A steelman through and through,
then he found something else to do,
putting out fires, or finding the cause,
then pursuing those who broke the law.

St. Barnabus and brains and feet,
if you ever have the chance to meet,
ask about these stories, if you have the time,
about him and all his partners in crime.

Surfer on acid in the cups of all,
we sit around and watch some football,
Sabretts on the roller, chili warm nearby,
ready for the bun with some mustard on the side.

Sausage and peppers simmer, on low and slow,
Halloween candy bowl is about to overflow
scary decorations on the porch and out in the yard,
pretty sure “R” and Joe have left some kids scarred.

Pork roll on a bun with some egg and cheese
Cucuzza served at lunch, he always aims to please,
stories of the elk hunt, or a bluefish on a line,
or headed to “The Office” to have a really good time.

Attention, Attention, is the beginning of the spill,
announced overhead, though he knows he’ll pay the bill,
a birthday, or a funny, said to the hospital staff,
through the loudspeakers, and we all usually laugh.

Catching sheepshead, and playing spoons
hunting dove with kids in the afternoon,
chasing down ambulances and smoke,
driving and giving his cigar a ****.

Helping and solving problems the physical or of the heart,
if you have a need, there’s no better place to start,
just ask ol', Joe, he knows just what to do,
then he will make sure that you always follow through.

Cramming doctors in the ******, for a spin around the park,
or stringing up someone’s bicycle, just ask Dr. Spar,
putting tape on computer mouses, or making them disappear,
as he leaves us for Jersey, we all will shed a tear.

I can write in free verse,
I can write in rhyme,
I enjoy drinking beer,
I enjoy drinking wine.

I can write things abstract,
I can write things concrete,
I can write things unsaid,
I can write things complete.

I cannot solve your problems,
I cannot cure your pain,
I cannot stop the sun,
I cannot stop the rain.

I cannot heal your virus,
I cannot heal the hate,
I cannot seal the chasm
only you can pick your fate.

We’re tired of the ‘Rona,
the numbers keep on rising,
no one is sure if they are true,
but wearing masks they’re still advising.

We’re tired of the Race Bating,
all the colors can be friends,
but with looting and riots,
there seems to be no end.

We’re tired of law enforcement,
always under attack,
they are here to help all of us
red, brown, yellow, white or black,

We’re tired of the politics,
the far left and the distant right,
a house divided can never stand,
and now mostly out of spite.

We’re tired of offending,
with everything we say,
grow some thicker skin,
or shut up and go away.

We’re tired of the flag burning,
if you don’t like it here then leave,
go back to where you came from, or where you want to be
when you’re gone, just know, that none of us will grieve.

We’re tired of the media lies,
about all these things,
pouring gasoline on the fires,
and tugging all our strings.

Strangled thoughts ricochet around,
screaming silence muted sound,
lost inside the synaptic pulses,
like a myriad of combined song versus.

My feet move unbidden,
to only sounds that are hidden,
deep inside my skull and brain,
falling on me like gentle rain.

The changing tides fling me around,
all I hear are ocean sounds,
churning and changing my direction,
mostly against my discretion.

Nights gossamer gown now burned away,
I sit and look across a field of hay,
in the distance, deer now feed,
I wonder where this day will lead.

The coffee with its own cream clouds,
fuel, the thoughts of screaming crowds,
but for now, I am here alone,
sitting on my back porch throne.

Sanitoriums of the past,
the ghost in my lungs,
slowly eating me from the inside.

The every inside everything consumes me,
anxious paranoia has set in,
deep breathing no longer helps,
but I go on anyway.

I walk the ****, the chasms edge,
occasionally dangling from the ledge,
I'm tied off, to her on belay,
only she can save the day.

Flat planes trap my ideas,
there is simply no place to go,
out of the box, I cannot.
trapped within the opaque cube.

Lost in my colors match and mix,
but you always watch my six,
literally and figuratively
I always know you're in love with me.

The monsters dwell inside my thoughts,
on some occasions, we have fought,
the say up, while I say down,
I try to smile but they just frown.

I know not from where they came,
but they are masters of the game,
insane they are driving me,
but I will never let them see.

Some say it springs eternal,
but to me it feels infernal,
glowing embers smoldering,
but no help to the weight I'm shouldering.

Taco Tuesday excitement
as the street vendor serves,
pico de gallo,
taco de Gato.

Shimmering scales underwater,
flashing rainbow colors,
jumping upstream,
caught in grizzly paws.

Yesterday's comments still stinging,
like rocks thrown at my back,
the attack never complete,
as it plays on a loop in my mind.

The marks left upon us,
draw a map of life,
contours left by others,
changes in elevation
from our own choices.

Unrequited pain,
cured only by death,
understood finally,
on our final breath.

2 buck chuck,
or in a box,
it quenches some thirsts,
and ignites others.

Our love ran out or maybe it was on the rocks,
now we're here trapped behind these locks,
virus time, stuck with each other in quarantine,
man, I think this is like some long terrible dream.

So I go to the fridge and grab a couple beers,
try and make the best, hand her one and say cheers,
looks at me and rolls her eyes and slowly hands it back,
I start to get mad but realize I'm not under attack.

I run back to the kitchen, for the opener and a lime,
like I said, we're stuck together, try and pass the time,
come back and open it, she says thanks with a smile,
I haven't seen one of those in many moons and miles.

Switch on some music for a change of attitude
put it on Luke Combs, to set the drinking mood,
we sit in silence, beers empty, I offer her one more,
she bobs her head to the tune and says why not, sure.

Hand her another, but I can't read her like a book,
still as beautiful as always, but I had forgotten to look,
George Strait shuffles on, "The Fireman" he sings,
my mind begins to run, turning over things.

I stand up and ask her to dance,
I figure what the hell I'll take a chance,
we're stuck here, maybe we can fix this mess,
she hesitates but makes her move in love's game of chess.

We dance around through several songs,
not sure why we let this go so long,
I hand her another Corona since we have the time,
she smiles at me and laughs, and says can I have a lime.

Shimmering chartreuse sequins,
exquisitely shining as she spins,
bronze hair loose and flying,
into her soul, I feel like prying.

Tanned legs tucked into stilettos of gold,
when god made this one, he broke the mold,
perfect pink lips surrounding her smile,
men would follow her for miles and miles.

Like the piper, she would lead the way,
drooling men, watching hips sway,
my eyes follow her every move,
the song changes and switches her groove.

Jumping, and bouncing up on her toes,
as the songs says, she strikes up a pose,
the beat then drops and she does down low,
she moves like a wave, stuck in the flow.

As the beat dies, she walks out of sight,
oh, what a feeling she provided that night,
memories of this I relive to this day,
to see her again, one day I pray.

Cold drops of rain as we run,
so much for our picnic in the sun,
the grass glistens green with drops,
you giggle as you fight with flip and flop.

I grab your hand and lead you on
not to the house but to the barn,
you look at me with a sneaky grin,
I know the fun will soon begin.

The stormy breeze blows on your skin,
goosebumps rise as your dress is thin,
plastered to you and clinging wet,
I try to grab it, but you say not yet.

I am pushed onto a bail of hay,
and told I have to stay that way,
she begins to spin and to dance,
a sudden need within my pants.

A hem gripped soft and slow,
her wet white dress with neon glow,
she lifts it up and to my surprise,
nothing else on her creamy thighs.

The wet dress drops to the floor,
she dances and teases, I can stand no more,
I stand up to shed my own,
she climbs the loft, I watch and moan.

Wet clothes running puddles,
I find her and begin to cuddle,
lightening flashes and thunder booms,
but we don't plan to leave this room.

Old asphalt road faded yellow line,
her lips, the color of sweet red wine,
sunbeams laser, through a hole in the cloud,
she reaches and turns Everclear up loud.

Roger Creager sings about getting drunk,
she sings along, grinning and full of *****,
the miles pass by, she takes landscape pics,
Facebook posts from back in the sticks.

The swimming hole is empty down by the old mill,
I pull out the moonshine from my homemade still,
she takes and sip, the burn makes her hiss,
then she gives me a cinnamon apple kiss.

Big tow rope tied in the cottonwood tree,
I grab the knot and swing-out free,
backflip release, splashing water cold,
she wades in *******, she's just that bold.

The rest of the day spent in summertime fun,
swimming and splashing soaking up the sun,
As darkness falls, we head back the miles,
she puts her head on my shoulder, with a sleepy smile.

Kaleidoscopic lighting strikes,
like when I learned to ride a bike,
couldn't wipe the smile from my face,
when I look upon her face.

Like Christmas morning trampoline,
jumping up and down, exciting,
meeting your hero out on the street,
when I look at her, my heart skips a beat.

Catacombs stretch into the dark,
with knife and flint, ignite a spark,
torch casting shadows long and deep,
I start walking down death's street.

Sneering skulls line the walls,
real-life jolly roger's pall,
walking through the evil spell,
imagination's path to hell.

In the distance an amber glow,
casting out hypnotic flow,
a coffin, a crypt or maybe a tomb,
but still, I walk into the gloom.

Golden reflections do now twist,
an oozing, gelatinous, amber mist,
twisted knots of filigree,
Egyptian goddess now set free.

Standing here with her smile,
she wants me to stay awhile,
the amber gem gleams on her chest,
my heart screams a catch to my breath.

Countless eons I now stare,
eyeless sight filled with despair,
trapped within the devil's broach,
I wish I could warn those that would approach.

The medicinal burn inside my mouth,
I can feel it traveling down south,
a bit like fennel and tarragon,
licorice unctuous, I frown upon.

Perhaps, she was right as Disney,
full of music, magic, and whimsy,
a spoon full of sugar is what it needs,
a bit of *** punch would be fine with me.

But feeling better is the hope,
so I swallow, and try not to mope,
go back to bed, to sleep it off,
only to be awoken by the cough.

Pillow soaked, as fever breaks,
another dose its time to take,
4-hour cycles, I hope to end,
once my bodies on the mend.

Upon their brooms, the witches come
flying in a V I know not where from,
spreading disease and fear and shame,
it is how they play their game.

Virus, bacteria, and even prions,
are the things they thrive upon,
found in the places people should not go,
but from there they reap then sow.

We try to battle through science gains,
but there's so many like drops of rain,
our antibiotic umbrella is full of holes,
as our current situation shows.

The witches are here, but are not real,
simply a characterization of how I feel,
the trapped feeling of stay at home,
even though I am not alone.

Inside the drum the charcoal burns,
for dinner now, my stomach yearns,
seasoned ribs and chicken breast,
building a meat and wire nest.

Hang them now above the fire,
glowing bright, Viking funeral pyre,
place the lid and walk away,
6 hours to slow smoke today.

The cooler lid opens and it squeaks,
oh, by the way, it also leaks,
cold ultra to save the cals,
now just waiting on my pals.

The smoke leaks out, you should smell,
the aroma makes your tastebuds yell,
the downside though is the wait,
but its worth it to fill your plate.

Blue and white and lots of green,
filling up the two-track scene,
deep in Texas in the spring,
so many memories do this bring.

Upon the field, that runs with blood,
we stand united, against the flood,
kite shields locked into a wall,
can we stand against them all?

Gorgons stare with pupils stone,
but they do not want to be alone,
but alas their fated curse,
to live without love, what could be worse?

Trapped inside the conscious stream,
stuck within the waking dream,
watching people slowly die,
did most even bother to try?

It was the age when water flowed,
cities grew, electricity glowed,
populations soared, like birds with wings,
wondering what the future could bring?

Underwater, I am trapped,
swimming aimlessly, with no map,
out of breath, but never giving up,
I swallow the absinthe and drop my cup.

Elderberry wine, bucket chills,
a cool wind blows in window sills,
the soothing maroon of gin and juice,
the tartness in mouth, saliva sluice.

Hot amber burn of oak cask whiskey,
the look in her eye is always frisky,
grounded by the earthy of water and scotch,
I turn the heater up a notch.

The sad rags hung about her frame,
she had played but lost the game,
on the streets now, she gets by,
on the edge but never dies.

Hope lives eternal or so they say,
the ones on the street simply pray,
one foot in front of the other,
trudging along even further.

Under bridges around fifty-five gallon drums,
they stand and warm with the other bums,
or that's what society labels them today,
they wouldn't be here if there was any other way.

So scrape and scrape, and scrape some more,
just to live and eat and score,
a bed here and a meal there,
that's why you see them everywhere

We are but pieces with superglue,
holding us together, every day anew,
product of our choices made,
standing in our own growing shade.

But there are no shadows without light,
just look around at midnight,
the blackness is never truly complete,
as the moonlight gleams off life's street.

Saturday morning bus trips
through the land of antelope,
To casinos and alleys,
with a sense of hope,

With multicolored ***** unpacked,
and special shoes upon our feet,
Now has come the time
that we shall compete.

Ten pins lined up like soldiers, standing 60 feet away,
With them, it has now come time to play,
But before we start a ritual that spreads the chilling fogs
dogs, on me, dogs on three, 1-2-3, dogs.

With a swing of the arm and flick of the wrist, driving our thumb into the air,
The spinning ball heads down the lane, seemingly without care.
If we hit our mark, with timing and speed, nothing can stop it,
The roaring ball hooks, right into the pocket.

With pins spinning and bouncing nothing can still stand,
An X upon the scoreboard, just like we had planned,
And if for some reason, a pin or two is left standing there,
We will take aim and roll again, picking up a spare.

Two games down individually, but we are not done,
Time for some baker bowling fun.
7 of these for us, working as a team,
We knock down pins, like a well-oiled machine.

And at the end when we emerge we are victorious
Another tournament won isn't it glorious,
Thanks to all our coaches, and especially coach Ken,
We will miss him next year but will smile and think of him

This season just isn't right,
We didn't even put up Christmas lights,
Not sure why it feels this way,
As we wait for Santa's sleigh.

No Christmas party just no time,
Our best friends moving is a crime,
It's like a pall has been cast,
I'm not sure how long it will last.

No crazy presents, kids growing up,
My son drives his own truck,
Daughter, gone to college now,
Time just goes by too fast, wow.

So as another year-end draws near,
Somebody hand me an ice-cold beer,
Need something to dull emotion,
But nothing stops the clocks forward motion.

Self imposed quarentine,
like on the field without your team,
fifteen feet at least apart,
a built bonfire without a spark.

Sickness killing a small percent,
changing our lives without consent,
the end of the world as we know it,
as we're trapped at home and just sit.

Paper goods and food hoarded,
by everyone who could afford it,
education cancelled or forced online,
**** I need a glass of wine.

Whiskey probably would be better,
if your infected, wear a scarlet letter,
hope and pray for 14 days,
that once again you'll see sun rays.

I guess will see how life exists,
on the other side of this,
I feel assured it won't be the same,
I guess that's how you play this game

Upon the moving of our friends,
it felt like this era should never end,
the hanging out and stupid jokes,
the various liquors mixed with coke.

The road trips with music up loud,
picking out creatures in the clouds
weekday dinners for no reason
hunting together in deer season.

Guys and girls trips full of fun,
sunday's with kids and lots of guns,
building things projects galore,
who could ask for any more?

Then it all came to an end,
will our hearts ever mend,
miles and states now stretch between,
if only we had a teleport machine.

Sitting here sand in my crack,
in my RTIC coke and black jack,
rod and reel bounces in pvc,
waiting on tides to change the sea.

Flip flops, with bottle opener underneath,
you know the ones made by Reef,
yee yee cap shading the sun,
days on the beach are loaded with fun.

Costa lenses tinted green,
polarized to cut the sheen,
sun rays reflected off tanned tone skin,
I wish this is the place I was in.

Alas, I'm here at home, daydream,
COVID 19 has me quarantined,
I sit and sit, all projects complete,
hoping for the virus to retreat.

Where the blooming trees do shade,
I had a glass of lemonade,
a waitress came, the ocean breeze blew,
the smells all arrived all anew.

Sweet florals and frying fish,
bread, garlic oil swirled in a dish,
table cloths fluttering, never still,
fresh pie sitting in the sill.

Potted plants and red backed seats,
honey bees working without defeat,
giggles from girls, one table over,
a cat sitting, sunning, with golden fur.

Little songbirds set the tone,
I enjoy sitting here alone,
surrounded by this life-full scene,
all of it feels simply serene.

Is COVID the end
of handshakes and hugs,
will we all work from home,
naked and sitting on the rug?

No more Mexican beer
with salt and lime,
because we are afraid,
and remember the time?

Will restaurants reopen,
for a sit-down meal,
or did we discover,
that pick up is the deal?

I may never go inside,
another big box store,
picking up here,
killed a grocery shopping chore.

Will schools reopen,
as brick and mortar places,
or will teachers and students,
just know webcam faces?

The great lockdown,
will be remembered as the years go,
how did it change us,
just have to wait and see how so.

Hearing the busy tone of life,
beeping beeping, giving strife,
I tried to call, but no one answered.
my hair stuck down, with sweat plastered.

The nerves rise with pins and needles,
the world is full of good and evil,
the winds of change, with hurricane-force,
have me standing on the porch.

I hold on gripping the cast iron rail,
now listening to the virus hail,
it bounces off and ricochets,
like fired from a trebuchet.

I see a crack inside the storm,
hopefully, itself destroyed and torn,
a beam of light, horizons of dream
the sun's heat begins to steam.

Life on hold, nerves now bare
like a dragon not leaving the lair,
hoarding my treasures all alone,
hoping to hear the ringing phone.

Roosters and swampy leaches,
always attacking the Georgia peaches,
darkened chasms oozing stench,
trying to control the velvet trench.

Leering eyes stare out at mountains,
saliva drools, like Trevi fountain,
imaginations in overdrive,
thinking about creating lives.

In the sty, squealing lies,
as the fairer fire fries,
in the grease, they exuded,
and the things, which they alluded.

A laser light from button gaps,
cannot be contained within the *****,
trench coat men, try to subdue,
but they cannot contain her colorful hue.

Admiration of chisel marks,
I imagine the steel cast sparks,
a stone carved into beauty's eye,
but is it all a lie?

Colors swirl through the spectrum,
I paint with a broken thumb,
lucid dreams of LSD
I grin and laugh with glee.

The scarab beetle walked the palette,
a different hue upon each leg,
on the canvas a path traversed,
art for some, which would beg.

The swing of the hammer,
the splash of gore,
a Jackson Pollack brush
of blood on the floor.

Under gentle hands she is guided,
a listening ear she has confided,
but be aware or sweet nectars trap,
the ending comes with a snap.

I slipped and fell through the veil,
my sailboat has set sale,
yet I was not aboard,
now my soul sadness is poured.

Razored edges, bleeding tears,
trapped inside my selfish fears,
lost in the maze of what-ifs,
the culmination of terrible tiffs.

Understanding in hindsight,
crying drops into the night,
if only's running through my head,
an empty bed, I climb in and dread.

Upon the wind, I take flight,
where will I land, where is my plight,
hopefully fertile fields of green,
and not a dump, defiled, obscene.

When on the winds of change we ride,
things must be taken in stride,
With the swirling currents we glide,
and do it all with strength and pride.

Whether we rise or we fall,
the phone is ringing, take the call,
No hesitation do not stall,
Just take it and run with the ball.

Through twisting turns and changing lanes,
or on the ailerons of planes,
Like the colors of of light through stain glass panes,
Striving just to remain sane.

When friends become more,
In such a short time,
Not quite like blood,
But partners in crime.

Weekday dinners eaten,
Weekends binged away,
Hunting and fishing,
What more can I say.

Concerts and road trips,
In all seasons and weather
At Walmart causing a scene
Like birds of a feather.

Watching kids grow
Parenting all three
FFA and YHEC
Pie auctions and shooting.

Fourth of July's
At Cedar Creek Lake
you're moving away,
makes our heart ache.

When throws us curves,
We must take a swing,
We wish you good luck,
Success in everyrhing.

So give one more whooooo,
Just like Rick Flair,
raise up your glasses,
Into the air.

Just one last toast,
But we won't say good bye,
Just see you down the road,
With a tear in our eye.

Upon the land stupidity reigns,
common sense lost to time,
righteous indignation flowing thorough veins,
anything deemed offensive is a crime.

There is no rhyme or no reason,
vocal minorities lead the charge,
they killed history and holiday seasons,
with every day their ranks enlarge.

Lost in a lie that life is fair,
think through participation, they are owed,
but being human they only err,
but the weeds of life go unmowed.

Soon a jungle covers the land,
and no one gets to say their piece,
it's now a slippery *****, full of quicksand,
no one escapes the thought police.

Genders bent and words outlawed,
what once was funny is now shunned,
where there was laughter once guffawed,
we all sit in silence stunned.

Tuille dreams,
hiding secrets behind,
longing for the future.

Chemical madness,
tie-dyed, spinning thoughts,
swirling madness.

The soul soars
free of its container,
speeding into the future.

And so the trip goes,
passion-fueled escape
into the new unknown.

Beautiful colors swirl,
clouding realistic images,
the truth is lost within.

Lost amongst the trees,
in the open jungle plain,
things hide and are never seen.

An unattainable wish,
it is against human nature,
the sadness of it all.

She was in love with her captor,
had the appetite of a raptor,
sharp talons slash her deep,
no way up it's much to steep.

I stopped and watched her,
as she eased to the edge,
wondering if she would jump,
my throat tightened into a lump.

Pain is a game,
that is always won,
shame is the same,
each and every one.

Red velvet tears
her face now stained,
syrupy sweet
but so full of pain.

Arsenic and strychnine,
hemlock and oleander,
narcissus like wine,
the highs lead to death,
feeling so fine.

The swings of the hammer,
the splashes of gore,
a Jackson Pollack brush
of blood upon the floor.

A bit of flesh,
torn in the teeth,
as life passes,
no signs of grief.

Long pork aroma,
fills the air,
in the corner,
skin and hair.

Legion swarms of fallen angels,
demons now consumed,
with no one following the light,
humanity simply meets its doom.