I miss you, and that's all that I can say,
I don't understand why I still feel this way,
it's been so long, it's been more than a year,
yet life without you's still my greatest fear.

But you are happy, so I'll leave you be,
you deserve to be happy, and there's no need for me.

She HATES him,
With all her heart and all her soul.

He was hopeless,
He couldn't do anything right.

When she was in darkness, he offered her no light,
Instead he joined her.
When she was down, he didn't lift her up,
Instead he joined her.
When she cried, he didn't make her laugh,
Instead he joined her.
When she was wounded, he did not cure her,
Instead he joined her.

In the end she couldn't take it,
She told him to leave,
For once he did the right thing...
He left.

Watching the flowers fall to the ground,
She realized her mistake,
His love, after all, wasn't fake,
So she waited...and waited...

She LOVES him,
With all her heart and all her soul.

Looks like the things he did,
were right all along.

long, distorted wood grain ovals
how old would this desk have been
if not hacked down
with dulled axes
drug across the mountains
hooked to a cable
dropped from on high
smashing into your brethren
bark and branches fly
as you, haphazardly get chained to a truck
and driven to a mill
in which they will shave your skin off
slpit you into 4 or 5 workable blanks
which will be shipped to smaller,
more specialized mills…
could you have held nesting squirrels
or perhaps housed an owl or woodpecker
were your tippy top branches stout enough
for an eagle to have nested –
in amongst a myriad of boards
what is left of the mighty forest god
is planed flat
sanded and varnished
and sent to a carpenter
still tragically holding onto his craft
looking at electric tools as an affront
to what can be hand carved
and lovingly tapped together
with wooden dowels and glue –
I sit at a craftsmen’s labor of love
a piece he spent hours of due diligence in creating
painstakingly fitting and matching woods
and think about the forest I love
and how today, there is an empty space
full of underbrush and gopher holes
where once a giant was born, stood,
lived
and died –

Quiet mornings,
Eyes glued shut
Warm things wrapping your legs
And body
Cocooned In heaven
And also
Late for work

1-
T’was dark when the time came for breakfast
I looked down at my untied shoes
With a spirit only able to be described as broken
I left my abode to stand under a lonely lamppost
And let my body quiver and quake with rage
As I thought about the night’s voyage

2-
Raindrops coated my new suede shoes
As I felt myself lulled by the buzz of the lamppost
Her face filled my mind and I savored the rage
Knowing she now was far away on her voyage
If only I had asked her to breakfast
If only I had complemented her shoes

3-
Looking back towards the house, and my now cold breakfast
I thought about her asking me to join the voyage
But my heart was already broken
And her query only further filled me with rage
She knew I had left my only shoes
Sitting in the rain under the lamppost

4-
The dampness chilled my bones as I stood under the lamppost
Exhausted from so much time lost in rage
My belly ached from having no breakfast
And my body began to feel broken
As if I could not even walk due to the tightness of my shoes
But there was nothing left but to begin my homeward voyage

5-
I glanced at my watch in the light of the lamppost
It would be too late for a McDonalds breakfast
Even if I could find my shoes
It was a seven block voyage
And when I slipped, stubbed my toe, and realized it was broken
I felt, once again, myself fill with dangerous rage

6-
From a distance I heard high-heeled shoes
She approached from a different kind of voyage
In her hand she held a bag of breakfast
From the McDonalds with a sign that was broken
Instantly it left my body, all that rage
And we held each other, under the glow of the lamppost

The future scares me
Also the familiarity
It’s a little scary
But not as it used to be

Sure it doesn’t get easy
I just learned to find courage
To discover maturity
Not just age

It’s not the fear of future
But of repetition
Of what I used to endure
Of the things I held on

But maybe I have learned
To hold on a little lighter
That if things just turned
I can let it fly better

It is being brave
And bold
Knowing what is good and naive
And what is worth to hold

I have to seek wise
No matter how long is too far
Or the possible sacrifice
Or how scary the waves are

I cannot have it all in hand
This is how life goes
Even when I do not understand
I have to dive brave in to the flows

Upon a bracken hill I spied
An army of a heathen *****
Come to bury my clan and pride
Beneath this Scottish moor

Let the wind and rain lash at their skin
Like a thousand cat o nine
For they cannot bury McCloud
His father or his kind

With dirk in hand I lay upon
Heather and moss in bloom
Breath shallow and eyes that glare
Waiting for the pipes to play
The brave Scottish tune

No man shall take my land
Or forsake my creed
I am a Scotsman standing tall
For all that I believe

So do your best beast of hate
Come dine at your ill ment fate
And see how we here in gods land
Extend our fighting hand.