Vegans are from Venus
Meat eaters are from Mars,
Vegetarians sit around the
breakfast nook light years
from Polaris, knee deep
in far away stars.
All the bread eaters are
closet bakers in disguise.
Those who lunch out
of dumpsters
spend their days
pulling the wings off of flies..
Nobody knows the
troubles they have seen,
and the apathy of the
middle class, well that
is nothing short of obscene.
The protein shake pumpers
sneer at  old time
Bible thumpers.
While the yoga
young collectibles
leave a good portion
of the day largely unsung,
knowing full well they
have nothing worthy
to kiss off the tip
of their tongue.

I can be so brutal
or so you say you can tell
but stop and look again
this could be a match made in heaven
for two angels straight from hell.

We could sit here
and stare the clock down
stare it right off the wall
or dust off our top hat and spats
and strike out on a crawl.

Now I know what it is to be drunk
and I know what it is to be sober
I know what it is to be young
and quickly growing older.

The safest bet by a long shot
is to keep time hung up on the wall
make believe we can predict
just which way it's going to go.

Shake those dice
and give them a blow
dealt a straight in spades
you'll know just how it's going to go
we could do it up just like a drug
except we're all out of any float
it's back to throwing out a life line
to draw some heat out of this late winter's cold.

Heads I win tails you lose
you can flip a coin
a thousand and one times
before you just get tired and stop
knowing full well
that it isn't always the cream that rises to the top
no some times it's the slop
that makes the piggies come.

Dive in off the high board
zooming toward a teardrop,
waiting for the belly-flop
aiming at the blues
what side of the line are you on
when you disobey the rules.
A fist full of dollars
and a bucket full of small talk
about something, somewhere
being a once in a long time long shot.
I've got nothing left to lose,
I'm just aiming at the blues.


© 2012  All Rights Reserved

Riding wheels
of thought while
with fresh stream
and campfire.

Scot Bay's crust
below a split's stair,
milk woven mist
under hand to sea,
sowing Morphina's silvery sleep.

I begged to fly the flag
as you started the mornings fire,
a bottle of gin to halt chattering teeth.

Two full days of bliss.

Fooling clouds cross my view
passing hurts and pleasures,
blue on white on white on blue.
'till black has broken through.

I dreamt that it
finally died last night,
that it was truly over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away.
Until I could no longer see
that place I started from
and I no longer knew
the place I was headed to.

Now, I gather stones
for the tomb,
while with wilful eyes
study my peers.
Lips pursed tight...
they have closed their hearts,
closed up tight to my falling tears.

Yes, it is I,
it is me I cry,
feeling condemned
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.

Heavy as the Christ's cross,
responsible for all souls lost.

Then I stumble and I fall,
as I carry my burden upward
to Golgotha of the Skull.

If to think is to act
then burning after the crash,
the fire's orange glow
brings forth the desire to let go.

Letting go,
why does it have to be so
hard     to come by.
Leaving me to feel
so    hard    done   by.

A selfish act,
done not from class,
no more from strength
than from some weakness.

An action out of chaos
in the absence of bliss.

The Shadowland,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person.
Asking of today
to stride with a limp,
and of yesterday
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be the task at hand.

A ticket for
some far and
distant shore,
safe passage away
from Shadowland.

Bent, but unbroken,
while the pain of its death runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words of kindness
are spoken,
will forgiveness  be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be completely.
Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything else
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so, it remains
that for me to be free,
I cross the threshold of forgiveness
standing ready to turn the key.

Out behind
the blood red barn.
Hauling off a cigarette,
all of 12 years old.

Across the spring sewn fields
at the edge of the treeline
a bobcat, seemingly oblivious
to my shenanigans, moves slowly, methodically.
Perhaps looking for some small snack.

The wisps of clouds
cast see-through shadows
on the landscape.

My mind drifts with the
run-of-the-mill thoughts.
Thoughts of a boy out of touch
with the adult work-a-day world.

I'm just trying not
to get caught smoking,
neglecting to take any precautions
like washing my hands
or even chewing some gum.

Once upon a time...
there was a shift in the way Humankind
felt and thought and created
that was in the best interests of all
of the known Universe.

Manhood and Womanhood
stood shoulder to shoulder,
eye to eye, throwing their blessing
outward to the Sun and the Moon and the Stars.

Every beast was befriended
and not hunted for sport,
nor force fed for consumption.

The very trees and the grass
bowed their branches and
along with the Dandelions
they paid homage to the Alien
who originated far, far away.

Humankind began to rewrite
their own history which included
All of the gods, Male and Female.

Now isn't that a doable Fairy Tale.

A game of mini golf
between the tombstones
bouncing the ball off
the trellis archway
knocking into a tree trunk
on the perimeter
to put the ball  back into play

Greyish black
skeletons wielding
irons and woods
Their sunken eye sockets

A perfect place to insert golf *****
then they pop them out
grab them to their palm
slap them to their mouth
and **** them back
like  Jaw Breakers

I drank way too much last night,
now I feel like I'm paying my dues.

I woke up real early this morning,
my head was dry and  pounding,
I've had me a case of those Hangover blues.

What it was that I had to eat, I really
don't care to remember 'cause my breath
knocked everyone over and my wallet is bare.

And it's now I feel like I have nothing left to lose,
I had one hell of a case of them Hangover blues.

My wife tells me, it wasn't any fun,
I had one big case of Whisky ****,
and couldn't get it on.

Yet I still acted like a ***** and
after an Epic failure, I rolled over
to one side and tossed my cookies,
yes me, a real gentleman, right as rain.
so buckle up because here's the refrain..

Sometimes life is about winning  
just as well as you lose
I woke up this morning
with a case of the Hangover Blues.

Skin deep in her cold green sea,
a dark and gnarled sky above.
On the curved horizon a sign reads:
She believes in angels but she can't believe in love.

Insane in her reverie, wings sewn cross-stitch
down the spine of her back,
rattling panes that the wind blows
are just a reminder of all that she lack.

Saw teeth across metal is music to her ear,
the shriek of the tea kettle full of insolent childhood fear.
Rude eyes shout: forget the devil, he has no bite.
She knows better though, she's not going down with out a fight.

Her attempts to speak of things she has heard
are the sound of the cat who has sprung on the bird.
To spread her wings is to spread her legs
and embrace the power that darkness has made.

Oh, the suffering of heartache after heart's ache
while pulling the wings off of flies.
She can make you laugh, she's pretty smart eh,
but it isn't the same as being wise.

Every bit of her life, it occurs to her,
yes it does, it just occurs.
Now is that being selfish or just being blind,
if fooling people well is just her way to unwind.


© copyright 2005

All Rights Reserved

rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

your father's scolding is
whipped waves roaring,
a howling wind that tore
the sound from
hell's aching bell.

your father's smile, bliss,
graceful, gentle, wide.
when it falls down
you can't hide,
you can't hide.

rolling and holding
onto a use to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

Waves hiss
lapping the shoreline,

******* clad
beings
soaking up the sun.

A slight breeze
pushing clouds,

they dance
for our
entertainment.

The vastness
of the ocean

reminding me
of the bigger
picture.

The grains
of sand

whisper
their allegiance
to the stars.

" IT is like there are these two Dogs
that I hold inside of me.
One wants to sit in my lap and lick the hand
and play and dance and go for long walks.

THEN there is the other, it wants to grimace and growl
and bare its teeth
and rip off the face of this world
and of everything that it sees."

HERE,
in the mechanics of the mind, as it matters,
halfway from heaven, half way from hell,

SOME just aren't mechanically inclined,
and while most move forward
others get left behind.

A BOOK talks about this big war of Spirit
an its stress is that it is no game,
no politics physical or not can steer it,
there will be no passing of the buck,
no pointing the finger in blame.

NO LONGER
am I walking with my head
up in the stars,
my feet are  flat  right  on  the  ground.

I PUT MY EAR
to the track and hear
that heavy chunk of metal
with its painfully mournful sound,

THAT
painful whistle
with
its mournful sound.

I AM
walking on earth, that half way place,

I AM
being tugged

AND I
don't want to dig a hole,
I don't want to go back down.

I TELL YOU WELL,
the universe is saying
in no uncertain terms
that I had better hold back,
that I had better take heed,
it isn't just me that gets cut,
no it isn't, no, all others bleed.

ALL those **** good loving deeds
that hath spawned better life
and don't know that I don't know about!

WHAT ABOUT
all those hurtfully hostile things,
those things
that gave Hell for many to carry,
Those things that gave Hell for many to tell.

THEN
a breeze broke the solid heat
and quelled the sweat
and quenched the thirst,
you can toast the twisted souls
or you can have them cursed.

MY MINDS EYE,
for one brief moment,
no longer enveloped and inflamed,
nor will I ever see things quite the same.

NEVER
is it one cause, one reaction,
and Oh
my thoughts and my actions,
my
shame that comes
in fractions of degrees.

I CAN say there are other planes,
I can think that if I please,
though with every breath that I breathe
I'd rather announce to the world
that I'm not out just to feed.

BUT THEN
there is that sleeping dog,
that one sick soul,

AND
out of some emotional need
to make it better,
some need to make it easy,

LIKE it had some pain or purpose,
or a point of some need
of something that just had to be said.

THAT dog that you kicked
only had a snack of grass
before he laid himself down to take his bed.

YOU have been nudging him
with your boot and now he is awake
and he is going to open his yap
and ***** on you shoes
before he commences to growl

AND that godawful hell... will be back
and its going to extract

ONE BLOOD CURDLING HOWL.

You may as well just throw in the towel
because it can't be tamed, no your mind is trained,
this devil goes by so many names.

end


Al Rights Reserved@1997

It would be so sweet if it wasn't so bitter,
it would really move if it didn't stand so still.
It's going to take a lot of water, maybe a river,
it'll take a lot of love until I've had my fill.

Sometimes love's fire lifts us up,
it burns so bright as we fill our cup.
We touch so soft and slow beside an ancient well,
it feels so good to be under love's spell.
So we try to hold tight but love takes wings,
sometimes in our pain we do hurtfull things.

Love's strong suit held close to the chest,
says you got it made, your hand is the best.
So you can go big or you can stay home,
you can hold your horses, you can hold the phone.
In the end you'll know that it's true,
you're going to slide on in, nothing you can do.

When you can't find love
it's hidden hard in heart-red shades of blue-grey shadow,
it feels like you don't remember how to live.
You stumble around and forget your place,
you wring your hands and you knit a face.
You pretend it doesn't matter, that's what you'll do.
Who you trying to kid, who's fooling who...


© copyright 2012

All Rights Reserved.

You tell me one thing one day
and another thing the next.

What takes the cake is
you turn around and wonder
why is it that I'm perplexed.

Even the ugly has its place,
what is ugly to one
is beautiful to another,
that is , once you get past the face.

A silent psalm does surround
a starry angles glow,
wiping the tears of fears. Stand tall when you can.
And see that it is you that has you bound.

While here, in the mechanics of the mind,
as it matters. Some of us just aren't
mechanically inclined.
So while many move forward, hordes are left behind.

A Book talks about this big war of Spirit,
and its stress is that it is no game.
No politics physical or not can steer it,
there will be no passing the buck, no pointing the finger in blame.

No longer am I walking with my head in the stars,
my feet are flat,  right on the ground.
I put my ear to the track and hear
that heavy chunk of metal, with its painful mournful sound.

I can say that there are other planes,
yes, I can think that if I please,
though every breath that I breathe,
I'd rather announce to my world that I'm just not out to feed.

Like it has a pain or purpose that arose out of some need
of something that just had to be said.
That sleeping dog that you kicked only had a snack of grass
before he laid down to take his bed.

You had been nudging him with your boot and now
he is awake and he yelps and then vomits on your shoes
before he commences to growl.. and that godawful Hell will be back,
and it's going to extract One Blood Curdling Howl!  

The Universe is saying in no so uncertain terms
That I had better hold back, that I had better take heed.
It isn't just me that gets cut,
no it isn't, no, all others bleed.

All those ****** good loving deeds
that hath spawned better life that I don't know about.
On the other shoe, all those hurtful, hostile things,
those things that gave Hell for many to carry... hell for many to tell.

Never is it one cause, one reaction,
and oh, my thoughts and actions,
and the shame that comes,
coming in fractions of degrees.

Then, a breeze broke the solid heat
and quelled the sweat and quenched the thirst.
You can toast the twisted souls
or you can have them cursed.

It would be so sweet if it wasn't so bitter
It could really move if it didn't stand so still
It's going to take a lot of water maybe a river
It will take a lot of love until I've had my fill

Sometimes love's fire lifts us up
It burns so bright as we fill our cup
We touch so soft and slow beside an ancient well
It feels so good to be under love's spell
So we try to hold tight but love takes wings
Then sometimes in our pain we do hurtful things

Love's strong suit held close to the chest
Says you got it made your hand is the best
So you can go big or stay at home
You can hold your horses or you can hold the phone
In the end you know it's true
you're going to slide on in there's nothing you can do

When you can't find love
In it's heart-red shades and blue-grey shadows
It feels like you don't remember how to live
You stumble around and forget your place
you wring your hands and you knit a face
You pretend it doesn't matter that's what you'll do
Who you trying to kid who's fooling who

© 2014

driving on an electric highway,
it shoots to be the
monkey on the back.
white, green in a bottle or a machine.
foul breath creams
out words that i hold dear.

holding up a candle
by its burning wick
while a sea breeze slaps me
with a salty sting.

fumbling through an atmosphere
joined tongue and groove,
from the first breath to the last,
the artichoke heart pumps out a beat.

one foot in front of the other,
another swing, the pinata breaks,
raining down lies to be gathered up
and taken home,
to be stretched out and hung
along side of the truths.

© 2005

A fierce Blue-Jay
blowing in the branches,
the wind and rain and icy snow all around.
The second day above freezing,
a break in the sub-zero cold.

But the house is warm
and I am having a smoke
on the doorstep.
Blowing the wisps into the wind.

I see God everywhere, and
if He wants to have me on
the condition that I have sinned
and am a sinner.
Well, I am long past the mark
of only one lone sin.

The Devil, he takes the lead
when I am in the drink,
or in a bout of confusion.
And I know for a fact that
some won't capitalize his Title
on the count of, they say..
"It's giving the devil his due"

spiritual music
is all that I have ever known
it calls me back home

Skin deep in her cold green sea,
a dark and gnarled sky above.
On the curved horizon a sign reads;
She believes in angels but she can't believe in love.

Insane in her reverie, wings sewn cross-stitch
down the spine of her back,
rattling panes that the wind blows
are a reminder of all that she lack.

Saw teeth across metal is music to her ear,
the shriek of the tea kettle full of insolent childhood fear.
Rude eyes shout; forget the Devil, he has no bite.
She knows better though and she's not going down without a fight.

Her attempts to speak of the things she has heard
are the sound of the cat who has sprung on the bird.
To spread her wings is to spread  her legs
and to embrace the power that the Darkness has made.

Oh, the suffering of heartache after heart's ache
while pulling the wings off of flies.
She can make you laugh, she's pretty smart eh,
but it isn't the same as being wise.

Every bit of her life, it occurs to her,
yes it does, it just occurs.
Now is that being selfish or just being blind,
if fooling people well was just her way to unwind.

Went to the doctor today.

I told him that I have a twin brother.
I said I call him my womb-mate.

He said, I see.

You have an inflamed pun-disorder.

I said Thanks Doc, please give me something four it.

Picking nasty notes
Not the yellow ones
That stare back at you right
Before you open the fridge-door
But, blue ones that wave to my ear
Under the moon that is
Breaking through the picture window
Notes in the air, notes expressing despair
The moon shines for no one
It is late, no traffic
The radiator hisses and ticks and pops
Trying hard to vocalize between plucked notes
Mighty vibrations vibrating
Blues dark blue, blues light blue
Blues hurting, angry, breaking free
Into a turquoise green-blue sea
Back to the black of night
With the moonlight and a salty tear on ones cheek

Sundown in the Paris of the prairies
Wheat kings have all treasures buried
And all you hear are rusty breezes
Pushing the weathervane Jesus

In his Zippo lighter he sees the killer's face
Maybe it's someone in the killers' place
Twenty years for nothing, well, that's nothing new
Besides, no one's interested in something you didn't do

Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings

There's a dream he dreams where his high school's dead and stark
It's a museum where we are locked in it after dark
Where the the halls are all lined all yellow, grey and sinister
Hung with pictures of our parent's Prime Ministers

Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings

Late breaking story on the CBC
A nation whispers, "We always knew he'd go free"
They add "You can't be fond of living in the past"
'Cause if you are then no way you're going to last"

Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings
Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what the morning brings



Gord Downie

Fooling clouds cross my view
passing hurts and pleasures.
Blue on white on white on blue
'till black has broken through.

I dreamt that it
finally died last night,
that it was truely over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away
until I could see no longer
that place where I started from
and I no longer knew
that place I was headed to.

Now,
I gather stones
for my tomb,
while with willfull eyes
study my peers,
lips pursed tight
they have closed their hearts,
closed up tight
to my falling tears.

Yes,
it is I,
it is me, I cry,
feeling condemed
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.

Heavy as Christ's cross
responsible for all souls lost.

Then,
I stumble
and I fall
as I carry the burden upwards
to Golgotha of the skull.

If to think
is to act
then burning
after the crash,
the fire's glow
brings forth
the desire to let go.

Letting go,
why does it have
to be so
hard    to come by.
leaving me so
hard      done      by.

A selfish act,
done not from class,
no more from strenght
than from a weakness.

An action out of chaos
in the absence of bliss.

The ShadowLand,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person,
asking of today
to stride
with a limp,
and of yesterday,
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be
the task in hand.

A ticket for
some far
and distant shore.

Safe passage away
from ShadowLand.

Bent,
but not broken,
while the pain
of its death
runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words
of kindness
are spoken
will forgiveness
be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be, completely.

Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything less
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so it remains
that for me to be free,
I stand at the threshold
of forgiveness
and stand ready
to turn the key.....

© 1999

All Rights Reserved

I was bumming
around Halifax town,
it was dusk, or there about.

Getting cold and
in need of shelter,
I entered an old abandon apartment
that was toasted to in the worst of ways.
All to make room for progress.

There scrawled on
what would have been
the living room wall...

The words written in blood,
the funniest thing,
it read...

'Dyslexic's of the World.. Untie'

I knew I was home for the night,
no big deal, if the bleeder came back
at least he had a sense of humour.

Going with the flow
Is against the Crow's style

Wondering about looking for edibles
To shove in his snout

He caws to his community
When there is a lot to be had

Calling out quickly
When things turn bad

A bird of the air
He pays no fare

Alive and well
Sharing a comradeship

With the Pigeons
Whilst  dodging traffic

But more to his liking
His friend of the feather the Starling

These birds are not like those others
There is no going south for them

Winter through next Fall when the Crow isn't flying
He ***** his head and struts about standing tall

Fresh back
On the street
From prison
A pumped up
Hilarious Hercules
Forced to sleep
Under a bridge
Along with
The broken
And dead
Wind blown umbrellas

Now, yet another
Up-rooted
Member of the homeless
Flashing his *******
At these so called modern times
Not even a bottle of wine
To keep him company

The whining engines
Of passing cars
Echoing off the
Concrete and steel
Ripping and tearing
At his overblown ego
shredding it into strips

He knows it wont be long
Before he returns to a cell block
By his own choice
Not knowing anything
But a life of crime since his youth

Like the sour
taste in your mouth,
or the canker sore
on the tip of your tongue.  

The sweet taste
of mother's milk,
stopped up,
for formula.

Poor child,
a curse that
leaves him
clutching
for a latex ******.

What happens when a hoarder marries a minimalist
I'll tell you what happens, chaos, pure chaos
One tries to hang onto everything, Everything!
The other secretly removing items from their home keeping order

Old copies of The National Enquirer where the truth can be told,
not like the hundreds of Rolling Stone Magazines passing for news and entertainment did they ever change from a one-time underground press they started as.

The minimalist is always throwing stuff out and this purge is not taken well by the one wanting to hold on to everything, and not things that serve a purpose, she is like a magpie collecting shinning little bits as well as old and worn vehicles, cluttering up the yard surely making the neighbours smile... yeah right.

I can't keep doing this, he says, not only to himself but also to her.
Was God a hoarder. I think not. Everyday things go away. Species die none stop, Stars explode releasing boundless energy.
Space expands, more room, the sky looks cluttered but is so vast.

The hoarder and the minimalist. They oh so love each other nothing will tear them apart, they stand their ground, they love each other to the end of time, time and space. This life isn't a race it's a challenge. So they continue to give and to take. Love, it's love.

She will smash
every wine glass,
they are broken
but not her heart.

She will walk barefoot
from room to room
while her feet are bleeding,
but not her heart.

She will drink him up
until her body aches
and her head hurts,
but not her heart.

When my baby's web of Whispers
                                  screams I love you in my ear,
    it echos through  grey matted cranium
                                  sending messages ear to ear.

My synapse snapping,
           and gravity collapsing,
    a host to the sensual, 
            muti-dimentional..
                    no such word as fear.

                                It really slays me
                                when I see it disappear.

When we make love my ego burns in effigy sending naked stars to fall.
                                 there is nowhere I'd rather be,
                                  it's a natural born lover's ball.

Candles kissing the air, flickering flame of release, total estacy,  
it's not just *** to me, a forgiving rush of peace,
                                         I stand in wait, waiting for your call,
                                         oh will the feeling never cease...
                                    No four-way flashing, not only fore-play happening,
                                                      ­       no yield sign to stop me now.
                                      Like a gold mine, she'll be tappin' me,
                                                     yes, right in the kisser    pow!
      
                                         My baby is drama free... if anyone creates confusion    that would be me.
                                                             ­                                                                 ­        
                                
                    Everything is oh so fine,
                                yes, I'm hers and she's mine.
                                                   It is one slipping
                                                      shift on into the sublime. 
                                         That's the way i want it
                                      not exactly every ones cup of tea
                                                           still, she brings it on for me. 
                                

                     © 2013

I
found
an
old
phone
today

In a shop
  with antiques

Bulky,
   black and
       beautiful

From the 50's
just like me

For sure it's dial
is a rotary

Its ring
takes me
to a musky old hotel lobby

I hear it ring... ring... ringing

The desk clerk shouts out

" Paging Irving  Paging Irving
      come to the front desk please".

I'm just passing time,
I'll ask you please, won't you excuse the rhyme.

But I hear the rhythm
And it's packing a beat.

Some times the words come
and they sound so sweet.

Now I promise you, the next time that we meet,
I'll be sure to have them on me.

Because one never knows
just what impression is being left.

It's a hell of a life,
I'm glad I'm along for the ride.

I feel the older I get
the less I have to hide.

I see us all as
one hell of a big Spirit,

I hope you do too
real deep inside.

On most days
I can hold my own.

I go down my path
like a rolling stone.

I stop to smell the flowers
and I get lost and I stay for hours.

If you ever had the blues
you know everyone has been in your shoes.

Don't go away angry,
I didn't mean to hurt you.

I never wanted to hurt anybody,
or so my story goes.

But sometimes my wind is out of control
And it will knock things over as it blows and blows.

I just heard that
they are going to pass a law
prohibiting smoking
e-cigarettes indoors.
Well if that is the case,
why don't they halt
all auto mobile traffic
in the down town area's,
like Inglis Street.

Them fumes
are a harsh pollutant...
Why can't they get real.
Now you're treating smokers like
they are
flesh eating zombies
that have halitosis
whom need to be steered
outside and away from token rabble-rousers
eating their daily bread.

I come to find
that I relate
I relate to the
persons places
and things
in my world

My relating
is how I see life
not only mine
but yours as well

I relate to the joy
I relate to the pain
I relate to them
again and again

Can you relate?

In the underground city
where they march
to the stoplight
going nowhere fast.

***** mounted set
swings or the everlasting.
A tone to set mood,
to change that very thing.

brisk room to move,
speeding the set,
not letting us settle,
only a brush and we're off.

Sleeping under the sheets
of a hot, hot desert sun,
that cold is gone
but for this evening.

Undertow ***** silvery light
down to the underground.
Kisses of light sent to and fro
in a dull foreboding march.

The sun
A bullet hole
Burning through
The grey-white sky
Waiting on a train
At the crossing
Traffic standing still
Graffiti strewn boxcars pass
Artful dodgers
On steel canvas'
Leaving their unsung scars
Smoky music fills my head
One of those moments
In my memory scrapbook
Thoughts of one who
Used to make me know
All was good with the world

You and your lover
are quick to give the sign
that you are okay in their books.
While you pepper up my girlfriend
with words of me not so kind.\

I have done my utmost to be polite,
and even that one night when we were drinking,
you were laughing your ***** off.. was that play-acting?

I don't find your need to use bi-****** humor for every second joke
to be anything but in need of a good therapy group, perhaps you can find help there.

You didn't even have the ***** to confront me face to face... no, no you chose to be two-faced.
You chose to talk to OUR mutual friend about some problem you are having with me...
.Couldn't you hear her scream out under pressure of a new job and not much time to spend with friends and family... how self-absorbed are you... man when you told me you were in your 30's I thought you were an adult. All you've managed to do is hurt feelings and demand like a little child that you wan t your all-mighty will to be carried out.... Well guess what pal.. this fella wants some coin if you want him to play a part... better yet.. just go **** yourself.



© 2013

Way up
In these clouds
Just as my expecations
Did fall ******* my head
Full of those child like dreams.

Remembering a future
And ignoring a past
That could break
Any fragile strong-man
On any bright new day.

Why can't I
Make you leave me alone
Even here,
Up in the blue sky
Above the white clouds
So far away from home.

On his head
  was tattooed
           a number,

While through
        his mind flew
                destruction..

Over his shoulder blew Kong,
    and upon Kong's war plate of torture,
    and a vice gripped and girdled waist,
with spikes tipped to rip any mans flesh.

A chain mail vest webbed with deceit,
   and acute, dispirited despair
     lay sheathed beside his broad hips.

You see him and terror grips,
               when through his eye
                  your eyes are reflected.

                    What is your number.

Guess all
      you want,
           it can't be read
                back to front
                   in the mirror.

It can't be
scrubbed clean
with the finest of lye.

Your number is your number
           and when it's up, it's up.


© 2005

All Rights Reserved

She will smash
every wine glass.
They are broken,
but not her heart.

She will walk barefoot
from room to room
while her feet are bleeding,
but not her heart.

She will drink him up
until her body aches
and her head hurts
but not her heart.

It isn't always the cream
that rises to the top,
sometimes it's the scrum.

Some times it's the slop
that makes the piggies come.

Get your sorry *** out of here,
bye now, so long.

Is Fear when you don't have Love?
And in the end, it's not about
how you do it,
any more than how you don't.

Which hand's got what,
get your sorry *** out of here.
Bye now, so long.

Fear? What's left to be afraid of,
What haven't I done been ****** over by?

God have mercy on me,
give me some of your sweet mercy,
have some mercy on me.

Lord you know it ain't right.
If this is foreplay, gimme more play... (69).
I can't wait to see what happens next!


© 2000

All Rights Reserved

Here's to you,
I'll raise my glass.
You don't lie worth ****
but I'll let that pass.

I didn't say
that it was wrong
to live on the dark side,
it just isn't for me.

I told you
what I wanted
and you told me
how you felt.

It appears that
I was just another
notch on your
yard long belt.

It's too late
to take back
the things we said,
whether they
were said in the kitchen
or said in the bed.

You're not hard
to look at,
but that just won't do,
you're poison to my system,
worse than the flu.

For a while
we were on a roll,
until it came to the point
that you asked me
to sell my soul.

You lied so much
and now you play
the old stand by card,
how you are afraid of me,
that I just make your life so hard.

But it isn't me that makes the calls,
leaving message after message,
they all start with rants,
as soon as I hear your voice
I hit save.
I don't listen later,
why I keep them
is a mystery to me.
It looks as if now
you are just some part of my history.

Yes, now things are different,
our friendship of years is dead,
still I find I need a turn-key,
one to unlock my head.

I ache for the
love of your children,
the ones that
I have known for years.
on the outside I don't cry
but on the inside
I'm full of tears.

Now that our friendship
is dead and gone
I know I have to grieve,
what I don't know
is in what way
and for how long.

Things will change,
they always do
but there is no chance
that they will change for you.

I still love you,
I love you as a friend.
But your addictions
are so bad of a sign
that killing you softly
is what comes to mind.

Yesterday, as well as today,
I miss what was,
I miss what was the good.
Your children must
be so confused,
that I  no longer come around,
but to try and keep up the game
would not be very sound.

And now I hear
through the grapevine
that you are pregnant once again.
You can't afford the ones you have,
to include another is nothing
short of insane.

Your partner lives thousands
of miles away so he can make
the money it takes
to feed and clothe the ones
already here,
while you take his checque
and spend hundreds a month on
entertaining your fair weather friends
and beer.

You kept me around
as long as I was your go- to- guy,
someone to babysit
and drive you around.

When I started saying'no'
everything changed.
Nothing will be different
until your life
is rearranged.

There became no more requests to visit,
no invites for supper.
Well that is all well and good
but for the most part
it's your children that suffer.

So it's good bye, so long,
you've cut me out of the family.
But I guess everything must come to an end.
My only hope is that you will pull
yourself together and once more
I'll be able to call you a friend.

I'm all about forgive and forget,
I'm just not there yet.
Your slap in the face
when I brought over
your Christmas gifts
and what you said to
my friends.

Just as there are always
so many beginnings,
I see that there are also
so many ends.

Inside I cry,
outside I grimace,
but it is what it is none the less.

So here's to you,
may you hold it together.
May the days you have in store
be called somewhat better.
for now let us keep
our distance,
steer clear of one another
right down to the letter.

Once you can put down the glass
and return to what is the real world,
perhaps we can talk again,
perhaps we can 'let it go'
and once more address each other as 'my friend'.

© 2013

Look around you
What do you see
In everyone I meet
There is a whole lot of me

Look in to the sky
Any given eye
Sees it just like me
We are one under the sun

Our petty differences
What ever happened to
Live and let live

If you do unto others
As you would have them
Do unto you

We've got a long way
To go Towards achieving peace
A long way toward loving one another

I could sit here
And **** on it
Stop it from happening

So many people
Not thinking they are one
They are one under the sun

Give it time
There is no expiry date
There is no time
No such thing as of late

One under the sun
Just one only one
Under the sun

no new is good news
just as long as I'm lying here with you,
and though we're fools,
still I went just to hold you.

in my mind are these rolling hills,
and these green green fields,
the fog is everywhere
and I'll always remember
because you were there.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its birth.
to shape this day
you have turned to the earth.
terra-cotta woman,
my celtic queen.

and when I get home,
I want to unplug the phone,
turn the lamp down low.
because no new is good news
just as long as I am staying here with you.
and though we're fools,
still I want to hold you.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its bearth.
to shape this day,
you have turned to the earth.
terra- cotta woman
my celtic queen.

© copyright 2000

what shade has come over me
to leave such a trail of steel,
this thing i live is a run-away-train

i feel so obliged to follow it,
dragging me, kicking and screaming,
didn't i once engineer this life gone insane

pulled along behind, face hid in forearms,
ka-knock-'knock-knocking my head on every railway tie,
what shade is this that has split beans brain

by the wrist i am chained to my run-away-train,
with traits of a hell-hound, out of control,
nothing i can push to stop from being pulled

bound to lose faith at the very least,
though risk of life and limb be the final price,
what shade is this film that i have cast myself in,
what shade is this play that won't go away

I wanted to play the lead
But things got mean

So I hopped on a bus
And without too much fuss

I made my way
Back to the bakery

The next time
I want to play the lead

I'll remember the rhythm
Of the whole Human racing

The misplacing of a whole
In exchange for a bunch of lousy pieces

Heightened awareness
Full deep breath
A lilt in my voice
Palm shadow
Across the bridge
Of my nose
Blue veins
Blue eyes meeting
Clear blue skies.

You
  could cut
        the air  
with a knife
it was just that thick
it had me
  chewing my nails
     gnawing them to
        the quick.

A small voice
  inside my head said
- you are not the boss of me -
     No question about it
         I work hard to be free.


I plan for
the worst
but I hope
for the best
born to create
I take my imagination
and put it to the test.

They say that a bad
   attitude is like a flat tire
       you have to change it
   if you're going to get very far.
     Free will,
         choose the things you choose
            But you just can't go pinning all
                your hopes on some far away star.

As life goes and go it does,
I hold on tight and
leave my past in the dust.
I've come face to face with my demons
and lived to tell the tale,
I was backed right up against the wall
but my morality is in tact,
this cat's not for sale."

I'm alive for two reasons
        yeah it's down to that.
Reason number one I was born
                and two I didn't die yet.
    I am no go between
        it hasn't come down to that
           I can't deliver what I never had
       Although sometimes I have to
give my head a shake. I always remember
to give a sucker an even break.

©2013

today
is all I have

yesterday
is worlds away

tomorrow
never comes

Water
under
the bridge,

rolling
and tumbling,

kissing
the river's
edge.

Trees
bend
in the breeze.

The
lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars.

His *****
strikes
the earth,

overturning
a crawler's
night lunch.

A bottle
of ***
shared
by two

who steer
clear
of the fire's
orangey
fingers.

Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the night's
sky.