I don't know the word
for this restless almost breathless
feeling  in my chest -

the opposite of a bluebird
- a ******* crow, at best

a last call cawing
or is it a raven's kraa-kraa

this feeling -
like a shadow in clothes
- a fly in the eye of those

who pray for repose
of my soul.

whelming-
evening silence
-soothing quelling dwelling

a much quieter song
- moon pulls the tide along
singing of the sea

sun slides down-
the stars align
exactly as they should-
and shine

rest, earth-
breathe deep-
-we sleep.

r ~ 9/27/14

I awoke
at the crack
of dawn

to a blood red sun
-a bullet hole
in a faded work shirt

with a creak in my bones
a quick kiss and a groan

I thanked her
and slipped out
the back door

before her old man
came home.

r ~ 8/30/14

This was a fishing village
when people were speaking
the king's English, dead
like the fishing industry
Now the tourists have accents

Truth be told
this was a fishing village
long before that
But we don't speak about
what those folks spoke
Something Algonquian
or another dead language

When the tide is out
I walk the shore and look for remnants
Pottery and stone tools, and such
I find a lot of plastic
and bottles, plenty of those
We've been a drinking people
for a long **** time

Once, I found a child's shoe,
sodden and filled with sand
It had a blue lace,
still tied, and a smiley face
as the tide was going out
Kind of sad, really.

r  ~ 8/28/14

two moons, but still
the night is dark-
wild dogs bark at a sky
that I don't understand

there's a tent revival
down by the river-
preacher duane says the light
from the reflection
will be good for the soul

I don't want to go, momma
I don't want to go

two moons are confusing
though the sound is soothing
as it shines through my radio

wild dogs are barking-
my head is swimming-
at the river they're gathering-
and the people are singing-
and the preacher is praying-
and the light is reflecting-

I don't want to go, momma
I don't want to go

I see two moons,
momma...

two moons.

r ~ 8/27/14

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at ****** are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to **** you
to **** anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep,
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.

When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the winds that blow.

Above his roof the swallows,
In notes like far-blown rain,
Will tell the little sparrow
Beside his window-pane.

O sparrow, little sparrow,
When I am fast asleep,
Then tell my love the secret
That I have died to keep.

He said but you've been wasting time, potential's rare and hard to find.
If what you're looking for is peace of mind.

Then do something with yourself.

She said but I have no place to be, and I'm still figuring out this person who's me.
Can't tell you how many times I've been on my knees.

Do you think I'm going to hell?

He said a woman like you is not bound for flames.
Stop making excuses stop playing your games.
You are what you do your names just a name.

The world isn't going to wait for you.

She said but there's so many options and ways I could go.
What if I choose wrong, how will I know? I've been dissecting the past finding new ways to grow.

I'm not really sure of what I want to do.

He said so do nothing does that make you feel better?
When it rains do you cry making everything wetter?
Or are you the sunshine to the worlds ill weather?

You're thinking too far ahead.

She said do you know how many red flags I've missed?
The ungrateful sets of lips I've kissed.
And the funerals I won't even begin to list.  

Everyone leaves or is dead.

He said so I guess I'm no one we're not really talking.
You're here, but off in your head gone walking.
You've hardened your heart and there's no point in gawking.

You're the one pushing everyone away.

She said so there's few left okay I get it.
And maybe you're right I should probably quit it.
I'm blessed and grateful for some I'll admit it.

I'll stop hitting the button that says replay.

Ain't no reason
or particular season
to the rhyme...
but my head is heavy-
and my heart is rotten
to the core.

There's holes in my pages
where there once were words-
the book worms got 'em
and left me empty...

I asked ***** Joe for a light,
but his flint wore out
on the road into Fallujah.
Now he's rotten to the corps-
he can't hear us anymore...
a secret, silent sentry.

r ~ 8/22/14