I feel it all starting
To slip away now
Just on the edge of perception
Tell tale flickers of movement
Away from the center of my mind
A trick of the light perhaps
Motion more imagined than real
The inevitable...
My age slowly tightens its grip
Steals away what memory
Once served swiftly with clarity
Now stumbles back to me
Hazy and unclear
The inevitable...
The running man
Has slowed to
An inevitable crawl
Soon I will meet whatever destiny
Bears my name
the Inevitable....

Bagpipes cry out
the sun sinks into glorious color
dance the tune lively
listen to the age-old song weave in the air
Scotland my heart
treasure of Clan, Hearth and Home
treasure of a people standing tall
for all the thousands of years
Pay heed to your heart Scotsman
as the Bagpipes cry out in the Dusk
yours is a heritage that stands tall through centuries
proud my heart in Scotland
dance the lively tune
listen to the age-old song weave in the air
Scotland is my heart and soul

Can I craft such words
To stir a man to act
Can I make such an argument
That would sway a man

Such men who can
Bend and twist do exist
I have seen as much

Do I have the true words
That would undo that bending
Could I be that pen that
Breaks the hold of evil men
On my fellow man

I only wish for the words
But they do not find their way to my pen
I can only protest
I can only give everything
To save my nation
To save my people

Grey clouds cover the sky
Bearing hints and rumor
But offer no evidence of
Treachery or tragedy
Impaled by the stark contrast
Between the fearful cries of crows
And the better dispositions and grace
Of my own "oh-so-human after all" heart
I turn the engine on
Fight the tide
And decide to push further
Into this abysmal day
And the sunshine in my heart
Hope can sustain a man
When all reason and wit abandon

Argue the finer points
With a crow in the tree
Till you realize he kept you company
So pull the traction holding you and fly
Down the empty street full of thunder and noise you hide your head in
The thrill of your silent engine
As it carves a hole in your path
Sixty years two wheels meets pavement
And the game is afoot once again
The breeze in my hair
The sun on my face
My days are full of
Empty parking lot maneuvers
Full of life still clinging to
My old old bones
Charge the barricades
Rip away the rainwater deluge
And chase the streets
Deep into night
Full of silent sound and fury

Mornings window
Creased with the night's vestiges
Peer over glasses
At the gathering sunlight
As the day builds
Cars tumble by rough road
Occupants have all eyes but blurred faces
Pierce the shadow of my hunched form
My fingers fly the keyboard
Steady flow of human words
Fall without grace but speed
A homage to the missing man
Where am I in this place
Where was I on this date
Shutter mornings window
Too old to care

Train station three am
The morning runners slowly file by
Catch a hot one headed to
To labor in the canyons of industry
Between concrete and
Virtual world electronic

Train station three thirty-five am
The grass is wet
With intermittent rain
Quiet descends between trains
One by they gather at the edge
Of the track glancing for
Distant train lights approaching
Ebb and flow humanity
Among the decorative station
A silent statue gazes north

Train station four am
The man with the cart slowly
Rolls to parking lot edge
Selling hot coffee and confections
A man with sleep still clinging
To his disheveled form
The late runners catch the doors
As they shut

Train station microcosm
Of a world in motion