Walls too high,
too thick
can't dig under it.
doors cemented up,
I can't change that.
Standing outside
barefoot
on cold ground;
gravel's too rugged
to lay down,
shadows cast
a losing lot.
All I got's
a dwindling spark,
yet,
here I am
riveted to the spot.
Stand I or be cripled.
One of us will crumble,
but my will
will not.

When you be busy getting
to where you want to be going
don't be neglecting
the path you're now roaming
or before you know
it your now will be stolen,
other paths will go unknown,
other mysteries will never be shown,
other yous will never be grown.
And when you arrive you could be regretting
what's the good things you have now
when you get to where you be going.

She sleeps
I'm outside under the eaves sheltering little from the rain
smoking late into the a.m. wide awake,
coffee for company and her scent
clinging to my skin.
There's isolated bouts of traffic  
late night revellers
returning
shadows
there to witness between
lamplight neons,
but I'm cocooned away
restless in the washes of rain
thinking of one in slumber within
the walls on which I lean

No one's gonna come

looking for you under a rock

don't have
such luck
                       wishful waiting won't pick
                you up
for someone to love
you give them something to love
        if you always hide away
                     no one will know what you got
Think it's time to shake
                           up
this place


                           paint yourself
fill up the space
might go against
      every ounce
of your self worth
but
                   if what your worth
               is worth it

                                     GIVE IT
a chance.

           Blind them all.

Caught the tailend chimes of their laughter pealing through the corridor.
I stopped to listen at the gaiety
without a thought of its source,
simply enjoying echoes
of merriment.
It's contagiousness brought me a smile
gladdened to go unnoticed as a witness
happy to ignore its origin
sometimes it's enough
to know loved ones are enjoying themselves.

The weight of the last cinderblock
took its toll,
that one final heave,
hoist and offload
handballing the lot
from broken pallets
to flatbed's top
no forklift or barrow in sight
under weather made heavy
by breezeless skies.
Body's done,
hand's numb,
mind's dumb,
arms quiver through,
back aches from over missuse.
Fingers so stiff,
with a pen I cant write.
My thumbs are grumpy
through which I type.
Feeling old hitting my wall
which I have yet to build
gives me something to do tomorrow
if I make it till tonight.