"I never felt as free

that summer
5 friends drinking beer
at the lake by the railroad tracks...

...the leaves were frozen on the trees.
the snow covered road
and a Robbin above
and the hawk dropped from nowhere
and the robbin fell into the snow, dead...

another puff and i go
deeper into dream.

"she was almost pretty.
the right touch of almost pretty."

sadness walks into the room.
I'm talking to the walls.

"summer and we held hands.
the moon lit the path
down to the river

and the days uncounted
and i had walked the high wire without a net.

all I ask is don't tell anyone
I know her,

eyes as black as coal
and with her heart of stone
she bites to the bone

but her sad eyes had looked so pretty to me and

all I ask...is

love."

and sadness tells me,
but most times it s just the luck of the draw.

"and when she smiled,
that crooked little smile...

please, don't tell anyone
I knew her.

sadness grins,
walks around the room.

"I was never as free...


...she was almost pretty.
the kind of almost pretty
you fall in love with.

please, don't tell her i love her."


standing in the corner
looking into the mirror
sadness says,
"it was just a bad dream."


author's note:

(...I just loved
the way  "gargoyles and  ***** dreams" sounded... gargoyles
does not have anything to do with the poem, but what the heck)


"or does it," smiles sadness, "seems like old times,"  
and sadness winks at me.

You Got lost in
the deep end of life;
far from the
safe shallows.
Elf-like grin,
leftover from
childhood.

I couldn’t
save you.
9 months of
milky memories and
shipwrecks to
the soul.
Your grief killed
you as much as
the ***** did.
I hope you’re now
resting
safely on the shore.

Handing out smiles
weak after week
See the bitter in the sweet

The agiest lie about their youth
When falling asleep
they slip , tell the truth

Keeping your wits
at sticks end
When the walls wail
you learn to bend

They paved the path inside your brain
with asphalt , potholes and sewer drains

But you scraped down below their truth
Investigated it like a common sleuth

Discovering the real way
you turned off the sound to what they say

The writing on the wall is not graffiti.
It was not put there by rebel hands.
It’s written in an obscure language
Few will take the time to learn
And even fewer heed its warning.

The writing lists the reasons
For the coming of the Horsemen.
The steeds that carry avenging riders
Wearing mantles made of
Fire and flood, earthquake and war.

The writing on the wall is flaming
With incendiary anger at the people
Who will not read what’s written there,
Having armed themselves in black chain mail
Forged from avarice and greed.

They shed no thought for fellow man
Or for the world that holds them all.
They lust for power that money brings
And dollars are the only God they worship.
They’ll never read what’s written on the wall.

There is a whinny on the rising breeze
That carries smoke from nearby fires,
And subtle poundings on the ground
Foretell the coming of the herd with
Flaming brands that match the wall
ljm

Not allowed to be part of her life
Only a casual bystander
Feeding on the crumbs of her
Tossed to me by others
ljm

The truth
lies
in the mouth
of a politician

Patience my son
Rome wasn't
destroyed
in one day