You're the sun.

So beautifully bright that I have to stare, even though it hurts horribly.

I live in Antarctica, where you only light up my world half of the time and then leave me to suffocate in darkness for months on end.



You're a deer.

Unaware of me observing your adroitness from the dark depths of this brazen bracken which conceals me.

If I make any sort of sudden movement, I know you will sprint away into the trees because you're so afraid of letting anyone get close to you.



You're a puppetmaster.

Pulling at my oh-so-vulnerable heartstrings in the most musical way while creating the most fantastic and addictive art.

Your fingers are magic to me, and their slightest movement can either plunge me into endless despair or **** me up to the most heavenly of all cloud nines.



You're a siren.

Drawing me in with your sweet song only to ultimately unravel me.

You taunt me with colorful hints of false hope, making me wonder if you're really that cruel, or if you're merely  unstable.



You're a child.

So oblivious to the obvious, yet incredibly innocent.

You brighten my day with your silly antics and sweet gestures alike, but you're too enthralled in your own little world to ever notice.



You're Doctor Jekyll.

Always changing your face from friendly to arrogant and asinine, then right back again.

Sometimes I wonder how I could love someone like Mister Hyde, until you turn into the nice guy again and remind me.



You're a weaver.

Excruciatingly twisting the threads of me into the fabric of my being, leaving little streaks of sorrow and joy.

You have shaped this tapestry in the most painful and beautiful way, and without your unknowing influence, it would surely be unrecognizable from its current battered, but unique, condition.





You're a thorny rose I keep trying to pick.



Sending me away ******, bleary-eyed, and smelling sweet.



I wish you could understand how much I need to carry you home.

A glimpse into the mirror
reveals fresh creases crossing
over the corners of my mouth—
lines written in immutable ink;
I try not to linger

crumbling upon a bed
scarcely bearing its title,
strewn with lonely sheets;
I bundle them against my chest
using rougher hands than I had left

"Don't drink your calories—
unless you want to get drunk."

Her eyes trembled with tears

Weakness stretches out,
not searching strength—
for another soul to be
weak with

A heavy languor spilled into the room
all she can think about
is the patterned ceiling,
which was a book for her to read
while entwined in damp blue sheets

I can see it all so clear
as the wind from the oncoming storm
ravages the trees on the Northern side of the mountain
as if trying to uproot them

I gaze from above on Bear's Den
as Connor Brooks tries to finish the mowing
on his 40 acres and Molly's cries for him
to get inside before dinner gets cold
echo upwards in waves
beautiful waves

The Village Market
serves the last few customers
before closing up for the evening
Birdman, Mike and Fuzzy,
all friends since high school
are stopping at the Horseshoe Curve
for a glass or three
while discussing their shared memories

and of-course
Sarah...scurrying to get the clothes off the line
before the downpour
unaware her every sensual move is being watched
by the unlucky poet
who didn't quite grasp the moment
and reap the harvest
that lay there awaiting his attention
so many years have passed


timing never was something that seemed to fall my way
always seemed to be a day behind
realizing what I should have done
the day before
most things you get over
most missed chances eventually dissolve into the blur of life
like a bruise

Sarah never dissolved
never blurred

she hesitates for a moment after picking up the basket of clothes
as if she heard a far off voice call her name

it's just the wind

The sky muted silver in color,
And I am still running,
Looking up from the earth's dolor.
The luminaries of the heavens
Glowing bright in appearance.
Breathless, devoted,
Twinkling at me as I think of her,
As time-worn relics shine;
Burst thru patina tints.
Smooth, burnished,
Brought to a luster again
After many years neglected in Time.
The corridors where my ancestors
Ran and run. This affected peace to me,
And I am one with them,
From this day on,  I am one.
Take me thru the years,
The key to open doors,
To another day, another way,
With hopes in tow; and  I realize this day, as I think of them…  

I know I am never
As alone as I think I am.

I carried you
through a minefield, past ***** traps;
though the mortars lobbed their lethal loads
and the rifles spat speeding streams of death,
all was silent, until we reached the end of the field,
and I lay you on the grass

you thanked me, and asked me
to hold you--you were so cold, you said
I put my arms around you, and looked back
across the field--a stretch of fire now, blazing
the night sky, casting eternal light on you and me,
two young brothers I spied, prostrate,
still, on the other side of the field
we had crossed…still

on the other side

I dreamed I saw Tom Paine last night…*

The dream became a nightmare. Ride it. Fall.
A Republic if you can keep it. You didn’t.
Every four years a buffoon appears in TVs
who can bleed the American people to disaster.
Burnt Knees. Hill artillery. Hearts not Trump.
An article on now. The inherent absurdity of politics.
Infamy. Liars in public places. Old lies. New faces.
Abandoned factories. Angry workers, Abandoned. All.
Pick a pack of proven paupers. No one cares.
We lust for the stud who can wave his thick wand
and magically make everything better. But won’t.
Even if that he is a she. Show me the money.
How can the one percent eat everything yet never ****?
Faceless bureaucrats cannot be held responsible.
Zombie politicos bought and sold like cats in sacks.
Still the mindless parade charade continues
off to the public polls to be pummeled. ****** on.
  Get down on your knees and set lips to *****,
  Due your duty, turn your trick.

Oft, in the tranquility of the night,
Ere the fetters of idleness bind me,
Tender thought of you bears a light
Of distant offbeat days that find me:
The tenderness expressed, the tears
Of young manhood's sluggish years;
The sound of lovely words so spoken;
The eyes that at that moment shone
Now eclipsed, obscured, and gone.
The gladsome hearts now broken!
Thus, in the tranquility of the night,
Ere the fetters of idleness bind me,
Sad thoughts of you bring no light
By melancholy days that find me.

It was my hands that made me walk down to the corner store where I bought two forties, a pack of smokes, and a candy bar because I had the change

It was the night when I could see mars shining redder than any stars reminding me of war and why I drink but never taste

It was my heart that made me never want to love again

Some things are made to be broken
Some things are broken beyond repair