The stereotype of the female type/ packing more than you give yourself credit for/
Spineless, backstabbing ******* in backless dresses fronting to impress dogs who are/
Barking at ******* that are easy to prey on/ hoping to get a good **** to sniff/
While your tail is out there waggin/ makin’ their tongues turn stiff/
There are many who live in that dog eat dog world/ And boy it can get pretty rough out there/ catch that innuendo?
You see, effing around is simple and it works like this; you F what you see/
Sometimes you find what you think to be ‘the one’ only to be deceived/
Because you believed what you saw and didn’t take the time to dig deep/
Next thing you know, your heart has been sunk in the pool of tears you weep/
You resort to a resolution to that’s easy to keep/ rectify to the erectified/
Yes, maybe some of this is harsh/ but if you cant handle the truth/
You wont know the difference between what’s right and wrong to do/
There’s a difference between a princess and a queen/
A princess who’s prince-less will settle for the frog/
While a queen knows how to stand on her own two feet/
Royalty is respected and they stand tough even when they’re rejected/
It’s hard to see something beautiful be used by a tool who’ll/
Only add her to the collection of his tool box/ then look for a new one/
But the reality of realism is/ reality can be pretty unreal sometimes/
And Miss Congeniality secretly believes the fallacy/ she wasn’t born to shine/
Selling herself at a price her mom would hate to see/
Giving out discounts because she can’t even count on herself/
The worst part is, it’s all manipulating her moral health/
And it’s demeaning her demeanor, being treated like Miss Demeanor/
But she didn’t mean for/ her life to turn to this/
She made three-left turns/ only to find the fourth right doesn’t exist/
Maybe a forthright person is all it takes to set her straight/
Boost her confidence/ make her feel great/ and tell her it’s never too late/
To find a new place to start over/ and get your mind in a better state/
That’s why this poem is called Tulip Teaser/ your own two lips are teasing you/
Impeding you from being you/ misleading you through your own garden/
But you’re better than that/ and there’s more to your garden than you think/
Just stick to your roots and let yourself grow to be the beautiful flower everyone likes to see/

When you think of a drug addict, what do you see?
Someone who’s messed up, depressed, or on the street.
Sadly, there are quite a few of those freaks
They need their daily dosage or their days incomplete.
But what if I told you users aren’t the real drug addict?
It’s the government…. They’re the real drug addicts

But wait isn’t that a little dramatic?
That cant be true! Show me some facts, I demand it!

Alright, alright…. Hold on… if you demand it, here’s some facts then
In 2011 the war on drugs cost 23 billion dollars
But, that’s just the federal budget, you just wait, the states can replicate.
Over 30 billion dollars were put on their plate
That’s 53 billion total, 1716 of every second of every day… isn’t that insane!?

Well yeah, you could say that’s insane, but I’m still not impressed, can you step up your game?

Of course I can do that! I have much more to say!

Okay then, I’m all ears, amaze my brain!

From 1987 to 1995, the corrections budget increased 30% because more and more people were being thrown in the pent
Meanwhile, spending on higher education was on the decent--- 18% to be correct

Ah, that makes sense, but what I don’t get, is how that’s relevant?

Just a sec, I have more to vent
In 2010 21% of those in the pent were in for a drug related offense
And what percent of people do you think had a malicious intent?

Well… I guess you could say slim to none

Right! While educations lacking the proper funds to teach kids what they need to know

Okay, okay, I get what you’re saying now, but I still don’t get why you think the government is the drug addict?
I mean, don’t users spend more on drugs than the government does?
Drugs are expensive, and they take an abundance of money from a users pocket.

Yes, that’s true, they spend more spend more money than the government does
There are 20 million plus who reported using drugs in 2011, they spent around 70 billion dollars to support their love
That’s 3500 dollars spent per user
Meanwhile, just over 7 million people are employed by the gov
You know what that means? Our gov spends 7300 dollars per person employed for the war on drugs.

Wow… I never thought of it like that, those are quite the facts
You know what, that actually makes me mad
Obviously it makes our government a mockery, a living joke of a democracy
I can see why you say the government is a drug addict now
They’re addicted to a war that’s bringing us down
They can’t go a day without spending money on it
And look how successful it has been… pretty prominent their habit is chronic
I even recently heard that more people die from drugs they’re prescribed than drugs that are despised

Yes! I almost forgot that! It’s actually 10 times more people! Isn’t that unbelievable!?

Now, we’re not trying to say we should end the war on drugs
But don’t you think its time the government rethinks their strategy?
Because its obvious the one they have now is a tragedy.

You hide in plain sight as does day when engulfed by night
For darkness is simply…. The absence of light
You claim to have special enlightenment
And that your knowledge is for the better good of the people
Pledge your allegiance and your success will be imminent
Break your pledge and your death will be discrete
So why would you become part of something so “elite”?
With only one thing in mind; to see the human race in defeat.
An interminable amount of subliminal messages
Hinting at events that are destructive, demoralizing, and deceptive.
9/11… was it really an act of terrorism?
Or was it just an evil plot… something you guys expected?
Al-quaeda and the Taliban… roaming around in the lands of Iran
But on the land I walk some say it’s a misperception
Just a façade in our brain so the government secrets are protected.
Michael Jackson… and the Kennedy assassination
Were they both untimely events in American history?
Ghandi, The King,  Malcolm X,  Princess Diana, Shakur,
Paul, Marley, the Kennedys’, Lennon, Fredinand, Lincoln!!
All of  whom were either at your feet or tried to make your secret secrete
These deaths… from assassination to suicide… were all… “unfortunate” to the human eye?
Or were they “fortunate” for the Eye of the Beholder?
But why go to such great extent to have these powerful and influential people wiped from the human race?
To keep a secret that has been soooo well kept for hundreds of years?
A secret society that is not so discrete… anymore
Hidden in plain sight and away from the human eye…..
Trying to keep a disguise that will lead to our eventual demise
You aren’t doing the world any favors
By keeping an explicitly intricate order in store
You’re favoring your own world under one order
By intricately deceiving the minds of innocent citizens
So, you hide in plain sight, the light of the earth
A light you hope one day becomes permanently dark
Cause once again, darkness is only the absence of light.
With no light, we will be forced at the feet of your might
Despite a fight, with no light and your might, we’re all just mites stuck on your flight of new world order.
Well let me just end on this… **** THE ILLUMINATI!

Even the bolt of a metal *****
will eventually erode.
Is it ironic to say that
a blowfish can implode, too?

The notion of wearing a mask
is an interesting one
Because nothing in this world
is meant to stand the test of time
And if you try to hide
you will fail.
Then, when you wake,
and try to see past your mask
you'll find yourself staring
at the wall behind you.

Even on a bright, sunny day
you can wake up feeling gray.
Making you feel out of place,
so wearing a mask compensates
Disguising blind eyes from reality
with a false sense of security.

The calm before the storm
is a deceptive moment in time
But it just goes to show
how quickly things can go
from good to bad
And it happens everyone.

Everyone has a shadow
no matter how you choose too see things.
It will never leave your side
Big or small, day or night
Your shadow is cast as a mask,
how you wear it is up to you.

Becoming comfortable in your mask
can be an uncomfortable task
As uncomfortable as a gullible mime
that is stuck on the outside
of his invisible box,
just trying to find a way in.

It's a queasy experience
that makes your stomach churn.
Trying to find the face behind
the mask
When you can't see past the facade
that acts as a mirage.

It's might sound easier to keep
the mask on,
put up a front and never look back
But that doesnt mean
things will be any easier,
just harder to hide behind.

Only when you choose to see
the reflection in the mirror
for its face value,
and not as a misleading mask,
will you begin to feel
how awesome it is to see clearly

I am a puddle in the ocean
Blended in a blue dream
With wandering waves
That capsize in captivity
Condescending from freedom

I am a puddle in the ocean
Struggling to stay calm
In this vicious storm
As the wind is whirling
Whipping my family around

I am a puddle in the ocean
Lost in space like a star
Wishing I could shine
Like the ferocious flame
Of the sun's searing rays

I am a puddle in the ocean
Drowning in earths tears
Shed from the sorrow
Of all the pain in the world
That never washed ashore

I am a puddle in the ocean
Fighting to stay afloat
Holding on to a rope
With a grip that's groping
But safety is far from sight

I am a puddle in the ocean
Tired of being tortured
By tricks of the truth
Seeking to expose them
With a splash of sunshine

I am a puddle in the ocean
Looking to ride a wave
One that will carry me
Far away from the storm
To be soaked up by the sun

The moon is staring me in the face
Shaded in grey, slowly fading away
Barely paving the way
               to the edge of the fray.
Whispers of intrigue control the iris
Repeated patterns within blue beauty
Triangles that sparkle like a diamond
               around a dense, black circle
That leads to the cortex of insight.
It looks like that of a galaxy
Filled with mystical images of life;
Where night is day and day is night.
Meteor showers litter the sky,
tears of joy fall to a puddle of pride
As earth collides with a great divide.
Right through the center;
               from the lithosphere to the core
Pain on the outside is ramified on the inside
And I’d be ****** if I said it isn’t a beautifully
               tragic picture
because life isn’t balanced if a good deed
               doesn’t contain a malice intent.
Temptation to touch the treasure without consent
is no where near the worth of self-control.
The dare to take a risk is self-imposed,
but the move to play it safe is the lightest of loads.
Would you rather re-paint the rainbow
               or find the *** of gold?
Walk a path through the park to feed the pigeons
and a serendipitous encounter with livid pigeons
               leaves your empathetic heart frigid.
While a deaf person speaks for the mute
               as the mute listen to laughter,
The blind guide those who are struggling
               to a gleaming green pasteur.
A mass murderer to the morality of humanity
Commonly senseless people skew
               the meaning of integrity,
The soul of the soulless has been released
to be met by the life of persistence.
Positivity’s existence is amplified by tragedy;
Sadly it takes sadness to appreciate
              what makes you happy.

What is life but a bunch of irony/ Ever noticed that, or had desire to see/
We live to die, yet die to live/ Grasping to life asking Him to forgive/
It doesn’t really come to mind/ that in the sudden blink of an eye/
Your life could be on the line/ clinging to hope, pleading to survive/
Thinking that you’re immune/ to a disease that anyone is prone to/
Funny though, how irony is everywhere/ you just gotta look for it/
Like how religion seeks peace/ but peace seems non-existent/
We denigrate discrimination/ but racism continues to disseminate/
What is race but a color/ when color is a creation of the mind/
What does color have to do with anything/ when we’re all the same on the inside/
More things are said to our back/ Cause we can’t seem to face our problems/
Instead of saying it to their face/ we steal their self-esteem and rob them/
It’s like the truth’s become a knife/ trying to stab at thin air/
What does that even solve/ besides the fact that air can’t be stabbed/
It’s pointless to say something/ if it doesn’t help solve the problem/
And then the problem with that is/ the problem is left unsolved/
Irony people, it really is everywhere/ you just gotta look for it/
With hopes for the economies growth/ the government sets us up with debt/
That’s like drinking while pregnant/ and not expecting a birth defect/
Or how people always look for love/ when it isn’t something simply found/
Why would you search for something/ that can only be felt, not found/
Its like looking for the gust of wind/ that knocked you to the ground/
And trying to punch it in the face/ by yelling really, really loud/
God gave us two hands to work with/ yet we expect things to be handed to us/
He gave us a brain to think with/ only to act before we think/
He gave us two legs to walk with/ but we expect people to guide us/
He gave us two eyes to see with/ but we are still blind to what is beside us/
He gave us a mouth to speak with/ only to speak with words that degrade/
We look for happiness in ourselves/ by taking it away from others/
What used to be considered ugly/ is what we now call beautiful/
Sticks and bones with skin that’s tone/ a body unrealistically curvy/
Eight packs wit luscious locks/ muscles that have muscles is considered worthy/
Having a bad *** attitude and no respect/ that’s how you get a girl today/
But, yesterday, if you lacked respect/ girls would simply say “no way”/
We take simple things for granted/ that others would treasure royally/
Like, take our water for an example/ you can find some everywhere here on hand/
But there are people over in Africa/ who can only drink water from their hands/
Because running water only exists/ to those who have the upper hand/
Really though, isn’t it ironic how we live to die/ it’s an interesting concept/
We begin our lives in a womb/ and we spend an eternity in a tomb/
We avoid taking risks/ because risk to many spells death/
But living life without risk/ will result in a death with nothing to give/
People live to be remembered/ but your death will be forgotten/
Ohhh, the irony of irony/ how something so simple can keep life interesting/
I mean, if irony didn’t exist/ change would be but a mysterious mist/
You can see that it is there/ but there’s nothing you can do except let it sit/
So let irony become an incentive/ show some grit and man up to it/
You only have one life to live/ so why not make it ironic and die for it/

We all love to hate the things that hurt us
To draw the line that divides the two
Is like walking an invisible fence
In the ocean where the waves rage and rush
And we hate to love what cares for us
Because we're scared to get wounds that won't mend
When it's fear that will hurt us in the end
And puncture us with an elephant tusk
But what if we don't teach love or preach hate
Instead, exemplify how to balance
the two between two beams of blended light
where they compliment and don't complicate,
Perfectly mixed in a golden chalice
Where a single sip can change someones life.

Guns are everywhere in sight
Muzzles, fire and fright.
Blood running through sewers
like flooded rivers in mid-May,
when it should be running through veins.
Slain bodies once filled with life
are now filled with undeserved death.
Pain seeps through the eyes
of brutalized victims as they weep.

A mother pleads to God
with hopes He will breath life
back into her daughter's lungs
as a child stands over the rotting
bodies of bystanders,
and waves at the flies
Unrest fills the air
while fire's are burning under water
Tragedy burns the face down to a tear,
Could Hell get any hotter?

Mirages mirror terror,
Silence in broken mirrors.
It may seem that voices don't exist
in places like this,
And that a difference lies off
in the distance;
out of reach, unattainable.
But they do.
A blind man's eyes become
his hands and his ears
when he needs to see,
While the mute lack a voice,
they still find a way to say,
"Hope is never all lost."

They need to know they are not alone.
Battles are being fought all over this world.
War, famine, sexism, racism.
A fight between mother and father.
Grief for the loss a lover.
We can all relate,
in one way or another.
Ignore ignorance, become informed.
Silence does not defeat violence,
nor is strength needed to beat it.
Courage and a heart
are needed to defeat it,
along with the will to believe
it can be defeated.

Throwing punches with fingerless fists
and broken spirits can seem useless,
but more has been done
with less.

Remember, a voice with something to say
is harder to forget
than a voice
that is
silent.

Today I watched a log near the shore
wait for the Mississippi's current to
push it past the lone rock in its way.
Two and a half hours later it
caught the current, and gained
enough momentum to float ahead.

The log was forced from its comfort zone,
but wanted the change,
and embraced its own currency.
It got stuck along the way
(probably more than once)
but trusted the process
like flowers trust honeybees.

Today
the log is as much a part of me
as I
       am a part of it
Ready to ride the wave
Ready to converse with the current
Ready
Ready.

Moving forward, I'll think about
that log from time to time
when I'm stuck in captivity,
holding on to hope that I can
find a current to carry me away.

I remember one time, way back when I was ten years old
I was watching my friend do his homework
His mom trying to balance cooking and helping him out
Racing between the oven and his side
And I recall sitting there and staring at his paper
Excitement and intrigue was filling my mind
Envying his prestige, just a few grades ahead of me
I couldn’t wait to do homework like that

A fistful of years fleetingly flew by
With my fists closed, I would wait at bus stop after bus stop
Until I was at the same one as him
But I wanted to grow up so badly and be like he was
Instead I lived ahead of the present
Waiting at the wrong bus stop for a bus that would never show
One filled with experience and insight
Now I just have a blank paper in front of me that’s white.

You don’t know what it’s like, to live in the world I live in
One where a simple smile can be seen by millions in a matter of minutes
One where the pressure to succeed exceeds the pressure to be yourself
One where sitting in silence is better than standing and speaking for what you believe in
One where material things are used to veneer true beauty
One where talking face to face means Facetiming from two different places
One where having a simple family dinner has nearly disappeared
One where meaningful relationships mean “I can’t take this ****!”
One where you walk around with headphones in because you dread those who say hi on the street
One where money is said to buy happiness
One where doing what you love means putting others down so you can rise above…
You don’t know what it’s like…

How can you expect us to be successful when doing so is so incredibly stressful
To live in the world I live in, its cooler to live like the stars we envy than it is to do well in school or live like a leader who believes in something
While technology  has its beneficial assets, like making communicating easier
It also has its artificial backsets….
I can go on facebook and create a phony profile and become a petty ******* who attracts many women and sometimes even a child… and no one would even notice
Our generation is beings deluded by the truth
And its easy to believe a deluded truth if you don’t stand for something.

You don’t know what its like, to live in the world I live in
One where time is everywhere and it flies right by you
One where its easier to sit and complain about something in vein than it is to get up and make a change, I’m just saying
One where asking for help when you need it really means letting your voice become squelched
One where girls flaunt their body just for some attention
And guys act hard to show their worth instead of acting real and showing when they hurt
One where having games doesn’t mean you’re athletic, it means you’re good at hooking up with random girls… and honestly, I find that pathetic
One where looking like a stick means thinking you’re fat, even if you’re just a bit thick
One where it takes 3 weeks to say “I love you” and two weeks to dump you
One where the ones who love you aren’t the ones you trust, and the ones you trust aren’t the ones who love you
One where having 1000 friends online is more important than having 2 true friends who want to see you shine
One where going to a social event means getting wasted out of your mind is having a good time
One where a belief in the end of humanity is creating insanity, and quite frankly, THAT’S whats going to cause this calamity

I’m not trying to seem to pessimistic here
I’m just saying, it’s not as easy growing up in this world as you think
While there are a plethora of things that make this world better
There are just as many things we can do better to make the place we live great
You cant take all the evil in the world at one time and defeat it, you just gotta see theres room for change, look in the mirror, and believe you can be it

My lungs are filled with air
Burdening the breath
that lives in me everyday

Growing weary and weak
Waiting around for
you to take my breath away

And fill my lungs with love.

Sitting on a bench just off the
Liberty Trail in Boston, waiting as
the rest of my family made a restroom stop.
An old man with a thick, greyish
beard and heavy eyelids
took a seat next to me.
His ***** white hair caught
a cotton seed sailing through the air.

The bag of tobacco in his hand
was wide open, and he
pulled a roll of Zig-Zags
out of his pocket—he tore
the paper about six inches long
and proceeded to
roll a cigarette. His fingers,
bent and forlorn,
worked tediously as a
diamond cutter’s.

He lit the cigarette, let out a ring of smoke,
and introduced himself as
Lenny. I told him my name
and we talked for a few minutes.
"What brings you to Boston
young fella?" he said
in his aged Boston accent.
"Family vacation--personally, I'm
interested in all the history of the town."

By now his cigarette is
half-burnt, and my family is
ready to continue on the trail.
Lenny turned to me with
a low look in his eyes,
but he cracked a smile.
He had a couple teeth missing

Before I got up he said to me,
“When I want to sit and think,
a cigarette isn’t long enough
to burn through my thoughts,
but a conversation with a
stranger every day
is what keeps my mind
from running away in smoke.”

Looking over my mom’s shoulder
while she sat in her chair
with her Toshiba laptop, and
a hummingbird’s beak
was nestled in sugar water
outside the living room window.

Engaged in her game of “Buck Euchre”
while I massaged her stiff neck
with my tired fingers, she
messaged her opponents
“You guys will be lucky to
take one ‘trick’ this round
with the hand I got.”

Her brisk tapping of the keyboard
seemed nearly in sync
with the fierce flickering of
the hummingbird’s wings.

I wondered what it’d be like
if my mom had energy
like a hummingbird everyday—
upbeat and alert,
But I knew that wish was
out of reach. Chemo kept her
house-ridden;
either in her bed or a seat.

“Yes! Ha! Ha! suckers,” my
mom shouted,
“Ben, there’s no way they will beat me.”
I smiled and said,
“You show ‘em, Mom.”

1000 pieces of a puzzle
from 1000 different sets.
Hours of mutilating work
decoding an uncoded message
from a bottle that was broke
by a steel nosed pelican.
Senseless waves of awe
washed upon the shore
roaring with speechless sound
to destroy your ingenuity.
Brand new state of mind:
let the illusions run wild
through a forest of mystery.
Full of Trees of Creativity
that stimulate the leaves
that rustle with your ideas.
In lieu of staring at confusion
let confusion stare at you
and make sense to yourself.
Brand new state of mind:
let your intwined thoughts
rewind like a fishing reel.
See the puzzle for what it is;
not a contorted story,
but the story of your life.
Put them in perspective
and look in a kaleidoscope
to see the pieces of the puzzle
magnificently arranged together
to paint a splendid picture
engraved in your brain forever.

I'm so confused
by what you want.

Wanting this or,
wanting that.

Perhaps I should guess
what you want.

I say all you want
is this to want that.

I woke up and went outside
to bathe in the winter weather.
Sitting in a wooden chair, hidden behind
some firewood I see a bird appear
The bird was startled to see me there.


My heart skipped like a rock across water.
We made eye contact and the bird flipped
and retreated to the pine trees.
It was a blue jay--
I could see the speckled array of blue patterned
on its elegant down coat.

It started digging through
the blanket of dead needles
and my curiosity led me to question
the blue jay’s curiosity;
because curiosity killed the cat,
or in this case, startled the blue jay.
Does the blue jay
have a family to feed?
A flock to fly with? Or is the
blue jay on its own?

I feel human because
the blue jay and I are not the same—
just pieces of natures puzzle.
The blue jay thrives on nature,
I thrive on the
evolution of humanity.
The blue jay spends a lifetime
in the sky--
I spend mine trying to find my wings.

I woke from sleep and looked outside today
to see that spring has sprung from infancy,
grass still wearing some snow like a toupee
and squirrels that are all but finicky.
I try to process all this imagery,
but my emotions are over my head,
so I sit in bed and smile wistfully.
I could be forthright with what should be said
and risk that it is misinterpreted,
or I could keep it in and let it go
and watch the opportunity lie dead.
Each spring a rose must bloom to be full grown
and blossom for everybody to see,
it's time I show the world who I can be.

Clouds flat as pancakes line the sky
hovering over rivers and lakes,
roaming across prairies and bluffs
Seasoned with a bitter sweetness.

Some trees less lively than others,
Some blaze with a unique aura.
Wild reeds and wild weeds ride the wind--
Brown and rusted like train track bolts.

Signs for a woodshop boutique lead
down a road prancing deer wander.
Sun rays hint shades of light through cracks
Revealing a scene to be seen.

The red, the orange, the yellow-green.
Brown, sleeping stalks of corn in rows
And the scare crow standing tall in
The middle, still in nights silence.

Lifeless leaves falling to the ground
Leave colored murals on footpaths
Soon to be covered with sheets of
Snow as nature prepares to sleep.

A broken guitar tells me to shut it
on every rest note.
And I tell myself to
ditch old baggage
on the side of the road
to clean my tattered knapsack
of cobwebs and broken light bulbs.

So I divest,

Decompress in present
because right now, I'm at peace.
You speak over church bells
at the top of the hour
and I listen like
nothing else matters.
But I only hear the future
My future, your future, our future
                    the world's future.

It's not often,
but every once in a while
midnight slaps me with a sound
I can't explain.
Even if I explain myself
I ramble around the point
like an arrow with no tip.

The weird thing about time
is it's a lot like music,
or a galaxy,
but right in the palm
of soft hands and ambitious souls
It only makes sense with experience,
and getting lost in a pavilion
of nervous butterflies
only seen in lucid dreams.

The world is old. We're young.
We're lost. And so is everyone else.
Tell me about your favorite constellation,
your favorite letter of the alphabet,
what makes you tick,
and why.

One day, after learning about your spectrum,
and where it intersects with mine
we'll dance in space.
I'll come to my senses
and question nothing

Not even the silence between our lips.

When Friday buried Thursday
at the cemetery
I was eating eggs and
bacon in my bathrobe.
The other days wore black
attire to the burial
and brought white geraniums.
I stood in silence for three minutes
after I finished my breakfast
then wrote a note for the weekend:

“My time will come,
don’t wait for me,”

and left.

The spiked shoes
smile.
Smile up the streaming,
dark alley.
A hoodrat lingers
stacking cheese
tweaking off his own
product.
He's short.
His whiskers are burning
with trouble.
At this point
his best interest
lies in hiding,
but the only
place he can find
is a dumpster.
But, maybe his head
needs to lie
where it belongs.
He's up to no good
and he's no good
to look up to.
He's short.

Eight months ago we parted ways
Like a ship parts the water
When slicing through the sea.

Now when I close my eyes at night
I dream some wavering dreams.
Sometimes it feels we're inseparable

The way the ripples of your fingertips
Would embrace the warmth of my hand
And my problems would magically wash.

Or how I could be so timid and nervous
Your presence would impede my expressions
And I'd struggle to snap out of it.

Maybe it was the beautiful blue in your eyes
That would wave when I looked at you
And sometimes I'd forget to wave back.

Or even just simply hanging out with you
Knowing the hours that would follow
Will be filled with nothing but conversation.

And how my odd sense of humor
Somehow seemed to make you laugh
and smile, quite an overjoying sight.

Sometimes I can't stand the thought of you
When I close my eyes at night
Because you left me to look like a fool.

False promise given to a hopeful heart
Built walls greater than those of China
That aren't the easiest to move past.

It all seemed like an elaborate plan
That was constructed by a con-artist
And being truthful happened to be the con.

You duped a vulnerable soul
Who ventured outside his body
Because of this risky. . . decision.

I learned a caring sense of compassion
Is an unrealistic trait to look for
In someone who is kniving and selfish.

Because to walk away from someone,
with what seemed like little to no regret,
who walked into your life
and made any sort of an impact
is as heartless as Kanye West.

I once saw a man with golden hair
and a golden goatee.
His jacket was red
and his shoes were white as snow.

He possesses the knowledge of Stephen Hawking
and the strength of Hercules.
He raises a family of broken glass
a family that can only be broken once.

She has the face as innocent as a dog begging for food
Her eyes beam rays that gleam like high beams from a spotlight
Look at her smile and its like gazing into a cave of sunrays
But don’t be fooled, for if you look deep inside
Her happiness is absent with a lack of passion to find it.
Its easy to hide in a game of hide and seek
No effort is involved like it’s the end of the week.
Broken and shattered, her happiness has been tattered
Thrown out the window… like it never even mattered
Fear is seeking her relentlessly to invade her mind
She knows it so she keeps evading, to avoid its infestation
Each new place she decides to hide
Leads to a closer encounter of what she’s avoiding
Like a dead plant, she is becoming watered down
Fear is now a sponge that wants to soak her up
It is feigning for fresh food from some fresh blood.
Little does she know, fear is like a ghost;
It’s only real if you choose to believe it.

Finally, after a good game of hide and seek, fear found her
Curled and crouched, clenching her fists in a dark corner…
But clenched fists are useless in a fight against something that only exists in your mind
Without hesitance, fear went through with his crime--scared her to death without wasting time… literally.
She spent so much time living in fear that fear would catch her, and it did. Ironic?
She lived a life based on something her mind created
Something that exists only if you let it
Something that makes you look back on life and regret it
And I guarantee if fear let her live she would reminisce on everything she missed and think, “everything I missed has brought me to this.”

She avoided anything and everything outside her comfort zone
Instead of facing her fears, she ran from them
Rather than choosing the road that is less traveled
The road with twists and turns, leaps and bounds, change and adventure
She chose a road with a pre-determined destination
The road that is bland and boring, straight forward and sturdy, mundane and motionless
Instead of living a life full of excitement and joy
She lived a life with no life, frightened of a decoy
Instead of facing fear face to face, she lived with a face full of fear
Disguised by a smile, so happy is the way she would appear.

I guess you could say the point I’m trying to make is….
Fear is a creation of the mind,
Fear only exists if you let it
So why live life scared of something that doesn’t exist?
And if you have a fear, face it, don’t run away from it.
Because there’s nothing to run from, especially if there’s nothing really there.
Fear is the façade to a life full of fantastic surprises
Letting that façade stand in your way would be quite unwise
Take a leap of faith, step past your fears, and see what your life is really comprised of.

A tranquil silence presides as night arrives and the moon begins to shine
Wolves stand upon rocks in their thick grey locks and howl at twelve o’ clock
An immutable drip from the precipitation slips and splashes upon a surface
as does a tear that gracefully falls from the face with a purpose.
Leaves occasionally rustle amongst themselves and the grass giggles
The margins of my brain begin to echo eerily to the rhythm of nothing,
like an acappella that is performed by a tone deaf woodpecker with no beak.
Stargazer’s eyes become mystified as they stare at the sleeping sky
watching the sea of stars twinkle to the beat of dead space.
Crickets crick a hook like they are stuck on one being used as fishing bait
A streaming river in the distance whistles a soothing, harmonious lull,
and the biting wind whispers mellifluously just like a flute
As closed eyes listen to an orchestra perform like that of a church,
and midnight is when the service begins.

I wander through the world
                to make my own math.
Maybe a kid with
ice cream will stumble
across my path one day
and venture the scene.

Brown grass and an
abundance of wheat,
mangled trees and
ice cube sun rays--maybe
something in between.

As a wayward
Purple Pincher Hermit Crab, I
float through ocean currents.
As a North coast coyote
sometimes I can't tell what I am.

Just wandering through
ice cold smoke, smoldering ash,
apple orchards, joyful torture,
dead rose gardens,       a thornyard,
a sunflower sanctuary. Serenity,

I wear no crown, no ermine cape,
I eat beetles and grasshoppers
off of a rusted plastic plate.

You spent endless time
at your desk in the sun porch.
After your diagnosis we
turned the porch into
your own personal scrapbook room.
I could tell you didn’t
think about your disease
when you were in there crafting
because of how focused
you always looked when at work;

lips puckered out, oblivious
to the commotion of our backyard.
You were granted God’s greatest gift
to see the end of your
days as you wished.
You did just that.
The memory of you lives on
in all those whose lives you touched.

When you left we didn’t
know what to do with
the overwhelming heap
of scrapbook materials
you accumulated over the years.

They took up too much space
that could be used for other things
like furniture and storage.
Plus, they were hard to
look at without being
swarmed with empty
thoughts and sadness. But,
we didn’t want all these
valuable accessories to go to
waste, forever forgotten.  

When it came to deciding
what to do with your
leftover supplies, we knew
we couldn’t toss them out.
We wanted them to carry out
their intended purpose
just as you would have
had time permitted.

The Ronald McDonald House
in Minneapolis had an unused room
they were looking to fill—
we knew that was it.
We donated nearly all your supplies
there and now that empty room
is a scrapbook room bearing your name;
carrying on an important piece of you
so other families can
craft memories into treasures—
just as I carry a treasured
piece of you wherever I go.

For when I find my lonely soul
with head and shoulders hanging low
wandering through the streets at night
I'll walk on by that scary sight.

My life is full of empty space
that I will not let go to waste.
And if I start to lost my way,
I'll find a way to fill the blanks.

With empty space there's room to grow
Don't be spooked by your own shadow.
When times are dark and things seem grim
just tell yourself "I won't give in."

The streetlight on the corner of
8th and Harriet talks in Morse code
every Sunday night at half past eight.

Maybe it’s asking to be saved
from the blistering cold. Maybe
it has feelings for the moon

and is only trying to be noticed.
It must get lonely working
the same corner for years

and nobody bothers to return thanks.
My guess is it’s trying to communicate
with fellow streetlights

and plan an attack like the Ents
did before they went to
war on Isengard.

But then again, only in my mind
I make perfect sense. After all,
it is just a malfunctioning street light.

I wish we could
catch a raindrop
with our hands
Hydrate a 3 a.m.
conversation about how
the First Agreement
either does
or doesn't
keep us honest
about the way
we look at
each other.

At 3:13 a.m. I tell a
story about my
favorite agate
I found when
I was 13.

By now it's
pouring outside
and a bolt
of thunder
snaps me out
of my haze.

Laying on my pillow
I remember
I need
the clouds because
I live
in a storm,
and right now
you're the calm
before, during, and after.

Your voice is the one
I hear over the
whirl of the wind,
the one I feel
after waking up
in a pool of
my own sweat,
the one I see
even through the
distance of feeling
alone.

So talk to me
before, during,
and after
the storms
of our lifetime,
and we can share
what we find
together
in the aftermath.

I gave a red rose away
My love is peddled in that flower.
Stemming from the depths,
the depths of an aortic man
Blooms a beautiful weakness.
For it leaves him vulnerable
To a raging red river of tears
Flowing with every rose
He’s ever given away.
He could fill so many boquets
A florist would be floored.
He could put them on display
In an elegant display case
They still wouldn’t be worth a say.

Dumbfounded by an illusion
Asking himself ‘what am I doin?’
Trying to fill this void
With his acts of confusion
Only to find the one answer
The one he’s not looking for.
That all these love stories
He grew up listening to
Have left his ideas skewed.
That love can be found
In the heart of someone else,
Happiness can be tasted
On the buds of another tongue
Without using your mouth.

But little did he know
That none of it was true,
All this time he never knew.
Behind that shimmering smile
Is a mouth that is empty.
His ears never hear church bells,
And his eyes never see stars.
His hands never felt the sand,
His feet have never frolicked,
And his roses were never red.
Searching for happiness
Before he even had it himself
Led to the self-destruction
Of all the love he’s ever felt.

Throw a rock
In river

and the rip-
ple will fade.

The river,
it moves on.

Yes, time stops
for no one

But it does
not forget

about the rock
that was thrown.

It's still there
sitting at

the bottom;
out of sight

out of mind.
As time moves

on, and more
ripples made.

Drawing images in my head
That stub my pinky toe
In a race that will never end
Nor will I ever win
Thoughts are constantly passing by
I can barely keep up
But on rare occasions I do
It’s quite difficult though
I often need to medicate
Just to get my head straight
It’s moiling to complete a thought
And develop a plot
They slip my mind in a short time
Like having one’s a crime
When I expound an idea
I’m in a zone alone
And there’s nothing that distracts me
When they slip my fingers
As though my pen is like popcorn
My brain brews a storm
And I feel I’m the one to scorn
Needless to say, my thoughts
Are bipolar like north and south
And slip through crevices
But the thing that matters the most
My sanity stays sane
And my thoughts never become vein.

I.

The night sky cantillates a tune
only sobbing icicles can hear
A redeye flight soars
with a defunctive plot aboard
Supposedly Pluto planned it
News reports the next morning
said responders found a suicide note
along with residue from a melted
block of ice in the wreckage.

II.

Some millions of miles away
pocketing silence in his palm
Neptune’s tears freeze
on the green tips of pine trees
Frozen leaves sleep beneath
glaring Great Horned Owls
Black eyes bend in the back,
ground stiff as their spine.

III.

There is nothing scary about
a sad bedtime story
without crows or ghosts
or a cat’s empty cradle
When the pages turn
the night sky descends into
its deepest sleep before dawn
and closed eyelids fantasize
about tomorrow’s morning.

The wind never sleeps, so walk with the breeze.
The sun always blazing with brightness
bestowing a glorified light
upon the face of dark man weeping like a willow.
Tired bags below his eyes
reflect the soul of a stormy night.

Every morning he wakes and ages just a bit.
So subtle, yet it all adds up
to being warded in a hospital bed;
staring at a ceiling that sees only shadows
cast by the light of the Righteous Man above.

The shadows overcast the glory of the deeds done
and follow the man like the footsteps of
of a thief wearing iron boots
that make the ground crumble behind him.

Mundane perils of sitting at the kitchen table
with a newspaper in hand trying to read between the lines.
Walking to the beat of a humdrum drum.

Instead of asking politely “pretty please”
he utters with a long face “pity please”
like a toddler who can’t quite say pretty correctly.

Casting a shadow as far as the eye can see
A ship set sail long ago never to return from sea
leaving an empty dock along the beach
with a lone seat that sits at the very end.

Footsteps in the sand wash away with the waves
erasing a path once cast over by a shadow.
This man has a dark past lost in his memory
from traumatic confabulation
of what he wishes really happened.

Shadows of sin have followed this man everywhere he goes.
Sitting on the dock watching a deathly sunset,
he imagines a ship sailing across the horizon
casting a shadow along the suns reflection.
He awakes in a hospital bed staring at the ceiling,
drowning in his own shadows of sin.