Some people hate what others say
Some come awake, scared and afraid
Some people run far from the truth
Some people hate what others do

Some people do not see themselves
As the problem and not the help
Some people live their entire lives
Believing in their own sordid lies

Some people scrape the barrel low
Some people don't open it up at all
Some people are out of their heads
Other people have never left

Some people come with their A-game
Some people don't know what to think
Some people set up for the fall
Some people aren't set up at all

Some people are in line at the front
Some people seem to fill needs and wants
Some people see what's going on
Then again some people don't

Some people are only here for themselves
With no second thought of anyone else
Whether or not you see this as truth
This is just what some people do

He is just a poet
Too many years now to count
Occupies time by setting to rhyme
All the words his pen pours out

Seems there's a never ending stream
Of words that freely flow
From the end of his pen into this poet's hand
That never once will let him go

Blowing with ease this poetic breeze
Seldom seen but often felt
This man that's just a poet
Too many years now to count

Down along the coast of my soul
As beaten and battered as it is
I feel I have little control
And it won't be long till there's nothing left

As the pounding waves of humanity
Slowly wash it away piece by piece
Pulling sanity's sand from my shore
Depositing it into the deep

Down along the coast of my soul
How much more can one person give
Treading water out of control
Until I feel there's nothing left

september has become
the cruelest month

reassembled
hollywood disasters
at their worst
flipped into reality

as if
   we had needed that
as if
   we had not known
      that life is fragile
      and tall buildings
      can collapse
   taking thousands
   to sudden death

what is the point?

to prove
   that one can bring
   disaster
   to the undefended?

to demonstrate
   that minds bent
   on destruction
   can succeed
   if they plan long enough?

what a waste
   of lives and minds...
and more to follow
most likely

does wordless violence
solve anything?

the heartless deed
the glamorous sacrifice
that calls for more
   and more
and more
neurotic spirals
of destruction, retaliation
and revenge
instead of global peace
now looms spectral war
born from self-righteous pride
the need to strike out
   fast and hard
against whoever fits
intelligence-created data
transferred to screens
   meticulously marked
coolly oblivious of the people
   who work and procreate
         and live
   in those fluorescent blips

domesticated energy
serves the omnipotent
   two millionaires’ sons
   turned public enemies
upon whose final global showdown
depends
the fate of yet more
   women
        men
           and children
to satisfy the need
for a just universe
where power flows
    undisturbed by laughter
   and the sounds
   of real people
        living
   in a real world

No one knows what she really looks like
Without all her makeup on
Once she applied the first coat of beautify
She never once thought of taking it off

She just continually adds to the layers
Off the color wheel from which she gleens
Comes in an array of colors
From the 70's through the new millennium

Even her own mother would not recognize her
If she ever decided to come clean
A la natural in spite of it all
This Maybelline beauty queen

She never fell into a little dab will do ya
But far less than any glob fest
She lets her fingers do the walking as her makeup does the talking
Never once giving her face a rest

Never could guess how old she is
As she expertly fills in the lines
Every crevis and crack from forehead to neck
A little heavy-handed at times
Till even she doesn't know what she looks like