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4d · 150
Damn’t dog
r 4d
I saw the sun set
between my toes
and the moon rise
with just one eye
while my mutt Daisy
looked at me sideways
and sighed like maybe
she thinks I’m lazy
and I thought, ****’t
it’s a shame when a man’s
dog makes him feel bad.
Jun 11 · 117
r Jun 11
We burn the pillows of the sick
as if it’s some sort of magic
against death, lie in our own beds
we’ve made holding our breath
hoping for light to return
as darkness blankets the earth
tossing and turning in dread
dreaming only of pandemonium.
Jun 10 · 78
The dogwood’s bark
r Jun 10
I find it odd
that my old dog
and lifts her ears
when she hears
a pine cone fall
somewhere out there
on my neighbor’s
forty acres
but pays no mind
to the dogwood’s
bark in the quiet
of the night
out in my front yard.
Daisy is a strange old hound.
Jun 5 · 130
The smoke burns
r Jun 5
Remember when we burned
down the federal fences
and let a black family in
a white house built by slaves -

man, the fire was hot
and the smoke smelled like freedom -

but that was then, and here we are
not so much later, the rails are made
of iron like the fists of a dictator -

the smoke burns my eyes, man -
and now - I can’t breathe.
r May 25
Did you see them take the green fields
one by one, now line by line on hills in echelon?

Still, holding ground held holy by their sons;
no longer marching to the smoke and drum.

Where bugler called the day to final rest,
now silence grows like lichen on the stones.

For those who gave their all at our behest,
our memories alone will not atone.

Do you see the fires burning at a distance,
and more hallowed ground broken day by day?

Each new stone laid a fading reminiscence;
each new boquet soon fading into gray.

What better way to honor sacrifice
than to pause and speak their names aloud.

Until the gods of war are pacified;
until our flag no longer serves as shroud.
In memory of those who gave their all.
And again, lest we forget. 5/29/17
Memorial Day 5/28/2018
Remember to remember.  5/27/2019
May 23 · 434
As my shadow turns
r May 23
The day came
I watched my shadow walk away
It was his time to go
Time to find his own way
along the road
I don’t know if I should cry
or try to smile
I know he’ll make it on his own
now that my shadow’s grown
And I know that he’ll be fine
He’ll be alright and so will I
as my shadow turns to wave goodbye.
May 18 · 91
Slow road crossing dog
r May 18
Another night  of oarless
boats adrift in white caps
and slow rolling waves
we hold our breath
like the clouds hold the wind
trying not to breathe on the trees
and Death changes his tune
so the songs all sound the same
turning up the radio
in his black Coupe de Ville
spinning his wheels, showing off
those silver mud *****
and shiny swan on the hood
running red lights and stop signs
all around town, up to no good
circling the block one more time
looking for a slow road
crossing dog to run down
I swear, where are the cops
when you need one to stop
trouble dead in its tracks.
r May 4
to the news
is like dreaming
a bad dream
but I hear
it’s going to be
a banner year
for roses, lilies
and soybeans.
Apr 28 · 90
The depth
r Apr 28
I have dreamed
of escape
a way out, a forever
ladder stretching
to the clouds
steps counted aloud
along the planks
just off the prow
a pointed bow
towards starboard
before a final wave
to shore, a short
stretch the length
of a dock, the depth of
a drowned-out shout.
Apr 1 · 2.3k
Black Lilacs
r Apr 1
Black Lilacs
blooming -

a blossoming
of grief -

dark fallen pollen
on the breeze -

I can see it falling
all around me -

there on the wall
for us to see -

April will be
the cruelest of them all.
“ April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land...

I will show you fear in a handful of dust...

...And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls;...”

T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land, 1922.
Mar 21 · 294
r Mar 21
life seems
like a waking
and I’ve been
my days away
to a sundown
setting in
my window
and there’s
this feeling
in the air
so real, surreal
a real sundowner.
Stay well, poets.
Mar 13 · 397
Shipwreck of love
r Mar 13
There is a bluff
the shipwreck
of love, steeped
in dreams best
kept in sleep’s
fog, shattered
and abandoned
on the rocky
hard shallow
depths below.
r Mar 3
I could
if I thought
it would
do any good
~ lay my head
on the temple steps
~ like an addict
getting a fix
by a fire-station
~ but I know that
there’s no
for the soul
~ when it’s OD’d
and grown cold
and oh so old.
Feb 2 · 635
Kansas in her eyes
r Feb 2
Her eyes are every color
under the sun, and then some-

mostly flecks of golden
kansas wheat and earthy brown-

and when they are green
- i've seen mountains grow
and valley scenes below

-sometimes gray as if they know
winter is coming, slow

-but when they're blue, so blue-
water wells at the fate of the sioux,
and the broken bird's egg, a dog
with three legs, and a sky sky-blue

- mostly, she has kansas in her eyes.
Originally posted 9-28-2014.  I miss the hell out of you wherever you are, and love you more.
Jan 16 · 207
Nights roll slowly
r Jan 16
Some days pass by fast like a flash
of white, a young woman
crossing her legs on a park bench

while some nights roll slowly
like dark stockings a widow takes off
at the end of her mourning

but tonight is as black as *******
draped over the light by the bed

a silhouette of a lady in the glow
of a cigarette before morning.
Dec 2019 · 333
Chasing the ambulance blues
r Dec 2019
Sometimes I think
not often, but enough
that if I had a shrink
(s)he would say
Neil Young is the one
that ****** you up
son, I mean, he didn’t
mean to, but
looking back like I am
apt to do too often
his music I have listened
to through the decades
made me who I am
today and yesterday
taking me so many places
where the pavement
turns to sand, like
on the beach, or down
by the river, or somewhere
on a desert highway
where I tend to see the sky
about to rain most days
and the ambiance of
ambulance blues
is so ******* beautifully
depressing that even
I can diagnose me
just knowing that rust
never sleeps, and a heart
of gold remains elusive.

Apologies to N. Young. I do love his stuff. He’s still The Man.
Dec 2019 · 266
Tidal blues
r Dec 2019
There are waves
that say goodbye
and waves of light
on darkest nights
and waves that sing
melancholy songs
that make me want
to lay me down
beside the dunes
and listen to
those tidal blues.
Dec 2019 · 616
Shining a light
r Dec 2019
If you squint just right -
there’s a new star in the sky
tonight - shining bright
- shining a light on suicide.
My son’s best friend since middle school and  Best Man- to be- for my son’s wedding planned for next May took his life yesterday. He was 24 years old. No one saw it coming. Just before his death he posted a link on his FB page for donating to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

RIP, Tristan J.
Dec 2019 · 464
Can't rightly say
r Dec 2019
I can’t rightly say
what’s gone wrong
when I try writing
on these long nights
my words all suffocate
like lightning bugs
in a moonshiner’s jug.
Dec 2019 · 359
A wrinkle in time and me
r Dec 2019
I know you know
this universe is old
and life is but a wrinkle
in time and me, I’m
not yet a twinkle
in my long gone father’s eyes
compared to those blinking night
skies, but let me tell you
friends,  when the fog
rolls in off of Dead Woman Shoals
all damp and **** cold
as the nose on my black dog
when it calls out to the moon
its mouth a deep hole, dark
as doom, a howling for
a galaxy, a dying star born
to be swallowed
bones all ribbed and rowed
a wind chime clacking
on the back porch alone
when nary a breeze blows.
Oct 2019 · 321
Another kind of paradise
r Oct 2019
I can feel it in the air
tonight, a sadness
that’s better than love
dressed in the wind
ready to go anywhere
looking good in black
cold night of the flesh
a hunger for another
kind of paradise, there
are worse things to die for
on long nights like these.
Oct 2019 · 368
Thin minnow soup
r Oct 2019
My past is now
at my back
like the shadow
of a man
in a chain gang
picking up trash
I left in a ditch
bottles and empty
beer cans, cigarette
packs and such
stuff my supper
is made of, old bread
that tastes of regret
and thin minnow soup
my card carrying guardian
angel scoops up
from the River Styx
with a ladle made of screen
tied to two sticks
from my window
cell that I have named
the holey hell hole
so, this is all an allusion
to the 26 letters
of my self-
imposed sentence.
r Oct 2019
I ask you moon
what good does it do
losing sleep regretting
all of the stupid ****
you did, time wasted
when I could be listening
to the wind whispering
poems in my sleeping head
instead of thinking about
my own death, hell, I may
as well be writing my name
in the water, my prayers
to women knowing they
can never be read, any way
I go, I’ll go in peace because
these words, I know, will be
unknown, so let the waves
take away what they will
let the tide say that I tried
I lived, I loved, I swam
a long **** time; I tired.
Oct 2019 · 605
FIERCE, like fire
r Oct 2019
Her words will light a fire
underneath deniers, eye-to-
eye, take on the liars, I, too
have too long uttered silence
while our children quietly
despised us, we, even me
who knew, choked it down
the unclean smoke unspoken
yes, how dare we leave this life
behind for generations to bare
our crimes, and yet they rise
above to breathe fresh air
the clean O2 of burning desire
searing, shouting utter truth
to wake the world, to sing
and single out, to recognize
a lie when it is a lie, FIERCE
like fire, beautifully reactionary
aflame, to inflame, now is here
your time, rebel, my rebel child
fight for your very life, your future
children, species, for all mankind.
FIERCE, like Greta.
Sep 2019 · 341
Not just another dying day
r Sep 2019
Squinting lines instead
of the smiling kind
I watched the sunset
over the pines
as always, west
where my mind wanders
wondering why I left
an orange blazing
light lighting my deck
back aching
so **** tired
of this god forsaken
place wishing it was fire
not just another dying day.
Sep 2019 · 468
Wasted, spent
r Sep 2019
In so many words
it comes down to this
time wasted, spent
a million regrets
and not one red cent
of it worth a ****.
Sep 2019 · 361
The swirl around the pearl
r Sep 2019
at night
late, when I slide
off towards dreams
it seems
my thoughts
they often swirl
around a pearl
at heaven’s gate.
Sep 2019 · 132
A fissure, not a metaphor
r Sep 2019
a phantom
sea, adrift
on a wave
light years
away, awake
way past 4
in the dark shade
of her absence,
my loss, a fissure,
not a metaphor
for a fault,
just my heart
and all
its vagaries.
Sep 2019 · 355
You and not the rain
r Sep 2019
After the wind has finished
with her mischief, and night
black as a Crow caws the dawn
and as the ocean's cold hands
fold and unfold, tomorrow
will surely bring some sorrow
only time will tell, while I while
away the long hours listening
to the tapping on my windows
wishing again, just once again
that it was you and not the rain.
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