The tiny town's
talented tailor
swiftly sews silken suits,
in his shop he plays the Wailers,
Bob Marley fills his boots.
Beside his shop
sits Susie's Sushie,
she serves him lunch
every Tuesday,
he leaves a tip because
she treats him well,
he's got a crush
and she can tell.
After lunch
it's back to work,
measuring here
and stitching there,
everything is done
just savoirfaire.
All the town folk
say he is the master,
he smiles at this
and works all the faster.
Then on the corner
the clock strikes five,
with the last suit hung
he says enough of this jive.
He shuts the light
and locks the door,
nine bells tomorrow
he'll be back for more.

The tiny town's talented tailor
swiftly sews silken suits,
in his shop he plays the Wailers,
Bob Marley fills his boots.
Beside his shop
sits Susie's Sushie,
she serves him lunch
every Tuesday.
He leaves a tip because
she treats him well,
He's got a crush and
she can tell.
After lunch
it's back to work,
measuring here
and stitching there,
everthing is done
just savoirfaire.
All the town folk
say he is the master.
He smiles at this
and works all the faster.
Then on the corner
the clock strikes five,
with the last suit hung
he says enough of this jive.
He shuts the light
and locks the door.
Nine bells tomorrow
and he'll be back for more.

The tiny town's talented tailor
swiftly sews silken suits,
in his shop he plays the Wailers,
Bob Marley fills his boots.
Beside his shop
sits Susie's Sushi,
she serves him lunch
every Tuesday.
He leaves a tip because
she treats him well,
He's got a crush and
she can tell.
After lunch
it's back to work,
measuring here
and stitching there,
everthing is done
just savoirfaire.
All the town folk
say he is the master.
He smiles at this
and works all the faster.
Then on the corner
the clock strikes five,
with the last suit hung
he says enough of this jive.
He shuts the light
and locks the door.
Nine bells tomorrow
and he'll be back for more.

Coming up
From the bottom
I see the sun through the waves

Put a man
Face to face
With his addiction
And see how he behaves

Standing tall
In a world that lies

Takes a whole
Lot of resolve
Not to step in time

The whole **** place
Has got a ***** loose somewhere

There is plenty to distract the mind
So easy for it to take the bait
I say this to you because I know you can relate

I can't hide my face
In the sand
No, Not in the middle of Winter
How do I
Remove the log
While I work on the splinter

A lost cause
I think not

Know those laws
Before you break them
Know that ***
Before it's lit

Go for the root
Not the stem
Then you can get
Down to it again

I cry out
in pain
and joy,
how about you

My problem is  I don't know what my problem is.

i cry out
in pain
and joy,
you do too.

My wife asks, "Are you drunk?"
I can't tell because your texts look like you're
Fumbling with a cell phone while riding southbound down the Memorial Highway towards the city.
                            
I am at the massive sculpture of an escaped zoo elephant
               That they proudly claim is a Mastodon.

Why believe what I say when I tell you I'm caught-up in the
Whirl-wind like many, not paying much heed of what they have
Spouted to-day.

Don't **** yourself just yet,     I zinc we will be okay.
I work towards forgiveness     and         will never forget just how
Much of a slave I've really been.   They have opened my third eye To my folly of mind. Back and forth the pendulum will sway.
Some tail-spin on full display.

Omicron blue,  something new, what's a population to do, is it as Strong as a flu or does it stick to the bones like glue.
Country upon country calling.        Old guards falling. The rich Fight so you must not take up your right.  If  so, what be next.

Was I ever free, always buying, always replacing. Always with the shoddy feelings holding out a fleeting Possibility. Waiting like the vexed to turn the corner. The vexed who text, the children who will become the mourners.

I will never be free under-the-gun, I will never be free under the Sun. I will never be free lest we are one. Let's begin, I claim it Begun. I wait on tables, I wait on doors. I wait on you. I wait on
Midnight snores. Another morn will come, it can't be the last one.

I dream I wake, I live I fake. I hold my own while my wife is out of town. I shovel the bad when no good's to be found. A new day, a better way, I dream I wake, I wake, I dream of texting on a tricycle.

I like to drive
I love my car
And how it handles
I'm not so disturbed
Should a shopping cart
Leave a dent in my door
Hell, I collect fenderbenders
I wear them proud
Like medals won in war

The illusion of freedom
Driving brings is a poor substitute
For the real deal but it's better than nothing
I'll ride the pedal 'till the tank runs dry
Fill-up then hit the road again
Soon, or soon enough, the rising cost of gas
Will have me confined to my hometown

You leave
Drops of spray paint
Like an alley cat

The musky trail still fresh
You move from city streets
To train yards

You travel the continent
Not asking for approval

Not asking for a handout
To pay for the occasional fine

John the revelator wrote:

All the angels in heaven sang
Ceaseless praise unto the Lord
The Lord finally asked them to stop
He said all the praise was going to his Godhead

To hold the Universe
I leave my mind
The switched on Darkness
Shuts out the Light
And the edge of Spirit
Becomes the boundary line

All those people in their social circles
Trying like mad to think outside of the box

I'm just in my kitchen learning how to make *****  
You can't beat alcohol to wash your hands

Political pundits  punching at my brain
Can I get a witness to this world gone insane

If  you're able to walk your block take it if you can
A clear mind needs a fresh and clean body

Be willing to give up your silver and gold, your money's no good
I'm sure an empires fall has never been graceful

There was a time
when you could move mountains
with your smile, and the earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide and seek,
perishing thoughts that
ride down with bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before.
Shall we cast down our glance in shame,
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.
Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings.
And the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times when in spirit
our fingertips would brace,
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.

There was a time
When you could move mountains
With your smile, and the earth
Was such a beautiful bridge.

Now Ursa dips deeply into
The dark well of sky while
Little sister plays hide and seek
Perishing thoughts that ride down with bitter cool

Our birth has been breached
As we cling tight to earlier yearnings
And the wailing wall sounds
A whisper to the cry in my mind

How can you or I claim innocence
When we have both been here before
Shall we cast down our glance in shame
Having lied through eyes of stolen charm

Those times when in spirit
Our fingertips would brace
Prying open closed doors
That had been slammed shut
By a life swung hard

What fear brings this memory
Doesn't every tree stand alone
Until you look below the ground

There was a time
when you could move mountains
with your smile, and the earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide and seek,
perishing thoughts that ride down in bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before,
shall we cast down our glance in shame
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.
Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings,
and the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times in spirit,
our fingertips would brace
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.

There was a time
when you could move mountains
with your smile, and the earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide and seek,
perishing thoughts that ride down in bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before,
shall we cast down our glance in shame
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.
Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings,
and the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times when in spirit,
our fingertips would brace,
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.

All Rights Reserved.

There was a time
when you could move mountains
with your smile, and the Earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide-and-seek,
perishing thoughts that ride down with bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before,
shall we cast our glance in shame
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.
Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings,
and the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times when in spirit,
our fingertips would brace
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.

There was a time
when you could move mountians
with your smile, and the earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide and seek,
perishing thought that ride down with bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before,
shall we cast down our glance in shame
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.
Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings,
and the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times when in spirit,
our fingertips would brace
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.


© 2005

There was a time
When you could move mountains
With your smile, and the earth
Was such a beautiful bridge.

Now Ursa dips deeply into
The dark well of sky while
Little sister plays hide and seek
Perishing thoughts that ride down with bitter cool

Our birth has been breached
As we cling tight to earlier yearnings
And the wailing wall sounds
A whisper to the cry in my mind

How can you or I claim innocence
When we have both been here before
Shall we cast down our glance in shame
Having lied through eyes of stolen charm

Those times when in spirit
Our fingertips would brace
Prying open closed doors
That had been slammed shut
By a life swung hard

What fear brings this memory
Doesn't every tree stand alone
Until you look below the ground

Proof positive  people are *******
In a pandemic they covet *******

Cleaning out the stores and starting to hoard
Welcome to a bad dream bordering on the nightmare of barbarism  

People pushing people shoving
One step away from full-on looting

An airborne illness keeping its targets inside
The world is closing its doors while the windows are wide open

You cough and a crowd turns their collective heads
The vulnerable are at risk and they cheer on the culling

The crowds, slithering down the aisles
           aimless yet ordered,  manoeuvering
                     shopping carts and metal baskets

Welcome to the lower class, the minion slave tied to the renting a house instead of a home. The climate is too harsh not to have shelter. They shop at thrift stores and outfit themselves for twenty bucks, hell they can find a living room for under a hundred dollars or bones or what ever you want to call them, that magic thing called Ca$h.

All those people spending that cash, in most cases, hard earned.

How did this ever happen * The Consumer they call us
                                                      We save a lot of money
                                                           ­  Spending money we don't got.

Ownership is the problem.. How does someone have the right to stake a claim to a chunk of land, then parcel  it off and make money selling it.
The Earth belongs to all of us.

The rich will go forward and lay claim to any planet they can reach for its natural resources.. How the hell can we let that happen. The Universe is ours, it belongs to everybody. We will leave this dirt and venture back when it has healed.

I can see them harvesting asteroids and riding  comets, waving there Stetsons
And hootin' yee haw as they speed through the galaxy, trying to hold onto their imagined power. The making up the rules as they go along.

Sometimes I just have to ignore everything and create my own little world.
A world where I trust my dead friends for sure. I don't know about everyone else.

Leave everything all behind  finding some real peace. Not this chanting about it, but shaping it and moving it like the malleable construct that it is....
               if you can call it a construct... and if you can't then 'what the hell'.

We are more than we know, more than we claim.. the People can be the power

We can start again, start all over before we swallow ourselves whole... and in part. Dismembered for certain. Dismembered and sent to the other side of the country, or half way around the world.

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.

Living
an idea,
the idea
expressed
through me.

Getting
lost in thought,
wrapping
my head
around this,
around that.
Finding out what
can and cannot be.

Pushed
into a dream,
a world full,
twisting,
turning
winding,
pulling.

Expanding
lungs
finding
a voice.

Crawling
walking,
talking.
All the while
discovering
this matter
of choice.

In the
twilight,
fragile bones,
dwindling
tones,
blue grey shading,
the last breath saying,
I'll be coming home.

The Good Lord shined his light on my face
And told me that only the good die young
So I am going to take it easy on you and will  
Bestow unto thee all these beautiful drugs  
So you don't have to **** those that aren't young.


And I said unto The Lord
Can you please stop shining  that light in my eyes.

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.

Upon a hill
stood a kaleidoscope
with a sign saying free.

You put your eye to the lens
and she began to crank around.

Inside was neon brightness
     and pastel hues,
as the crank turned the townsfolk in the scope began to tear apart
               torsos began to twist  free,     pull    apart...  Then boom!
Flailing  arms and legs and hands and feet.

Everything reminding me of a snow globe
I observed once for hours while taking acid.

So sharp some colours can be... sharp enough to shred a town

These neon and pastel body parts
keep bouncing  off the glass sides, all around.

Smearing them with hues of red and orange ,
Scraping them with electric purples and fireworks greens and yellow.

Be careful when you put your eye to a free kaleidoscope filled with black magic. You might not walk away the same.

shaman shaman
bury me
under a starlit sky
beside a sinless tree.

commend my soul
to the vastness above,
bathe me, cleanse me,
lift me high on the wings of the dove.

of my talents i leave here on earth,
scatter them, share them,
to bear witness of new birth.

if others must judge my worried past,
fill their hearts with love and kindness,
the gifts of the Spirit
that hold true and fast.

and to those for whom i have cared
that have gone before,
please have them stand in ready
to open the door.

It was ten years ago to the day
that his wife died. He was going to retire
but the lighthouse needed his care.

There was a ghost in his basement
or was that just a trick of the light.
If it was it just wasn't fair.

The deepness of the foghorns call
kept him from missing a single soul.
When someone stopped in to visit, he'd only sit and stare.

Many people came and asked  him to leave
but he stood his ground, he just held tight,
you see, to leave would be more than he could bear.

It was ten years ago to the day
that his wife died. he was going to retire
but the lighthouse need his care.

One thing that he never knew
was that he was that ghost in the basement.
He was the ghost down there sitting in that chair.



AllRights Rerserved@2009

It was ten years ago today
That his wife died. He was going to retire
But the Lighthouse needed his care.

There was a ghost in the basement
Or was it just a trick of the light.
If it was, it  just wasn't fair.

The deepness of the foghorn's call
Kept him from missing one single soul.
When someone stopped to visit he'd just sit and stare.

Many people came to ask him to leave
But he just held tight.
To leave would be more than he could bear.

It was ten years ago today
That his wife died. He was going to retire
But the Lighthouse needed his care.

One thing that he never knew
Was that he was the ghost in the basement.
He was the ghost that was sitting in the chair.

Money comes from the machine
The machine comes from the bank

Funny money, digital figures
Flying through the air

Debt for everyone
Paying to being alive

You can't have a warehouse
To store your barter hoard

Unless the Machine puts out
And gives you the cash to build a barn

When money doesn't work any more
Things will change, most think for the worst

Imagine being worth billions then
Being worthless, useless to everyone

The Machine will grind to a halt
You can't live in a fairytale for ever

I want to work my vision
And make a story
A story of the crazy

For the crazy
To pass to the man
Who says he is sane

Trapping those who walk the borderline
With those of a mind to            or
With a mind not to

I commend my soul
To the vastness beyond
I beg of thee, bathe me, cleanse me

Take my talents and possessions
That I leave here on earth

Scatter them share them
To bear witness of fresh new birth

They will bury me
Under a star lit sky
Beside a sinless tree

I want to work my vision
and make a story,
a story of the crazy,

for the crazy,
to pass to the man
who says that he is sane.

Trapping those who walk the borderline,
those with a mind to or
with a mind not to.

I commend my soul
to the vastness beyond,
I beg thee, bathe me, cleanse me.

Take my talents and possessions
that I leave here on earth.

Scatter them, share them.
To bear witness of fresh new birth.

They will bury me
under a star lit sky
beside a sinless tree.

Hello!
Well,
I... uhh,

- I'm Still
hoping to cross
that Spiritual Sea -

So, uh, here I go!

I suppose
it's a case of
running into the Truth.

- Just how little
is truly within
Human grasp -

And yet, just
how desperately
I continue to hold on...

....nonetheless....

...We take this
big long walk together,
of that I am sure.

From Darkness
into endless Light.
The deeper the solitude
the surer it seems.

                               Father Graham

I said, oh
you're in sales.
She responded:
Are you kidding!
I could sell ice to an Eskimo.

Oy vey I say,
you're pretty pretty
and that's a fact.
That will go a long way
towards your hitting the mark.

I hope you are able to stay honest,
give a sucker an even break.
Please feel welcome
and make yourself a tidy sum.

I myself was not cut out for sales,
my pitch wasn't good and all,
but I couldn't hide the products drawbacks.
I was all to willing to let you know
exactly what you were paying for.

the point is
life isn't always grand

sometimes you sink
so slow and low
  
it's agonizing and
you lose control

the point is
to be a seasoned veteran

fly oh  so high
when life's driving wild

mark it up to experience
wanting to experience

as much as I can
watching from the

sidelines cuts it
sometimes

but after a rest
I jump back in

in it to win knowing
sometimes you lose

it's been said before
keep your eyes on the prize

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.

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

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

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

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

Now, I gather stones
for my tomb,
while with willful 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 Christ's Cross,
responsible for all souls lost.

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

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 less
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.

"Don't be
disgruntled."

He said to the foreman.

"So what if the building
is going to be late."

"Often buildings
are late and they
don't have any offspring."

Cornwallis Inn,
Gothic Stone With
Marble Floor Ways,

A Small Lounge Area
And A Bar Alongside.

Road Weary
And Thirsty
We Belly
Up To The Trough.

A Drunkin' Patron
Pulls Up A Stool,

Too Drunk To Even
Pay Attention To The ****** Gestures
Or Our Body Language.

He Overstays
Any Sort Of Welcome
That I Would Have Given Him.

I Told
The Barkeep
I Was From Town
But Haven't Been Here
For Decades,

That When I Had Left,
The Town Wasn't More
Than A Ghost Town
In The Making.

That The Land
Of ***** And Orchards
Would Dwarf The Town,

Making It Only
A Spot On The Map,
Like The Stain
Left By A Barfly
On A Hot, Hot Day.

When still a child
He told stories
That people called lies.
His imagination
Was something to behold.

With a twist like a knife
He would create a world,
Nothing was off limits.

He played with the parable,
He played with surprise.
His mind told tales,
That would reflect in his eyes.

His spirit would soar,
The love that he showed.
He knew he had everything,
That it would never grow old.

He spoke the truth
Hidden behind lies.
Nothing was off limits,
Nothing too big of a size.

He'd leave it to imagination
To fill any holes, around every corner
Something new would appear,
He would often blow a kiss
Saying wish you were here.

Sometimes he'd leave you
On the edge of a cliff,
Then call them back
To see what they missed

When he was yet a child
he would tell these stories
that were off the page.
People would call them lies,
they would raise an eye.

His imagination was
something to behold,
as quick as the snap
of a whip, he'd conjure
up a tale,
nothing was off limits,
nothing too big a size.

He played with parables,
he relished surprise.
It was left to the imagination
to fill any holes,
to make light
any dark shadows.

Around the next corner
some new twist would appear.
If one was to lose track
and start to fall back,
with a wink and
a whisper he'd say
"Wish you were here".

Just the spokes on a wheel,
smoke rings in the wind,
life is passing by,
one moment you turn around
and it's your day to die.

Make your peace,
rest on your knees,
open the palms of
your hands
and let the metaphor  
fly out the door,
your dove into the sky.

Some
get stressed
over the very small.

Like they 'can't stand the heat from the kitchen,'
so they leave only to jump from the 'frying pan in to the fire'.

If any one is going to pull my strings,
that would be me.

Although I do..   ...one thing you can't call me is a liar.
I've given them the benefit of the doubt,

You told me to trust them,
then I had to yank my fore-hand
up to the bridge of my nose
so as to stop them from poking
me in my own two eyes
with their own *******.

.yuckyuck....end


© copyright 2013

All Rights Reserved

When I asked her 'do you have any latex she thought i was talking about paint.. when she asked if I was going to capitalize my i..i said no 'cause that's the way i roll.

If the world
was my cloister,

I can't get away
as i sit here
and I think
and I realize
I don't know a lot
of anything.

All I thought I knew
was a lot of nothing.


With the world as my cloister.

It leaves me thousands of miles to move
but I can't escape that
the world is my cloister.

If it were true
and the world was mine,
there would be more chanting than ranting,

Less greed and more charity.

If the world was my cloister,
vision and empathy would be
King and Queen.

Hurt and suffering abiding side by side
with love, grief and joyfulness.

What do you do in a cloister with so many people..
You try and live together.

You try and dream together.

It's been so long now since
I've touched a pen to paper
But life goes on  and still this crazy world keeps spinning 'round

I wanted to say something profound
But the words wouldn't slip off the pen
I tried to follow life around but was told I had to stand in front

The next time I think about writing a poem
I'll know that if I really had anything to say
People wouldn't listen anyway

You say something to one person
and they say something to some one else.

Someone is always rolling over in their grave.
Even to die isn't enough to be left alone.

Sometimes it's hard to find a single friend,
no not a one to be found.

Don't be thinking you're too cool to avoid the bombs,
they're getting dropped no matter who you are.

You might think you're something,
but you're just another face in the crowd.

So don't talk too loud and carry a big stick,
sometimes it's like a ball of snot on your finger that you just have to flick.

It can get you down if you let it,
but I bet it just falls away if you just keep your hands in your pockets and button your lip.


© 2013
All Rights Reserved

I talked to one
of those Christians
who had been hooked

and now was fishing for men.

He said a prayer for me
while I was blowing my horn
outside of the Liquor Store.

Which I found ironic, yet understandable.

He said the usual fanatical spew
of grace and of how God forgives me.

And I prayed that the Almighty might play through my horn.
Then I thanked him very much and said listen, God may be speaking.