you find a small hole
among the bricks
of a wall under a counter of a house
or an office or a coffee shop
that is just big enough for a tiny door
a tiny door that may or may not
lead to a kingdom of mice

know that they are
noble mice
clever mice
kind mice

and if you are able
you may want to build a tiny door
to keep them and their kingdom safe

for though you may be tempted
to know all that is good to know
and you may be tempted
to catch one of these mice
and ask it to spare you a secret or two

remember that these are mice
of noble hearts with noble blood
blood that may or may not
be older than any gods name you may pray to

and they must also always be on guard
for all the things that are too horrible
to know and must be kept secret
from being known at all

and to distract them
for even the slightest of moments
may be the beginning of the end of us all

I am tired...

I am sleep...

I am dream...

I am a miracle
I am a mouse
I am a room born from loneliness
I am a house made of wood
    
     empty of love...

I am a heartbeat without a home

I am a home lost on a road
  on a rod that goes nowhere

I am the nowhere at the end of the ocean
  that leads to nothing

I am nothing at the end

I am the breath of the sea
   stolen by the shores of death
I am death without meaning

  and I am tired...

and I sleep and I dream

of a sea that does not know death
an ocean that has no end
a road that is a home
a home with a beating heart
a love that is a house
a house with rooms
full of mice
mice that tell stories
of miracles that know
no loneliness

The moon sat at the end of the road
waiting on the horizon
big and fat and full
with a belly full of dreams
and all they had to do was walk to it
and climb up
and float up and away
and out into the sky
and they walked
and they walked down the road
and the moon smiled
and purred and rolled in the night
and the road went through fields
and through mountains
and across rivers and streams
and under the ocean
and over the sea
and the moon got closer and closer
and they walked farther
and farther down the road hand in hand
and with every step their hearts grew
and their love grew
and the moon got bigger and bigger
and final they were at the end of the road
at the end of the world
and the moon opened up
and they climbed up and in
and slowly the moon drifted up
and away and out into the night
and they left all their human misery behind
and left with only each other
and their hearts overflowing with love
until with the moon they were

    gone
      
       gone
        
          gone

She looked pretty enough
to **** the boredom between his legs
and he was drunk enough
that she could make him beg
and bark and do anything
she would command
and it was ten past desperation
and a quarter till nothing
but the cold embrace of an empty bed
and nothing really mattered
between the pages
of a dime store novel
drowning at the bottom
of a wishing well
full of bad pennies
and poor luck in the matters
of fairy tale love
and she was too broken to care
and he was too lost to find
and they found themselves
exchanging plastic smiles
and hollow laughs
and there was more ***** and alcohol
than blood inside their veins
and the regret of bad decisions
was something that
they didn’t seem to mind
and neither one could remember
whose house that they were in
as their clothes and inhibitions
were both lying outside
of the bedroom door
and they couldn’t tell if it felt good
because they couldn’t remember
what good was
but he grunted and barked
and she gasped and she moaned
and at some point they felt the need
for cigarettes
so they pretended
to be done and satisfied
and they didn’t speak a word
that didn’t end up in a laugh
and they were both the punchline
of a joke that no one else could hear
and they both decided to drown
in the bottom of another bottle
so they couldn’t see their tears

She stirred through his dreams
that danced between the hours
of lust and loneliness
and his heart beat chanted
the syllables of her name
setting his dead blood in motion
she spread like wild orchids
with vines tying him to a bed
made of tropical warmth
and human moisture
in the darkness of his room
under the sheets
of his empty bed
he could feel the heat
of her breath sliding
over his seeping skin
her image was painted
in the wet colors
of his desires dreaming
where she slithered
over his twisting body
that writhed in a restless sleep
lost in prayers of wanted sin
and the death for the hours
of his lust and loneliness

Home of the brave who are too soon forgotten
dressed in flags of false songs of freedom
to hide the past acts of human treason
built on soil stolen that is drenched in blood
of hands taken far away from their motherland
pride standing on top of purple mountains
full of lies and fools gold

no truth found in the bleeding gums
of the greed of politicians owned by corporations
humanity takes a backseat
to the trust we put in gods of cash and coin

children held hostage to the skies
of thunder raining down bullets of assault
from guns in the hands of lunatics
allowed easy access to the weapons of their deaths

and the puppet of a president
has a hand so far up his ***
his ego can’t distinguish the difference
between the very basics of right and wrong
and it’s all just for show
the crocodile tears paid for by the puppeteer

how much longer can we watch this horror show
how much longer before we stand up and overthrow
another day will be a day too late
and yesterday is already gone

if not now then when?
if not now all we will be able to do
is sleep with the regret
of what could have been

She had permanent grass stains on her shoulder blades
and the skin on her back always carried
the scent and salt of the earth
her hair danced like green fields in the wind
and had the subtle fragrance of lilacs
and though her flesh was tied to her bones
and her feet walked the ground beneath them
her heart was not bound by these same rules of gravity
and was often found swimming
in the space between the stars
and her eyes where painted with scenes
of the sky held up by oceans
and oceans held down by the sky

he could see himself in these reflections
broken and incomplete
and that somewhere in his life death would be there
and this would still not change in the end
and that no life lived is every complete
and last breaths are just interruptions
of what is that turn into what will be

he knew she had mysteries to be
and mysteries to discover
and questions to ask without speaking
and answers that couldn’t be put into words
she was perfectly herself inside
and outside of her human frailties
and she held a comfort
that could only be found
in being comfortable with your flaws

somewhere in the sound
of the syllables of her name
was a love open and free
that needed no redemption
gave no judgement
held no sin or shame
only the willing connection
to those seeking to find something more
than just the infinite stars
splattered across the endless universe
the something of wisdom hidden
in the heartbeat of not knowing
what is still to be found
and finding what can never be found
by anything other than the truth
of giving love freely
to the greatest fears of the unknown

She drew out his desires
with the shape of her smile
and the colors of love
that she wore on her lips
and her voice was soft and sultry
and her dark sweet eyes
hypnotized and seduced his flesh in places
that made him blush
and he wanted to know the secrets
she kept between the letters of her name
as each syllable felt like a prayer
as they left his mouth
and he whisperd them again and again
until they became a mantra
to the goddess she was
beneath the curves of her skin
and he offered his heart
to sacrifice for her pleasures
and his life was hers to drain
and release and spill out
as he laid next to her
and lost in her
where he wanted to stay
and never be found

A silent conversation where everything is felt and known
in the soft quite space between our eyes
and nothing but slow rhythmic breath passes from our lips
and we don't have to force a smile
and just enjoy the silence wrapped around us
and the noise of nothing tying us together
in a locked gaze free to be ourselves
without the judgment of sound
and happy enough with being bored of being
and still brave enough to poke around
and dare to be a little more than just be
and finding a connection in knowing
together we are still alone
but there is no need of feeling lonely
because all we ever wanted was someone
that understands they don't have to understand
every little thing that isn't said
because there is often a deeper story in the pauses
between each sound and syllable
and each sigh and moan
and sometimes it is better to just lay there
in the comfort found outside the reach of our skin
and listen to the meaning of why
our hearts are beating beneath our bones
in the silent conversation
where everything is felt and known

Why do we imagine beyond
the realms of possibilities
why do we dream of places unseen
why do we dare the stars to fall
so we may make wishes from their death

and yet do so little with our lifes

Why do we fear the things
of our hearts true desires
of love so beautifully blinding
of life so freely lived
that we make small wishes on the death
of stars falling from the sky

What is this life we live of work and toil
to wear away our years and flesh
to fade away in silent desolation
and grind our bones to dust and sand
and be less than memory of dying winds
wishing on stars that die
so they may come down from the sky

do we do too little or think too much
what significance are we
to the sun the moon the stars
when we believe ourselves confined
to the body of our flesh
and lock ourselves within our minds

that only in the breath of the hour
of our dreams that we can be more than
queens and kings of human misery
and take the shape of any bird
and fly beyond the realm of skies

and what is it to dream of places unseen
from what mind or eye did we dare
to steal away memories that were not ours
and from what imagination did we find
realms beyond the possible

were we nothing more
in what may have come before
lonely stars hanging quietly in the sky
waiting to be dreamt as something more
made out of flesh and bone
and be a home for a heart
that knew the truth
of living out loves true desires

imagine what could be
if we believed in the breath
of the hour of our dreams
and we lived a life
so beautifully blinding
that love was free to live
in its hearts true desire

Angels of death and sorrow
Hold open the doors
At elementary dead
Where children become martyrs
For the pride of men
Who cannot let go
Of their precious right
To arm themselves
To **** with speed and efficiency
And pockets lined with greed
Are more important
Than your hearts right to beat

Please lay down in your coffin
If you must, you can scream
Don’t worry it will only hurt
Until you are dead
We will wash off all your blood
and dress you in your Sunday best
Then bury you under earth
and false promise
With your dreams
Stolen we know too soon
Tell lies in guise of prayers
And then forget your name
So we don’t feel guilt or shame

Deaths head hangs low
as she cannot bear to see
the youthful smiles
she must usher into the dark
unknown kingdom beneath her robes
and what angel can sing
after such a senseless tragedy
if only the hearts of men
were moved by love
instead of ruled by greed

Some children will feel
There’s too many days in the school year
Some will think there isn’t enough
Some will be bored of the repetition and ease
Some will still be eager to learn
It is school
They are just kids
Learning slowly the mysteries of the day to day
Young people with little experience in life
As we once were
And in some way or another
Still are
We don’t have all the answers
In truth it’s all still a mystery
Despite our years of experience
And our piles of the day to day
And kids are just kids
As children have always been
As children should always
Be allowed to be
So let a few feel there’s too many days
Of study hall and home room and homework
Encourage them all to learn
And just as importantly
Encourage them just as much to laugh
Let them be bored of things that bore kids
Let them be children
Let them be kids
It is our privilege
It is our responsibility
To look after them
To keep them safe
To make sure they know
They are loved
But let no child at school
Have to think
Have to feel
Have to see
That there were too many guns
That there were too many bullets
That too much innocence blood was spilled
That the school year
Had too many deaths
Of too many friends
That lived too little
That were taken too soon
Because we failed to be responsible
That we took our privilege
As a community
As a world
For granted by turning a blind eye
And giving nothing but a moment of silence
And our thoughts and prayers
Without any action or resolve or steps
To make this last tragedy
The LAST tragedy
Any child had to live through
Had to survive
To witness bullets bought by greed
Bury the bodies of their classmates
If we watch this scene of tragedy
Play over and over again
And do nothing
NOTHING
To even try to stop the death of innocence
We ourselves in our complicity
Are just as much to blame
And just as guilty
As the hand that carried the gun
As the finger that pulled the trigger
As the politicians that took their bribes
The days of thinking it will never happen here
The days of the unthinkable being unthinkable
They are gone
They have been buried
With the bodies and the names
Of the children we have failed to save
The ones already gone today
And the ones that will be gone tomorrow
In the next senseless tragedy
Today is not soon enough
And tomorrow is always too late
Now is the time
And if not now
There will never be a day
We’re children are allowed to be kids
That don’t have to think
Don’t have to feel
Don’t have to see
That the school year
Had too many deaths

Cold, lifeless, steel...
A barrel, a trigger...
An ounce of lead...
A hammer pounds and thunder booms
Another death in another classroom

And why?

You say it’s not the gun
and yes to some degree
there is truth to that
but it’s also true that
to some degree it played it’s part

it’s not the whole of the problem
but its there in the equation
written out for all to see
in the blood of the innocence lost
multiplied by the tears
of the mothers and fathers
and brothers and sisters and friends

that must now live sitting at the dinner table
minus one less face and its smile and its laugh
and its eyes full of endless wonder
by dividing its future from its past
equaling the end of its life far too soon

And why?

Because...

Cold...
Lifeless...
Steel...
Has more cash exchanging hands
To protect its right
To protect its promotion
To protect its distribution
To protect its ability to ****
Easily and rapidly

COLD...
LIFELESS...
STEEL...
Has more value to politicians
Than the warm blood
and bones and flesh
Of our children
Of their schools
Of their education
Of their safety

COLD...
LIFELESS...
STEEL...
Has millions and millions being spent
While we ignore our broken schools
and our long over due need
to reform our educational system
and this is no coincidence
an uneducated mass is easier to distract
with age old rhetoric
keep them cookie cut
and packaged and boxed
mental slaves to the **** tube
programmed to love

Cold...
Lifeless...
Steel...

Leaving behind...

cold, lifeless, bodies...

Endless eyes of wonder
That wonder no more
Smiles that no longer laugh
Lungs full of blood instead of life
Hearts with holes no longer whole
no longer beat
Hands that don’t draw
Feet that don’t dance
Nothing more now
Than a body to fill a coffin
And a name for a family to grieve
through a lifetime of sorrow

And yet the
Cold, lifeless, steel...
With its barrel, trigger...
And pieces of lead...
Still hammer out thunder and death
At a moment of anger
And the ease of
a squeeze of a trigger
a trigger so easy to reach
so easy to pull
and just like that
leave behind

cold...
lifeless...
bodies...

Guns turn playgrounds into graveyards
and study halls into war zones
and classrooms into memories of living nightmares
and you say it's too soon to talk about
and lets not make this about politics
while you stuff the money from the guns you sold
into your pockets
and are quick to add you give
your thoughts and prayers
to the families of the victims
but your thoughts and prayers
won't bring back the dead
and their bodies are not yet buried
and already you have forgotten their names

Tell me again what god do you pray to?
Is it the god of death and greed?
Is it the god of bullets and blood?
Is it the god of GUNS! GUNS! GUNS!
How many dollar bills does it take
to wash the blood from your hands?
How much cash does it take
to stuff your mattress
for a guiltless night of sleep?

How many more lives lost?
How many more tears shed?
How many more hearts broken?
How many more families torn apart?
How many more bullets fired?
Before we stop praying
and speak out and stand up
and take part in real solutions

And spare me the rhetoric that guns don’t ****
And evil will do evil no matter the law or restrictions
Yes bad people will do bad things
one way or another
it’s true
But these are children killing children
Sick minds stealing the lives of innocence
At the ease of squeezing a trigger
A trigger so easy to reach
A trigger of a killing machine that
NONE of us need

And calm the **** down RAMBO
Because if you want to dream of some
Battle of glory
Where you single handedly save everyone
From a tyrannical government
trying to strip you off your rights to bear arms
When all you do is sit there on your couch
and let them strip you off far more important things
Let me tell you how thats going to end
Before you throw your life away
It’s not going to play out to your favor
The only Red Dawn your going to see
Is the dawn of your life’s horizon
Painted with your own blood

When is the time if not today?
If not now, then when?
A better tomorrow will NEVER get here
Unless we do something today
Until then guns will continue
to turn playgrounds into graveyards
and study halls into war zones
and classrooms into memories of living nightmares

The gods do not greive for thier dead
for they know nothing is permanent
not their robes or shrouds or stars or altars or crosses
they will come and go
as light goes into dark
and dark gives into light
for they know from the first step
they take out of the void
and into names and prayers
when they will exhale and fade back into nothing
leaving only vague myths and flimsy fables
behind with their brittle bones
and they have handed down this story
and printed it on every crease and line
of every leaf of every branch of every tree
and left the equation of time and blood
and life and death
in every shed scale
of snake and fish
on every lost hair
of dog and cat and man
and the mystery
is no mystery at all
not really
the answers are questions
and the questions are answers
and nothing is so small
as not to matter
and no matter
has any weight
except for the matters of love
and love is all that is
and all that every was
and all that will every be
the mother of dreams
the robes of death
the keeper of time
the child of life
are all love
made from love
made of love
being nothing less than
being nothing more than
love
as we are all here today
made of love
made for love
made from love
and this is why
the gods do not grieve
for their dead

He stood motionless at the cliffs edge and stared out over the landscape and the  ever elusive horizon, with his heart punching hard against his ribs and his breath calm and deep and steady.  The air carried a warm gentle breeze and the sky held birds of black wings that sang of the sun and the stars and the moon .  He was so still that he could have been an illustration on the page of a book in a story where time had been frozen and maybe he was.  Maybe he was a moment stolen from eternity and sculpted into the shape of a boy holding two feathers longer than he was tall and maybe it wasn't until eternity stole that moment back that he turned and smiled as wide as the moon pretending to be a cat.  Then he turned his head forward and slowly raised his arms until they were parallel with the ground and leaned forward until he fell over the edge.
He fell without fear.  His mouth did not scream or make any sound, it only sat quietly on his face framing the teeth of his smile.  He tucked in his legs and curled into a ball and spun and tumbled in the air.  With the earth rapidly approaching, he stretched his legs back out and began to run and leap and fly through and up and into the sky.  
He was a dream in the shape of a boy pretending to be a bird spreading out its wings and learning how to fly

He is the sky full of stars
The stars full of dreams
A dream full of hope
A poem I will never finish

   writing
    
      or

   reading

He is the wonder of joy
The joy of life
A life filled with love
A love that will not end

   not today

   not tomorrow

   not ever

He is the music in my heart
The heart in my soul
The soul in my heart
A kindness that grows

   and grows

     and grows

He is everything in a sky full of stars
More than I could have dreamt
More than I could have hoped
A wish that comes true
again and again

   every moment

   of everyday

My lifes greatest privilege
My loves greatest joy
My son
The poem I will never finish

What lesson do our children learn
when watching children
****** children in their classrooms
what value do we give their education
when seperating best friends forever
by filling one heart with grief
and putting the other one in its early grave
what child needs to know
the weight and velocity
of the bullets that tore
their once safe world apart

how many tears will it take
to drown out the greed
that allows the trigger of the gun
to be in such an easy place to reach
and the moment of silence has had its turn
and though it may have brought
some small comfort
it did not take the pain away

now we must raise our voices
for the dead
we must raise our voices
for those who have not yet died
we must raise our voices
and we must be loud
louder than the money exchanging hands
louder than the bullets and the bangs
and louder than the rat-a-tat-tat
machine guns song

its more than a matter of safety or control
its the value of the education
we too often forget
forget to teach
forget to remember
forget to live by
the education of kindness
the value of generosity
the need of empathy
the lesson and the gift of love

that we are all the same
no matter our birthplace
no matter what flag we sleep under
no matter what name we whisper
when we offer our prayers
and our hopes
we are all the same
we all live in the same house
no matter how many walls divide us
no matter the mountains between us
no matter the oceans that separate us

we are all in one house
and we are all connected
by the one thing
the only thing
we need to both give
and to receive  
the lesson and the gift of love

let us teach this first
before anything else
because without it
the education we give our children
will continue to be washed away
with the lives of all the children
that we fail to save

Men were made gods and gods became men
and cats dreamed themselves kings and queens
as dogs gnawed lazily away
at the bones beneath the robes of death
and butterflies flutered from the heart
that beat within her ribs
and life ran like a child learning to fly above the clouds
and the stars made not a sound
and from the silence echos made
music did softly play from roaring waves
that lead the way to mermaids graves
where their skulls did sleep in troubled dreams
were men believed themselves gods
and ruined everything

It all started so long ago
that even time cannot recall
where or how it all began
and I was not there
but somehow in part I was
and you as well
though we don’t remember
in the traditional way of remembering
yet we can see in the ways
that leave our eyes blind
that we all were there
in some small
yet infinitely important way
a thread pulled from the nothing
that turned into everything
a spool of love unfurling in waves
of sound and dance
and life and death
and Vincent yellow stars
and pastel ballerina Degas
and time melting into pools of Dali
and sounds trapped
in in the silent world of Beethoven
and the drum beat of Kerouac
and the flowers of Baudelaire
and the drunk truth of Bukowski
and something lost
in the shape of memory
betrayed by what would become ego
was the simplicity of joy
before we had flesh to cover our bones
and bones to move our flesh
and our hearts where stars
that dreamt against the emptiness
in the space between what was
and what could be
and in the pulse of becoming
and into the flow of being
and with the birth of want and need
we gave ego sharp tooth and claw
and drew lines across the night
and dived eternities horizon
into heaven and hell
and pulled the gods and devils
from a hat that we found
upon a corpse that was once
a man made out of snow
from a land where winter
was not cold and bitter
but had a gently warmth
and easy fire that was calm and clean
and things of all sort knew
that the need to be loved
was no more or less important
than the need to love
for time was a waste of all
when absent of the art of love
and now what are we
if we are not allowed to dream endlessly
if we are not allowed to love infinitely
if we fail to live kindly
if we ever forget
the art of love
then the beginning may as well
have been the end

Just a figment of a dream
lost somewhere in a fragment
of my imagination
sold to a pound of flesh
for a heart of sin
and a love forgotten

and inbetween the this and that
of facts and reality
I drift aimlessly through the ocean
of blue and grey mist
in the spheres of your eyes
and wonder who was dreaming who

if none of this is real
and if you're not there
and I'm not here
what is forgotten
must have been remembered

and somewhere the devil
must be laughing
at the cost of what I do
by doing nothing
instead of daring
to become something more
than what I am

is it worth the price
if all I have left
is a figment of a dream
lost somewhere in a fragment
of my imagination

His body fell to the ground and his pulse slowed to a stop and the colors of life in his eyes drained to grey and the last bit of air exited his lungs and he laid there motionless and silent and his chest opened as if his ribs had been cabinet doors and his heart floated up into the sky and into the night and through space and back and forth through time and it was alone in the vast emptiness of it all and with all its scars and stitches and broken and missing pieces it hummed and it beat and it remembered...

it remembered the name in every stitch and every smile that had stolen and kept a piece of it and every heartache in the story of every scar and every love that had ever made it laugh and sing and dance and fly and it remembered all the joy and misery and failure and wonder and everything that had made its life worth living and somewhere inside it smiled

Our love...  
you say we once loved each other
and this is true
and you say maybe there is no fixing us
and before you say anything else
let me remind you of this
our love is buried in a casket
you built with the hands of your betrayal
and the white lies painted on your teeth
that you use to spit out half hearted apologies
that only mean you need something temporary
a place to play pretend while you search
yet again for someone better
but you’re having trouble
finding someone to blindside
as your past keeps crashing
into your present
and that makes it harder to be manipulative
as your lies are bleeding through your massacre
and the color of your eyes
are heavily saturated with desperation
and don’t mistake this for hatred
and I wish you no ill will or harm
but there is no us
as you walked away from that
of your own free will and choice
time and time again
after I forgave you time and time again
only to find the same dagger
leaving new scars in the heart
that was still at that time
beating for you
and it took time
months and months
and years and years and years
before I realized the only thing
you could give me was false hope
that turned quickly back to misery
and that enough was enough
so I placed my still heart and our love
in the casket you painstakingly built
and let you bury it
and you buried it so deep into the ground
that it fell through the earth
and is now a satellite circling the earth
high above china
and much like you it shines in the night sky
as pretty as a star
but completely artificial

You may not have pulled the trigger
but your fingerprints were on every bullet
that left the barrel of the gun
so when looking at the dead heart
pinned and bleeding on the wall
know you did your part to stop its beating
and that innocence is something you can't reclaim
with the white lies painted on the teeth
framed within your crooked smile
and now I see your beauty
was nothing more than smoke and mirrors
off the reflection of the gun

A nuclear reaction to a knee **** assault
as stupid believes stupid
and now a pig dressed as an elephant
pretending to be a man
ru(i)ns the state of things
and I know a puppet is just a puppet
but the new prescription of immoral narcissism
is asking us to take a double douse
and swallow it with the water
they have poisoned by letting the aristoCrATS
**** and **** in the stream
as they make more false promises
of what it is they will let trickle down
to **** our children’s ills
and then insist they have to die
in the never ending war of wars
to protect the lie they call freedom
and isn’t it just the best to be the best
at being the best even when we aren’t
but lets not the facts be the facts
and look to an alternative truth
to cover up the stockpile of lies
we need to keep the money
in the hands that have too much
but have nothing to give back
because the way it is is the way it is
and that is never going to change
when a million voices are drowned out
by the billion lifeless faces
printed on the currency of greed
and the clock is tick tick tock’ing
as the bomb is about to blow
and we might be at the bottom
but things are still heading for an all time low
as humanity is barely human
and there is so little kindness left
to what we refer to as mankind
and what have we left to give
as we try to stand our ground
with broken backs and worn out fingers
as they strip and strip our flesh and rights away
and winter has just took its first breath
but with just the push of a button
winter could buckle down
and stay for years and dead generations to never come
and hope will have to bloom
after we have gone a step too far
on a day too late
and we will have to stand
six feet underground while lying in our graves

What is this broken thing inside our chest
this thing we once called love
what weary hand did try to stitch
what eye did try see
what was beautiful

  inside of you
   inside of me

what is this thing that feels like death
that once felt like a dream
the stars that danced
inside the colors of your eyes
the blood and lust
that feed and devoured me
that storm and sea
that bridged the emptiness
between you and me

what is it that we lost
that we both once held so dear
did something die inside of me
and then in turn die inside of you
what is that we lost
that broke the love along the way
to dreams forever and now never true

and if the love was broken
then why does this broken thing
inside my chest
still love and dream of you

Broken but still beautiful
This heart of mine
That still loves you

Free your bones from your flesh
and find what you are looking for
is looking back at you
for in what pool is your reflection
nothing more than dream and mist
and if you aren’t what you dream
then what are dreams to you
what made up thing
does your heart beat for
what lives in your every breath

      inhale

           exhale

just a small piece of eternity
except for when we dream
we can last forever
if only in a stream
of consciousness unknown
two koi fish in a bowl
swimming around the sun
no man made by god
and no gods made by man
only the womb of things to come
waiting to spill forth and flourish
in fields of forest dreams
and mountains to hold the sky
and oceans of salt and stars and seas

if only in a dream
to break the silence and the solitude
of the nothing of before
before our bones hid beneath our flesh
before our soul took home in our bones
before we were anything
but a dream lost somewhere
in the heart beat of some made up thing
trapped in bones buried beneath flesh
unable to breath or dream

Let us live as we are the letters dancing
around inside our hearts that turns our blood
into the painful art of poetry

Let us inhale and exhale and take in
and breath out all the love
that is always there in the air
and with full lungs let us shout out
into the infinite silence


and

       emptiness                                    

                                         of

                         space


and dance in the echo that bounces back to us

Let us hear the music in the silence
of the stars above us
and let our feet find heaven
in the earth we walk upon
for we need not die before we enjoy
the rewards of a life well lived
for a life well lived is a reward onto itself
let us be kind and generous
    
              with the time
        
                                     our hands carry

              and the love

our hearts

            
          have to give


                   for tomorrow is not guaranteed


            and today carries the gift

and burden
      
       and beauty
        
    of possibly being our last

Let us forgive ourselves
for the wrongs we have done
and those that have wronged us
carry nothing from today
into tomorrow
   that will way us down
we will fail and we will fail again
but let us not stop
  getting up
    again
      and
       again

We have already won
the most important race of our lives
back when we found a home
in our mothers belly long ago
and life is no different
   or more cruel
      or less beautiful
as it was as we learned to crawl
  and then to walk
    and then to run
      and jump
        and dance
and as we fell back then
we instinctively got back up
  and tried
    and tried
      again

Let us not forget how beautiful
a journey we have already been on

Let us be grateful for all the tomorrows
and pages of the stories
we may still have to live and write yet
let us not fear death but find it adds value
to every extra day we wake up
   every new breath we take
     every smile we see
       and every smile we give back

be kind to strangers

let us not let the milk of human kindness
  spoil and go to waste
let us help those in need as our responsibility
and let no opportunity in doing so go to waste
   we are all
     of the same earth
       the same bones
        the same flesh
         the same blood
          the same heart
          
Let the only place we find hate in our vocabulary
be in the innocence of our children’s words
when expressing they do not like their green beans
or aunts fruit cake
let us learn as much from our children
as we fumble through teaching them

   how horribly beautiful
      and terrifying life can be

Let us remember magic is only as real
  
     as we make it

and can only survive

    by us believing in it

and this is a far more important and valuable lesson
than anything money can buy
and the most treasured and sacred magic of all

is made from love

let us never forget this
let our children never forget this
and let their children’s children
always protect this as long
as we may live here on this earth
and in whatever may wait for us
as our bodies return to dust and ash

Let us find the wisdom to know that true beauty
is nothing we could ever see with our eyes
and let us have the wisdom to be blinded
by the colors of love in the things we cannot see
and in finding these things to be true
may we walk forward from this day forth
and know that beauty is the thing we feel
in the letters dancing in our hearts
that turns our blood
into the painful art of poetry

Dear friend,

maybe you know me   maybe you know me well   maybe you only know my face but not my name   maybe you only know rumors of me    maybe we passed through the same door but at different times    maybe you were sitting here where I am now in some other life in some other building    maybe we shared a beer and a shot and a tale or two    maybe I broke down in tears as you sat awkwardly in front of me at some dinner at 3:17 in the morning the last time my heart fell apart at the seams    maybe you told me a joke that caught me off guard and I snorted before a deep belly laugh    maybe you trusted me enough to tell me your dreams afraid I would think them absurd    maybe you trusted me enough to read your children bedtime stories    maybe you’re the girl that made me write my first love poem   maybe it was horrible    maybe it wasn’t    maybe you’re the last person I said I love you to that believed me    maybe you’re someone I wanted to talk to but lost my voice when the opportunity presented itself    maybe we talked but I never said what I should have    maybe I said too much   I’m always quite except when I don’t know when to shut up    maybe we haven’t meet yet    maybe we won’t     maybe we will in and wherever comes next    maybe you where a leaf and I was a tree    maybe you where the spider and I was the fly     maybe I was a **** and you were a child’s first wish     maybe you were the star and I was the last lullaby to leave a dying mans lips     maybe we will never know more than we know right now     maybe it’s all one great last goodbye   one moment of eternity twirling in the eyes of a child in the mind of a god taking its last breath    maybe we never where    maybe we never will be    

but friend,

no matter what it may or may not be    know this    I love you    as you are    whole or broken    miserable or content    kind or cruel    perfectly flawed or flawed with perfections    have no doubt all you need to be beautiful is the song in the beat of your heart    we are connected    by legends and myths    fairy songs and pirate maps    secrets untold and memories forgotten    laughter unheard and tears not shed     lives lived through the blood and pulse of an unending spool of thread found in the bottomless pool of the eternal heart of love

and friend,

take care    be kind   live well   dream always   love infinitely

We sculpt clay into the things
we cannot force our bodies into
we string the alphabet
into stories we are afraid to live
we paint with colors we cannot see
and we ignore the music
inside the beat of our hearts

as we forget what it means to live
we muse on what was
once beautiful about being alive
and forget our thoughts
as we stare emptily to the sky

and the night swallows the day
and the day murders the night
and prayers become graveyards
for dead gods
and our beds become coffins
for dreams

round and round the clay
of the earth spins
and slips through our fingers
as time is something we waste
and our reflection
is a ghost of once was
and what could be

if we could only remember
who we were before
we became prisoners inside
our own minds and found shame
in the shape of our flesh

before we needed the alphabet
to speak of love
and metaphors to hide behind
and fairy tales to mend our wounds

back when the music
inside the beat of our hearts
was all we needed
to know that we were beautiful

Let the heart of generosity not be lost
and let us know the value
of the love we give and share
and let worry not rob of us
of the time we have to share
for time is a trickster and liar
for when laughter escapes
from our smiling lips
it moves all too quickly
and when burden and grief
weigh heavy on our hearts
and steals all but silent words
it seems to not move at all
for all we have are our brief moments
and small exchanges with eternity
and life is a string of luck
not good or bad
but of kind and cruel circumstances
beyond the control of fate
and one eyed kings and dead gods
and the wisest of prophets
and the maddest of men
are both fools when dispensing knowledge
of what may lay in wait
in the arms and robes and kiss of death
and if there be no heaven
beyond the footsteps
we take here on this earthly soil
what better way could we give value
to the love we give and share
than not losing our way
from the heart of generosity