When the sun goes down
I have my first drink
standing in the yard,
talking to my neighbor
about the alder tree
rising between our houses,
a lowly tree that prospered
from our steady inattention
and shot up quick as a ****
to tower over our rooftops,
where it now brandishes
a rich, luxuriant crown.
Should we cut it down?
Neither of us wants to --
we agree that we like
the flourishing branches,
shade like thick woods.
We don't say it,
studying our tree in silence,
but we know that if the roots
get into the foundations
we've got real trouble.
John goes back inside.
Nothing to be done in summer --
not to those heavy branches.
I balance my empty glass
on top of a fence post.
In the quiet early dark,
those peaceful minutes
before dinner, I bend down
to the flower beds I love
and pull a few weeds --
something I've meant to do
all day.

We must persist that we are objects of imperfection,
sculpted by a Creator's hands,
and in the eyes of our maker,
we are never done.

Contributing on to the end,
a memory of our being,
to be fixed in the minds of our counterparts.

We will never know the truth behind their love.

To divulge such a secret would in time turn it false.

It is not that we are not good,
not kind,
not sincere,
nor well-meaning.

But without the secret,
there would be no propelling of oneself.

And if the Creator blessed all of us, with a conscience of steel;
we would always be better tomorrow than we are today.

Resolve defined: firm determination to do something.

To know resolve is to say;
I will always be better tomorrow regardless of what I am today.

I have but one fear,
The witty, striped, Cheshire cat.
His many teeth frighten .

He becomes still air.
I want to weep all night long.
Go away foul cat.

His smile still lingers.
As does his laughing, fading.
Why must you taunt me?

The taunting won't end.
I tear my ears out, oh oww.
I'm turning it off.

I'm sitting here
Watching time pass me by
The world goes on
And leaves me behind
People have a purpose
Or that is what they have been lead to believe
I sit here
And watch life go on without me
People come and go
But I stay as always
Laughter and joy
Sometimes seeming a hard concept
I sit here asking why
Why anything and something

There was an Old Man of Whitehaven,
Who danced a quadrille with a raven;
But they said, 'It's absurd
To encourage this bird!'
So they smashed that Old Man of Whitehaven.

It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.

You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.

A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.

Touch me,
it doesn't matter where
and it doesnt matter how
I need to know I'm still alive
so someone touch me now
Shake my hand and say hello
or pat me on the back
kiss me on the cheek
that I may feel this sense I lack
slap my face and pull my hair
make me bleed I just don't care
dig your nails into my skin
so I can feed this need within
I've been numb for such a time
that even pain would be sublime
so touch me, touch me now
I don't care where, I don't care how