One cannot find God
Until one identify his own existence

Lamb: who is God?
Man: I don't know.

Lamb: who are you?
Man: I am a man.

Lamb: so is God.

Talk to a fool
For he can speak some valuable words
But not give him a piece of advice for he will not value it

When she said, Don't talk to me,
She lost some of her voice.
Then I heard, Don't look for me,
She gave no other choice.
Don't touch, I have no feelings,
You make my skin crawl,
Don't expect a pick up,
If you pick up to call.

But I still smell her everywhere:
The shampoo used on her hair;
The bedsheets where we lay bare;
The fragrance of her festive tree;
Her aromatic herbal teas;
The lilies she could grow in sand,
Are sensational in my memory glands.

I .
I saw the past flee from me
Leaving puddles of memories -
( memories of sadness , salt and pepper , bread and butter ) -
How close we were together
The Glenn Iris in September

II .
The ocean swelled and crashed on the rocks
We made love not unlike the sea
The winter was cold , frozen in love
Then she chose to leave
All my seed fell frozen
All my dreams winter bare

III .
For February fallen
March ascending
Long frozen tears
soft wails , shivering chills
For the stars out tonight
are older than first love
have endured through the void and cold
and comes to me soft in comfort

IV .
There will be new dawns
There will be healing
There will be a new song
New hope and heart ,
as long as the Irish pipes play and wooden flutes . . .
. . . as long as there are walks at the end of the day
Secret gardens where little girls play . . .
As long . . .only as long . . .

V .
I drape the sadness like a quilt about me and dwell on being small
I'm not saying I'm overwhelmed ,
not saying I'm understood
Just saying a robin is
a promise on a snow covered lawn

VI .
Too much in the band
Standing on a corner downtown
Walking in the surf's foam
early one summer's morn
A train whistle  blows forlornly in a dream I have
Someone has been coming for me all these years

VII .
Was it all wasted ?
Was it something more than we know ?
A cup of tea in the morning
On the table lie the lines of rhyme . . .
and some time . . .
the supreme enigma

What's ours yesterday,
Is gone today;
What's here today,
Will be gone tomorrow.
That how it goes
For joy and sorrow.
Balanced on a teeter-totter,
These highs and lows
Of our see-saw charter.

We first sexed in a tumbling, fumbling manner;
The time had come, it seemed to us,
To consummate our ****** lust.

The Valley was shakin' to The Rocks,
A popular Irish band;
We'd had our fill,
I sparked the engine,
And parked my bike on Techumseh Hill.

The summit was dew damp;
We spread wide our pants,
Not knowing who should go for whom,
So we relented to the crescent moon;
I acquiesced to the shooting stars
When my eyes

Diverse moons have filled my nights,
Long since the grassy knoll,

Being a liar
You can befriend the fools
Being true
You can befriend the wise

If there were no tragedy
How would we have looked for happiness