everyday you pick up the hammer
you hit on the head of the nail
words surround you madly clamor
you can't make head or tail.

rarely the nail penetrates the wall
oftener it breaks by the blow
all that's hidden inside the skull
more refuse than pour out to flow.

you drive the nail's head with your might
wishing it goes all the way
miss in the wrath to hit it right
fail in what you badly need to say.

the hammer gets blunt slows your hand
you are saddened no progress is made
on the next day the same place you stand
looking at the twisted nail's head.

Your ship, painted on the glass
of a five-by-seven picture frame
sails above my desk.
A study in blues, my favorite
as you well knew,
done by a man who knew
the blues too well.
The tall-master in full sail,
catching the reach
which exceeds my grasp.
The freedom of a craft
doing what it was made to do;
sailing in full faith
toward an unseen horizon
just as you were
when you came to me
with your divorce
and your truth.
I knew.  Your friends all knew.
But you loved children
and family so much
that for years
you could only paint the truth
to yourself
which ended up
in a closet(yes, too ironic).
When the man came out,
so did the paintings.
I look up every day
and know the world
is a better place for it.

"I once met a homeless man lying in
the beach sand.
The heat of it helped his chills, i dare not
give him a hand.
He asked if i could cover him with the coat
that i had to wear.
I placed it around his shoulders,
he looked at me with a heart warming stare.
A tear came from my eye as i asked if
i could be of some help.
A voice, he spoke. " I'm so thirsty, just a
sip of your coke."
I quickly satisfied his thirst and told him i'd
be right back.
Running to the nearest take out restaurant he
began to shout.
"Please come back, don't leave me alone."
So i stopped and ran back.
i held him in my arms. He took his last
breath, then he was gone."

The day is sated,
night's stomach thunder-rumbles
in satisfaction.

from the void
the mountain speaks
the beat goes on
in these desolate peaks

moss covered stacks
of sea floor and mantle
embrace and fold
in metamorphic tangle

stunted fir clings
graying roots exposed
a rocky, barren life
is all this sapling knows

snowcapped elderberry
scale the crevice
where bear and wind
make raucous passage

avalanche chutes
gracefully recline
in verdant shades
to the waterline

lie in the meadow
to calm the chatter
make still the noise
to blunt the clatter

upon the coming
of soft night
undress this silence
angel mine



*I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of 'thinking' and 'enjoying' what they call 'living,' I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.

-Jack Kerouac