Pugnacious pundits having parties,
on the left and on the right.
Lowering sanity and lifting madness.
I hear countless words that all seem trite.
Too many fall into their trap.
In happy splendid ignorance,
Clowns perform, and we're all prat.
Such perfectly played incompetence.

Under, over, between, against, something
Needful things and quarks
Infinite infinity endlessly remaining
vacuous vacant and brimming.
Everything everywhere evolving eternally
recent past and the here and now
still reveals it's non existence.
Event horizon is nothing nowhere

Old scratch walks up and down in this world.
Not some misunderstood romantic tragic figure,
but the father of lies.

Old scratch stands behind the curtain
and raids the caravans loaded down with good intentions
He is the wicked warlord in the horn of Africa.

He is the self serving dictator with ridiculous hair
murdering his family in paranoid fits
while his people eat bark in hungry desperation.

He is dengue ebola, ecoli, the plague..
He is rage and landmines in the soccer fields
He is dysentery and influenza and krokodil.

Old scratch walks to in fro in this land
with infectious breath and violent laughter
He is the womb of grief and lost hope.

twenty thousand crying skeletons
with bloated bellies blinded by thirsty flies
each and every day old scratch ushers them
to the only relief they will ever find.
while another twenty thousand wait in line.

We give it a face, a voice, and a name.
I'm so glad we have old scratch to blame,
otherwise whose fault would all this madness be?

Someone tell me where we are

not all that close, not all that far

Marching feet and distant drums

but I can't see where they come from..

Baby Soldier with angry eyes

filling empty space with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

it's not your fault..........it's just your fate

Baby soldier

Slaughter in the market place

You heard their cries, you saw their face

How then can you sleep at night?

How dare you say, "everything alright"

Baby soldiers with empty eyes

empty minds refilled with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

while baby soldier licks the plate

Baby soldier

Dancing in a rain of fire

Just one more death for your empire

but baby soldier dies alone

his soul is gone his heart is stone

Baby soldier with empty eyes

filling empty space with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

It's not your fault It's just your fate

Baby soldier

Baby soldier lay it down

the crops won't grow in blood soaked ground

but baby soldier cannot hear

above the sound of hate and fear

baby soldier with angry eyes

feeding on their hate and fear

while fat old men get fat on lies


everyone dies that's why you're here

Baby soldier

Someone tell me where we are

not all that close not all that far.

Clio, you are part of me.
Euterpe, you are too.
Thalia, you lift me up
when I am feeling blue.
Melpomene, you are close to me
Terpsichore, you were my youth
Erato, touch me secretly
Polymnia, you are truth.
Ourania, comes to me at night
and my soul she does enthrall .
Calliope, I love you most,
but see you least of all.

Thank you for the golden bridge
upon which to retreat.
Thank you for the sacrilege
that makes me incomplete.

Make way for peace and better days;
find solace in the fact
that you can't ever change your ways;
or the judgement that you lacked.

Your chemical imbalance wreaks
havoc on your life's desire.
The familiar voice begins to speak
when the synapses commence to fire.

Let the madness muse ever be
the source of your inspiration
for your self indulgent poetry
and witty penned frustration.

In the cobwebbed corridors of thought,
or the murky depths of pain,
the answers you've forever sought,
questions they will er'r remain.

I strolled among lavendills
in the pithy piney plodding hills
bearing the brunt of burdensome *******
as I garnished  grins of whippoorwills.

On a plateau-ish plain  of prickly peet
I felt the bog beneath my feet
tickling my toes with ****** tainted thorns,
I remembered gnarling days, and stood forlorn.

Pickled poesy pomagroups
foretold of future ladle scoops
in caligrating loop the loops in styles
reminding me of marching troops.

In shifting shylock shapes of time
with ripping radishes of rhyme
I began my daring dew descent
to the lowly muppet mugging climes.

When, on sordid stony steppes I stood,
amid the brash and boorish wood,
wenting where I was, I brought
a hinting hackle pang of good.

Bittersweet love, how you warm me
thoughts of you, they cloud my mind
Although I know how much you harm me
I just can't leave your love behind.

When I wake up, alone without you,
I tremble like the aspen tree.
Why do I love so much about you,
while you are slowly killing me?

False courage for the coward.
Synthetic wisdom for the fool.
Staggering aimless..ever downward
Oh how I hate my love for you.

Bittersweet love, you've stolen from me
everything that I've held dear,
but to your arms I stumble blindly
to ease some loneliness or fear.

Sometimes I feel folks eyes upon me
judging me because of you,
but they don't know you're my one and only
and they don't love you like I do.

False courage for the coward
synthetic wisdom for the fool
stumbling aimless ever downward.
Oh how I hate my love for you

I think myself a decent fellow
a few bad choices, a few slips
but when my skin and eyes turn yellow
will I still press you to my lips

So plant for me, a row of barley
pour sugar and yeast upon my grave
and let your children see the folly
of what at last I do not crave.

False courage for the coward
synthetic wisdom for the fool
staggering aimless, ever downward
Oh how I hate my love for you.
Oh how I hate my love for you.

Dust dancing on rays of morning light;
she and I, and coffee flavored love.
The silence between the words was heavy
with an undertone of doubt.
Something she was hesitant to say
was fighting it's way from mind to mouth.
lovely lips parted to a broken sound
that became words- that became a eulogy
"I do not want a man who writes poetry"
she said, and sighed a long grasp for words
"I want a man who fights and sweats imported whiskey;
I want a man with diamond teeth and scars that tell a story.
I want a man who can juggle twelve running chainsaws
while riding on a unicycle."
Her wet and downcast eyes were blind,
and struggling with her troubled mind,
she did not see that I took the hint 5 minutes ago.
she didn't see that I had left;
because I am a man who writes poetry.

We know it's light
shining through the natural prism
of raindrops;
revealing the spectrum
of primary colors,
but why do you feel the need
to remind us
and spoil the moment?

We know it is
the sound of air filling
a complete vacuum created by intense heat
ten times hotter than the sun.
when negative charged electrons
are carried down by rain
and ice pellets
Why steal the glory?

In your mind prison
of cold gray logic
there is no magic
no color
no joy or inspiration.
Why won't you free yourself,
and enlarge your world?
Don't **** the wide eyed child
inside you.

The misty sprites in speckled shadows
dance among the ferns on the forest floor.
Hemlock and western red cedar giants
tower above the fungus jungle on the rotting leaves.
The sun alters the smell of rain,
and a light wind coaxes the wet from the branches.
I think as quietly as I can
because I am an intruder.

If I should die for my country,
and no one comes to place flowers on my grave,
would I make a sad poem?

Once a hairy neanderthal
whose name we shall call Grom
found a heavy piece of wood
and thought as hard as a caveman could
until at last he understood
to him the role of King belonged

He knew he couldn't hesitate
to split every fellow caveman's pate
till on their knees they would await
King Grom the greatest of the great

but then another primitive man
sat in his cozy lair
and thought in his primeval stew
how old Groms rule he could undo
so through the air a large stone flew
and parted old Grom's hair

It all started so long ago
with poor old primitive Grom
with time and thought there'd come a day
as sinners cursed and saints would pray
humanity could stand in awe and say,
"Behold the Atomic Bomb!"

My feelings are true
They are my life's blood spring
but irrelevant.

Couplets and quatrains
or free form self indulgence
It's my time to waste

Five- seven- five lines
stacked to challenge my ego
poor pedestrian.

Here I go again
my ink is not innocent
my soul is tainted

Why do we do it?
What is there to gain from this?
What is the **** point?

I undress my self,
and Adonis, I am not!
better look away

This is what it's like
to expose myself and dare
to pretend it's art.

Go ahead and dig your own grave
I'll be the first to shovel dirt in your face
If every lie you ever told
came true
Your devils, death, and nightmares
gas chambers and electric chairs
I'll just be glad that I'm not you.
your silver knife and that star you wear
You have your inverted cross to bare
you shouldn't play
with what you don't know
It's all healing and love
things below and things above
but you'll reap threefold what you sew
for the sacrilege that you have made
you'll trip and fall on your own blade
and throw away your chance to grow
with your , devils, death, and night mares,
gas chambers and electric chairs
In the mirror awaits your foe
So, go ahead and dig your own grave
with the profane sacrifice you gave
and all the wicked things you do
Wrong in each and every way
you missed the point
you've lost your way
Now you can't hear us calling you.

I went to the sea to heal my heart.
I found a balm
in the sighing waves,
the soothing salty air.

She's a fickle lover; It's often said
by sailors and ******,
and other lost souls
whose songs become the wailing wind.

The mad man has the saddest laugh;
maniacal and strange,
with tears in his eyes,
pleading for lost love's return.

I'll climb the rigging and heave the line
perhaps in time
I'll forget why I came,
and only curse the northerly wind.

Three points off the starboard bow
I see her walking
on the waves.
My heart still has far to go.

I've come to laugh that burnt tragic laugh
of men who stay
too long at sea
and now I've forgotten why I came.

I'm sorry everyone.  My dog was killed and I'm having a real hard time with it.  I didn't plan to just come drop a bunch of poems and leave.  I'm just a bit messed up for the time being.  Just about every ounce of love inside me went to my Molly every day.  Now I'm temporarily lost.

I call it bad poetry.
Sometimes it's just stacked lines.
Sometimes it's banal and trite.
I break the academic rules
and write songs to be sung by fools.
Maybe I don't suffer enough
to write about tragedy and love.
I call it bad poetry.
Maybe I'm out of touch.
There is such a thing as too much subtlety,
maybe not enough,
or maybe I impress myself too much.
Maybe I'm insecure and out to lunch
and, although I want the world to hear,
I try to beat the critic to the punch.
I call it bad poetry
manic rudimentary ramblings
of a man child with poetic constipation
and stuck in a quatrain rut.
This feeling is nagging
Is it a love song, or self indulgent bragging?
Set a rhyme up here and there.
words are words and there is plenty to spare.
Mind is racing-  feet are dragging
Just one more rhyme will get me there.
Then freestyle for a while
with that smug self satisfied smile,
and write some more bad poetry.

One two three four
Give us the blood we're lusting for.
five six seven eight
watch our fear turn into hate.

You tricked us!
You tricked us!

An injustice here,
a bogey man there,
smoke and mirrors are everywhere!

One two three four
the only answer now is war.
five six seven eight
we'll all be lost if we hesitate!

You tricked us. One two!
You tricked us.  Three four!

should have known all along
that this was all wrong,
the weak and the strong
should all belong

To what?
To what?
Lean on back and strut!

nine to the front
and six to the rear
Lean on back and strut.

One two three four
resources resources we want more!
five six seven eight
There's never too much on our plate!

Your left
Your right
Polarize em and watch em fight!

sound off!  One two!
Sound off! Three four!

You'll never guess what we have in store!
Lean on back and strut.

Ain't no sense in looking down,
globalization's coming round,
If we stay 8 billion strong
Resources won't last that long.

So there's enough to go around
let's bring this population down!

We'll make that riff raff disappear
all we need is hate and fear!

Sound off- One two
Sound off-  Three four
One two three four......

Lean on back and strut!

I'm having a creativity drought
there's nothing here but empty doubt
If I happen to pen a line or two
It probably won't make sense to you
The poetic thoughts that I have had
have all been really freaking bad!
...but I thought I'd drop by and let you know
that I haven't stopped;
I'm just going very very slow...

Seizing the sky to milk it's ink
calling aloud to a forbidden god
I try to fly but tend to sink
naive and broken in mediocre sod
Too many prisons have I fled
in tattered remnants of freedom lost
leaving the gold that laboriously bled
lustfully I lift the dross
astonished by my self made plight
through wastefulness and disregard
ever nearer comes the night.

Oh my sweet Anna pray for me

Don't want to **** my brother

There's smoke and mud

and rage and blood

One cannot see the other

Oh my sweet Anna pray for me

I cannot bear the sound

so thick the dead and the dying be

my feet won't touch the ground

My sweet Anna I must say

but for one drink of water

I'd sit on the sun at the break of day

and sleep with the devil's daughter

On Christmas day there was a snow

the musket ***** quit flying

and a joyous noise from American boys

drowned out the sound of dying

Oh Anna quick please send me news

Of you and all our children

give me strength to stay alive

as I walk amid the fallen

My hands were made to grip a plow

and sew the corn and barley

not for the madness I see now

not for this murderous folly

Sweet Anna should I make it home

should Heaven light the way

We'll stay in bed for a hundred years

give or take a day

I believe in love
I've known it
The pounding heart
the butterflies
the lack for breath
the heavy sighs
being alone in a crowded room
falling into her eyes
and drowning forever
Every sensation sacred
to touch her
to taste her
The sound of her breathing
Her voice
Her passion
her smell
The unique mysterious
smell of her body
Her ***
Oh the sight of her!
Breath taking beauty
awesome splendor
Her image imprinted
branded blazoned on the canvass
of my soul
with colors and hues impossible
to recreate or simulate
outside the eyes of my mind

Tragically though
the depth and intensity
of a love that is found
is exponentially
dwarfed by the grief
of a love that is lost
the weeping mourning insanity
of a broken heart
I knew love
I knew heart break
I lost myself
in my yearning for death
I became
a cowardly drunken dog
skulking in the streets
drinking from the gutter
running from everyone
and everything
Licking my infected wounds
choking on the poison discharge
of bitterness and remorse

I know love
Whether by laughter and joy
or with tears of sorrow
Terrible wicked sweet
Mother of songs!
I would gladly endure
one year of your hell
for one hour of your heaven
I lay my torch
at the tomb of our love

Welcome
find within
a carnival of sin
a festival of pain
and a dusty fifth of gin
Watch your step
there is a cleft
of hard knock rocks
and shocks to your left
Hold on
we should wait
and contemplate
the muses fate
cover the children's eyes
as the shadows rise
to thank the night
It's getting late
and the gracious darkness
spares our eyes
from further sight

I've been in touch with the earth
from eight to eighteen
I've tasted the the dirt
Oh, the abrasions I've seen!

I've been one with the pavement
I've been one with the pain
I've contemplated the  gravel
when I jumped from a train

I once communed with an animal
then communed with the ground
When my equestrian skills
were not to be found.

When I channeled the energy
of a poorly taped line
of an aerator machine,
I expanded my mind.

The lessons in life
can be deep and profound,
and, for a blue collar sage
the lessons abound.

four sweet smiling babies on the front page of the paper;
four sweet little lives that are no more.
My throat is tight My hands are clenched My heart is broken.
My eyes flood as my knees hit the floor.
How in the hell could there even be an explanation?
Could the white dope really bring a man so low?
the pretty lady on the TV says it's a complicated situation
and a bunch of other crap that I don't want to know.
Held in the arms they loved and trusted;
Thrown some eighty feet into the bay.
I'm bitter, disillusioned, and disgusted;
and I'm not the only one who feels that way.

My God it's so **** hard to keep believing.
Is this the way you really meant for it to be?
It's getting dark - a half an hour past grieving-
Lets have a heart to heart, just you and me.
I've found this ******* book of contradictions;
Though I like what the red letters have to say.
I hope I have the strength of my convictions,
but what the hell is free will anyway?

It's easy now to believe in the devil.
It's good to have some where to put the blame,
but I can't keep from thinking we're the trouble;
If we don't own up, How can we ever change?
I want to know if you're tight with the preacher
Who tells us about peace and love and hell?
Have you got some connection with the teacher
who teaches us just how to hate and ****?

This here geopolitical situation
is a little more than greedy cold and hard.
What's all this talk about hell and damnation?
There's plenty of that right here in my back yard;
where four sweet smiling babies are on the front page of the paper
three so far have washed up on the shore.
I guess there must be hell fire and damnation
Cause there just has to be a heaven for those four.

light shadow cosmic wanderer
tooth pick broken rainbow mirror
barefoot bard with teaks of Chan
given taken held up here
Maddening glazed and galvanized dreams
make for worthless surreal windows
classic hot rod metal screams
like broken swallows when the wind blows
Young and brave treacherous poisoned blood
leaning up against tenements on ***** sidewalks
chop and snort it on the porcelain
leave the toddler to his blocks
The mirror is hell bent on reflection
the gravy train has left the station
mindless maps without direction
in any given situation
and then the neurotic poet fights
against all odds the blue dressed gang
back pack stashed in plastic nights
the poet goes out with a bang
forget ignore each word he said
blue beard gumdrop reward awaits
on the barren graffiti rocks he's dead
in one of the south central states

I heard the bad news Monday morning

Everybody's saying,"Wow, what a drag."

Seems the skin heads had some point to prove

Now little Davey's dead in his sleeping bag

so I found myself a spot with green grass

somewhere way on down in the United States

Had a jug of wine, I had some time to pass

I picked up my guitar and I began to play

For the lovers on the on ramp

and the old men in the park

for the bad side of the city

the little fishes and the sharks

and those who give so much to life

and those that take away

and those who work so hard to get by

while Davey..................

Davey found the time to play.

We'd see little Davey up on the corner

playing like he didn't have a choice

we never thought that he'd go anywhere

He couldn't play guitar, he didn't have a voice

but we'd hang out and listen to him anyway

there was something bout his style

You know it wasn't so much the way he played

I think it was the way he smiled

while he sang

about the lovers on the the on ramp

and the old men in the park

about the bad side of the city

the little fishes and the sharks

Those who give so much to life

and those who take away

and those who work so hard to get by

while Davey.....................

Davey had the time to play.

We heard the bad news Monday morning

everybody's saying, "Wow, what a drag."

Seems the skin heads had a point to prove

Now little Davey's dead in his sleeping bag...........

What is this?
You're a demon
disguised as Melpomene
You can't fool me
I've been around the block,
and I write about it.
I need no help
from the likes of you.

You want rhyme?
You want rhythm?
You want structure?
Do these things not exist in Hades?
Don't send me to the Goth O matic.

I'd rather write a stinker,
than to indulge your darkness.
I know the difference
between Melpomene and you.
Off you go now.

Elusive thoughts
picture word calligraphy
exhibitionist

human absorbing
sight sound senses and minds eye
celebrate and grieve

source of frustration
shameless timeless love for it
blessing of the ******

I'm very sorry
I'm not impressed much either
sacrilege of words

It finishes here
will be forgotten shortly
I'll wash my hands now

Well I wouldn't want nobody'

to be standing in my shoes

Good Lord I love a woman

with a love that's bound to lose

Ya know she makes me feel so good

Oh she makes me feel so fine

There's just one little problem though

This woman isn't mine

Lord I think it ain't her fault

and I hope it's not mine

But good Lord either way it goes

it'll happen sometime

something bound to happen sometime.

on a dead end road

Sometimes I wonder if it's love

that makes us take the chances that we do

Sometimes I pray "Good Lord above

won't ya make her say she's through."

but when she goes on down with me

Oh I tell ya it's the living end

I throw my clothes on the floor

I kick the dog out the door

I throw my guilty conscience to the wind

Lord I pray it ain't her fault

and I hope it ain't mine

but Good Lord either way it goes

It'll happen sometime

somethings bound to happen sometime

on a dead end road

Oh I can't help but worry some

when she's lying in my bed

When the old man come busting through the door

and put a bullet in my head

I know my common sense and values

more than a little out of place

I tell myself when that day comes

I'm gonna die with a smile on my face

Lord I pray it ain't her fault

and I hope it ain't mine

but Good Lord, either way it goes

it'll happen sometime'

somethings bound to happen sometime

on a dead end road

The universe loves you
or it wouldn't have used your eyes
to see itself,

Determination strides
chest out
stomach in.
The objective is in sight.
Obstacles
on notice.
Impervious to doubt
or timid
reservation.
Resolve Resolve
intestinal
fortitude
Chin to the bar.
Rock on.
Now get some sleep!

Strawberry blond

cats' eyes and freckled *******

a voice of spiders web and silk

In my secret place

the love I've made to you transcends

the fact I never have

or ever will

taste the nectar of your flower

or baste in your sweet sweat,

and warmth

If you could take

the part of me that belongs to you

and hold it in your hand

You would know

I loved you before I saw you

and I love you now

the way water loves stone

It started with a passing thought,
and soon became a word,
and then a series of words
that led to action,
and then a series of actions,
that let to an event,
and then a series of events,
that led to a situation,
and then a series or situations,
that led to life,
and then a series of lives,
that led to history
and now it's too late.
Sorry.
That's just the way
it is.

Sight, the colored canvas's in my mind
the sun the sea the land beneath
every thing upon which you've shined
your revealing light becomes belief

touch, the silent message born of love
another gift from life to life
to know the softness of the skin
to know the sharpness of the knife

Sound,  the music of reality
the beating universal drum
Life's continuing harsh symphony
It's never ceasing gentle hum

taste, the message from the tongue to brain
the bitter warning not to eat
both pleasure or a type of pain
the polarity of sour sweet

Smell, the priceless talent of the nose
giving flavor to the air
wherewith we appreciate the rose
and separate the foul and fair

If we as all humanity
were simply accidents of time
what use would all these treasures be
to know both wretched and sublime

Gloomy Wednesday here;
all aches and feeling my age.
It is my rain song

Perhaps I should call.
It has been a little time
between then and now.

My mind is blank here
all syllables and structure
keep eluding me.

The wet lands smiling
the green recovers quickly
from yesterday's frost.

Discuss the weather?
See how I am sunk so low?
Good thing there's no *****.

The ink in my pen is just flowing away
spilling emotions all over some page
emotions' gonna lead me to an early grave
All I get is a song
just a sound full of feeling

but, writing down feelings and the sounds they go to
is one of the only things I know how to do
the other is knowing just how to miss you
and die deep down inside
and slowly lose my pride

But some were born to be dreamers
and some were born to succeed
many were born to follow
and a few were born to lead
But, we all have this much in common
in that we all need to belong
the minstrel was born just to feel it all
and turn to a song
just a sound full of feeling
Six verses later, I'm feeling the same
though I let off the pressure on a page full of pain
So much to lose, So little to gain
but it's a hell of a price to pay
when it comes along this way

oh, but, some were meant to be dreamers
and some were born to succeed
Many were born to follow
a few were born to lead
but we all have this much in common
in that we all want to belong
The minstrel was born just to feel it all
and turn it to a song
just a sound full of feeling

the ink in my pen is just pouring away
spilling emotions all over some page
emotion's gonna lead me to an early grave
and all I get is a song

Hectic hearts hunt alliteration.
Understanding fear and frustration.
Many a muse will come and go
before you reach your destination.
Live your life and love your lessons
in time you'll have the muse's blessings.
Never say more than you know
Go forth and make your mute confession.

The minstrel picks up his papers

and lays them out on the table

he wants to find all the answers

but he knows he's not able

But he knows we can stand a million strong

or you can stand there all alone

It's not so much what we stand for anymore

It's what we're standing on.

Sometimes his good friends they avoid him

because they've heard it for so long

seems like every time they turn around

He's workin on another song or trying to right another wrong

But he knows we can stand one million strong

or you can stand there all alone

It's not so much what you stand for any more

it's what you're standing on it's what you're standing on

The minstrel sings about his heroes

from Jesus Christ to Dr King

He hears the war drums getting nearer

If every loving soul would sing

We could sing away the hatred

we could sing away the fear

If we could all sing loud enough

even the fool on the hill could hear

And he'd know we can stand six million strong

while he stands there all alone

It's not so much what he stands for any more

It's what he's standing on It's what we're standing on

The minstrel picks up his papers

and lays em out on the table

He wants to find all the answers

He knows **** well he's not able

I looked upon the shelves and sought
what overrated writers wrought
philosophers and hitchhikers
their name gives their poems clout

You who suffer for your art
like lovers have been torn apart
paper gives immortality
Is that what it's about?

hundreds of rejections fly
into the trash bin bye and bye
criminals and kings they are
the victims of self doubt

Our vision and our hearts incline
to air our laundry line by line
will we one day sit upon the shelf
immortalized within without?

There are new flowers in the garden
fresh from the black earth
where last years have gone
Don't ever let your soft hearts harden
The darkest night holds the promise of dawn
The show must go on
it's an unending song

winter springs herself to summer
then summer falls into winters arms
and all the green he's taken from her
he will return when he grows warm
there's no cause for alarm
they bring each other no harm

Dry your eyes
pick up your shovel
plant love and memories in the ground
feed the earth, and till the soil
and gently lay your sorrow down

Look with love upon your children
thank God for each and every day
be kind and true, and always willing
to help each soul along the way
to hear each word they have to say
and dance to the music that they play

There are new flowers in the garden
fresh from the black earth
and warmed by the sun
don't ever let your soft hearts harden
leave plenty room for everyone
perhaps a little more for some
Let life's will be done

Dry your eyes
pick up your shovel
lay love and memories in the ground
feed the earth and plow the soil
then gently lay your sorrow down

A real friend is hard to find
someone who will speak their mind
concerning all your good points and your faults
I've known some pain when I couldn't tell
a real friend who meant me well
from someone who really wasn't a friend at all

but then a special someone came along
who took my heart and made it strong
and saw into the center of my eyes
Even though she could see
my childish need for sympathy
You were my Angel when I needed one
and I needed one

I'm not afraid to be weak in front of you
I don't have to explain the things I do
I can't describe the joy that your love brings
and there's no understudy waiting in the wings

You love me right straight in the eyes
So now it comes as no surprise
that I' have come to feel the way I do
and even when you can see
some cracks in my integrity
you're love remains honest kind and true

So here I am and there you are
my angel and my shining star
There's no where that we can't go from here
Even though you can see
the little boy inside of me
You were my Angel when I needed one
and I needed one

Still wet behind the ears

still playing the fool

For God sakes you better wake yourself up

and for a change do something cool

You can do it for money

You can do it for love

for your brothers and your sisters

and the good Lord above

I'm learnin the hard way

don't ask me why

If you don't do a little livin while you're livin

You might as well lay right down and die

lay right down and die

sometimes it seems so silly

I don't know where to begin

what difference does it make

what kind a dirt you're lyin in

You make your money, you play your games

but when you deal your last card

don't it all turn out the same

I'm learnin the hard way

Don't ask me why

If you don't do a little livin while you're livin

You might as well lay right down and die

lay right down and die

So much thought, and way too **** fast.
Frustration ebbs and flows like the tide.
It's never over, but it never lasts.
I try my best to enjoy the ride.

Give it all you've got my boy 'o!
Keep your nose to the old grind stone.
Pull up the shades! Let in the light!
Don't talk so loud. Shut the hell up!

What are you doing with that shadow?
Don't sweat it. You're still here.
We just can't see you when your eyes are closed.
Another day ends.  The night draws near.

Leathers ladies and insanity

that's all that old fool needs

ride to hell and **** the smell

living by his own creed

Your brothers belly's are full of beer

their hearts are full of pride and power

flirting with death and crystal ****

and toking on that wild wood flower

but he ain't no different bro's

He justa whole lot further down the line

Just thought I'd call to let you know

He'll be coming in late tonight

Pool ***** are crackin

and the beer is guzzled down

a couple more lines of whatever that was

and he just gonna hang around

Don't know where he's going now

and frankly he don't care

some other dimly lit smoky bar

probably waitin for him there

but he ain't no different bro's

He justa whole lot further down the line

He said to call to let you know

He'd be comin in late tonight

A diesel rig kinda ******* the chrome

so ya lay that mother down

justa couple miles from home

but you're gone before ya hit the ground

Don't where you're goin now

but you can bet your bottom buck

all us earth bound bro's down here

We'll hoist a few and wish ya luck

but you ain't no different now

you're just a whole lot further down the line

I guess I'll call to let em know

You won't make it in tonight,

so tell the operator, reverse the charges

cause the call's on us tonight,

I gotta call to let em know

You won't make it in this time.

So leathers ladies and insanity

is all that old fool needs

ride to hell and **** the smell

he gonna live by his own creed

Once the North wind made love with the sea
and a tiny little wave soon came to be
Father Wind would guide him as he grew
His Mother was the sea he traveled through
and as they brought him closer to the shore
each day he would grow a little more
and safe within the arms of Mother Sea
He imagined just how big he'd grow to be
The handsome foam that formed upon his crest
was among his mothers gifts that he loved best
and the harder that his Father Wind would blow
the larger and the stronger he would grow
One day a fearsome sound came to his ear
an awful sound that filled his heart with fear
he feared something he couldn't understand
when he saw the other waves crash on the sand
He wept as he drew closer to the shore
for it seemed to him he soon would be no more
He cried and cried, "Alas! Oh woe is me."
with mortal fear of what was soon to be
When his Father and his Mother heard him cry
they told their weeping wave,, "You will not die."
"There is a gift you must deliver to the sand
then simply return to our love where you began
You'll sleep a while with Mother Sea, and then
Father Wind will guide you once again

Illusive muse
Where did you go
How long must I linger this time
Cruel sweet Mother of Songs
The wide eyed child poet waits
somewhere in a closet
behind the skeletons
behind the guilt
where confidence was spiders silk
and glistened with geometric truth
The muses danced around me
holding candles
they were dressed in primary colors
they moved the pen
again and again and opened doors of ink
One by one they moved on
each waving goodbye as she danced away
Now I grasp at abstract straws
I milk the thick and drying sap
from strained memories

What was once a labor of love
now struggles to be a love of labor
I stare blank into a starving white sea

The pretense of circular reasoning paints the eyes
a misty shade of dull.
Eyes that view, from the dragon perch
of a counterclockwise carousel,
imagined scenery with a sprinkling of dreams.

A Gothic vision of crashing waves
against the grayish cliffs
that rise to a foggy grass clad plain
where sits the emblematic gabled home
with ****** in the windows.

The calliope moans a dragging tune
to match it's steady spin.
the sound of wind through tarnished brass
archaic and unsettling, a broken drag
of whiny sounding notes in a symphony of impotence.

You seem to look and dress the part
of the person you portray;
feigning superficiality for acceptance in the world
I, myself, am not for a second fooled.
You are the very essence of substance and depth

The carousel comes to a gradual halt
a hesitant dismount;
back to your prison of practicality and need;
visions pass from ominous to pastoral tranquility
The eccentric dragon of blue and gold awaits your return.

Exquisite sorrow
taste it
I did
bring forth the holy grail of grief
bend and bow the muse to me
to sing of lost loves entropy
let's drink a toast together
from this bitter sacred cup
Exquisite sorrow
the finest vintage
Please don't spill
Don't make me lick it up.
taste it
I did