I still reach for you
in the dark, dreaming
you'll be there.

When I close my eyes
I still feel your touch,
still taste your kisses.

I still look for you
every time
I walk in the door

All the tears with you
were never like
these tears without you.

I still see you
sitting with me
in every coffee shop,
every restaurant,
every movie,
every drive
along the coast.
And I still reach
for your hand.

I still open doors
to let you in,
like you’re still there.

Still tell the waiter
table for two,
still order
two glasses of wine,
I still
buy two coffees,
buy two donuts,
buy two
ice cream cones.

All the tears with you
were never like
these tears without you.

All the years with you
we’re not enough
All the days without you
are still too much.

I still reach for you.
Reach for your hand.

I still reach for you.

I always knew,
if I looked hard enough,
that you would find me.
One night,
you’d see me standing
on the platform, waiting
for the train.
And waiting
for you to find me..

I always knew
if I looked hard enough,
that you would find me.
One morning,
you’d be standing
In the coffee line, waiting
for your morning latte.
And I’d be there waiting
for you to find me..

I always knew
if I looked hard enough,
that you would find me.
One day
You’d bump into me,
on some city street,
or hotel lobby
or concert ticket line.

I have always known,
always believed,
that you were looking too,
and you would find me.
One morning, one day, one night.
you would find me,
waiting on a train or
in a coffee shop, or
on a city street,
waiting, praying,
for you to
take my hand and
find me, waiting.

You will smile,
ask my name,
and I will  know
that I am no longer waiting
for you to find me.

Otherwise there’d be no reason
for me to be

still standing here,

still waiting,

for you to find me.

Tonight the Black Ink River flowed
like coffee from an old cold cup
poured slowly down the drain.

I woke up screaming,
knowing you were gone,
running down the hall
calling your name.

I poured words on paper,
songs I should have done
and sung
just for you

I poured words on paper,
letters I should have written
and sent
just to you.

And the Black Ink River flowed
like coffee from an old cold cup
poured slowly down the drain.

I poured words on paper.
Lists of everything
I didn’t do
just for you
Everything I didn’t say
just to you

I poured more words on paper,
all the words I’d say
if I could,
just to you,
if you were here.

I poured more coffee,
poured more tears,
poured more words on paper

And the Black Ink River flowed
like coffee from an old cold cup
poured slowly down the drain.

I poured words on paper,
songs I should have sung
letters I should have written
things I should have done,
things I’d say, if you were here.

I poured more coffee,

poured more tears,

poured more words on paper.

And the Black Ink River flowed.

We are the homeless,
that’s what you call us,
our name is just Homeless,
not John or Jane, or even people.

We are the homeless,
that faceless blob in tent cities,
under bridges, on park benches,
in doorways, and the woods.

We are the homeless,
the ones without TV
to hear the lies about
for everyone and unity.

We don’t vote and
we don’t donate.
We don’t burn and riot.
So our voices are never heard.

We are the homeless,
that’s what you call us,
our name is just Homeless,
not John or Jane, or even people.

We are the homeless,
People, not just homeless
H  
P  
M  
2
Homeless People Matter Too.

We are the homeless,
that faceless blob in tent cities,
under bridges, on park benches,
in doorways, and the woods.

We are the homeless,
People, not just homeless
H  
P  
M  
2
Homeless People Matter Too.

I’ve never been
much of a dancer –
my feet were clay,
made for running away.
But if I was gonna
learn to dance
with someone, with anyone,
I should have learned
to dance with you.

I should have put on music,
soft and low,
held you close,
danced every night,
spun you around
the heart’s dance floor,
instead of running
out the door,
leaving you dancing alone.

I should have played
“Have I Told You Lately”
on perpetual repeat,
singing “that I love you”
softly in your ear,
holding you so close and tight
you didn’t care
I couldn’t dance.

I was never good
at holding on,
dancing
‘til the band plays
the last slow song.
It’s never been
what I do.
But I should have
danced with you.

I should have danced
forever
with you.

My wife always says
I never express my feelings.

So I started telling her
I feel hungry.
I feel thirsty.

When I said
I feel *****,
she just said
OK, enough.
Stop.

Sometimes,
you just can’t
please a woman.

One morning
the day will start without me.
The sun will rise, and the birds will sing.
The winds will blow, and the clouds will flow
through the day without me.

And one day
the night will start without me.
The sun will set, and the stars will shine.
The moon will pass across the sky
through the night without me.

It won’t be the end,
there will be another day,
more time to remember.
Life isn’t about this moment,
this day,
but all the moments and
days with you
that led to this last one.

And that day
I hope you know
how lucky I was that
the sun and birds
and wind and clouds,
the night and moon
and stars and God
shared you with me.

One night,
when the house is still,
you will reach for me in bed,
finding only quiet memories
of so many nights holding each other.
Smile and just remember
how much I loved you.

And that night
I hope you know
how lucky I was that
you loved me too.

The Silence
of a 3 AM walk alone,
and
The Silence
of blinking stars
and
The Silence
of a missing heartbeat

are not as quiet
as
The Silence
of nothing left to say
after goodbye.

She called and said,
Can I come and see you?
I need someone to talk to,
and you’re my only one
when I need like this.

Read me those poems again, she said,
the ones you wrote not long ago
about the guy who loved someone,
so much but never told her
how much he really cared.

Read me those poems again, she said,
about how she never knew
he dreamed of her,
imagined her touch,
and kisses from her soft lips.

Read me those poems again, she said,
make me believe there’s someone
somewhere out there, like that,
thinking about me.
A man who wants to love just me.

Reads me those poems again, she said.
about someone who loves like that.

I can’t believe, I said –
I can’t believe you never knew
these poems are all about you.

They’re all about you.

Somebody has to be
the last goodbye,
the last goodbye kiss.
The last time someone leaves,
the last time someone never comes back.

Someone has to be the one
that turns and walks away,
maybe looking back
that final time, before
looking forever away

Someone has to be
the last taillights disappearing
into the night

Someone has to be that last, last one,
before that finally forever last one
kisses you forever.

I won’t care
if you
take my hand
and dance like you and me
were meant to be.

I won’t complain
if you
drive me crazy,
your hands and fingers
waltzing on my skin.

I won’t mind
if you
take me home, and
hold me in the dark.

I won’t mind
if you
whisper in my ear
tell me I’m the one.

No, I won’t complain
if you
dance like we were meant to be,
drive me crazy with your touch,
hold me in the dark,
tell me I’m the one.

And I will cry
someday somewhere
down on my knee,
if you just
say yes to me.

An old man is chasing me –
I look over my shoulder
and see him getting closer.

But the sun is still shining,
And I am still running
away from the old man.

The night darkness is near,
The roads are harder to see.
I hear him gaining on me.

An old man is chasing me –
I look in my mirror
and see him looking at me.

The Old is winning –
Old always wins.
But I am fighting hard.

Once in a while, I forget
to keep control of me, and
I let me be unsupervised.
And then I realize
how many blank pages
there are in my life,
on which I have
not allowed myself to write.

Sometimes I need to be alone,
to close out the world
and just be alone.
I don’t want you to be
a helping hand – I want you to be
a friend that leaves me alone, and
let’s me get through whatever on my own.

Sometimes, really, I just need to be alone.

We were fast cars, back road racing,
kids with no missions
except the next good time
around the next curve or corner,
hell-bent angels,
flying with wings on fire.

We were a small town road show,
fast friends sharing life at 3-digit speeds,
and that wild man wild times bullet-proof
young man kind of living,
hell-bent angels,
just flying with wings on fire.

Eating life like a buffet
of crazy endless days
and never-ending roads,
daredevils laughing at it all,
hell-bent angels,
just flying with wings on fire.

And then one day we watched
as they put out your fire
and folded your wings,
heaven-bound angel,
too young to be
flying here no more.

Too young to be
flying on earth no more.

Without you I’d just be a falling star
with no tail lighting the sky,
a tiny dot in black heavens

Without you I’d be a southbound train
with no smokestack trail
rising in the sky behind me


Without you I’d have no music,
be still-dancing all alone
to no favorite song.

Without you I’d have no rememberies
filling cracks and crevices in my mind
and holes in my heart.

Without you, I’d be no me.

Once upon a time
I used to be me.  
I knew what I could do,
and what I wanted to be.

No one asked if I had dreams
so I began to think I shouldn’t,
and the life I wanted to have
began to look like one I couldn’t.

So I began that grow-up trip,
cutting away pieces of me,
a little at a time, so slowly
I never even noticed.

Every day, another piece
discarded in the far-back mind,
replaced with the new pieces
everyone said I had to find

And then one day, suddenly
I’ve passed through the grow-up route
and now I am this collection of pieces.
I don’t give a **** about.

But I can still remember,
once upon a time,
when I used to be me.

Lying here, in the sand,
under unseen stars
blanked by rain clouds,
amidst seaweed and sand *****,
and broken shells.

I am a piece of driftwood
tossed on the shore
by waves of a world
that cares not where I land,
or whether or not
I float back out to sea.

Sometimes we need to just let go -
We can’t forever be the man
hoping on the end of a rope
dangling over the river.

There is a need to let go –
people, memories, things.
Drop into the river.
Life doesn’t just stop.

There is only
Hello
    then
In Between
    and then
Goodbye

Another one in 2 rows
marches to the drumstick click.
2 rows of 3
carry one more soldier home.

A mother cries, maybe a wife,
listen to the drumstick click,
2 rows of 3
carry one more soldier home.

The young are pawns
and pay the price
of leaders in chambers
safely at home.

And so another, and another,
marches to the drumstick click.
2 rows of 3
carry one more soldier home.

One day an old and worn-out train
   will come along and call my name,
   and I will know to climb inside.

   There will be no need to run.
   I’ll have no shadow in the sun
   and know there is no need to hide.

   And then the man I tried to be
   will look out the glass and see
   fields of dreams and a cloudless sky.

   And I will have no fears or tears
   and will not pray for one more day.

   The train runs swiftly on silent tracks
   and my yesterdays will be flash backs,
   thousands in the blink of an eye.

   Wave to me, and do not cry
   as the whistle blows and I pass by
   on one last ride to see the sea.

   And then the man I tried to be
   will look out across that sea,
   and see horizons of goodbye.

   And I will have no fears or tears
   and will not pray for one more day.

I’ll walk down to the park
to The Glow In The Dark
Bar and Sidewalk Café,
to my space
away from you place.

I’ll think about
what we were
when we were
better than
what we are now,
and drink to try and understand
why we now are not.

I’ll look around at the
concrete skies and neon stars,
and I’ll get drunk enough
to let go of my dreams
again, for one more night.

I tried my damnedest but
I’m just not the one to stay.
I’m not the one to settle down
I’ll always be the one that got away.

I’ve got a heart on wheels,
packed and ready for flight,
running shoes by my bed
and car keys by the light.

There have been a few
who tried to hold me still.
But everyone who tries can see
I’m being held against my will.

No scuffs on my boot toes
from dragging on too long,
no tears running down my face
from loving’ you country songs.

I’ve got a heart on wheels,
packed and ready for flight,
running shoes by my bed
and car keys by the light.

The doctors tell me that
the headaches will get stronger
and the back and legs will not,
until I cannot stand or sit or walk.

I came back home,
but not to live a lie.
And everyone soon will know
I’m only here for a long goodbye.

I can’t tell my friends and parents’ yet,
I wish I could tell them all.
But I don’t want grieving
before grief becomes real.

Most of all, there’s one
who deserved the truth
I couldn’t give her.
A real goodbye, and not a lie

I wish I could have told her
why I just walked away.
Angry and broken-hearted
is less than she deserved.

But I do not have the time
to love her anymore
I only had the time
to help her unlove me.

And I can bear the thought
of dying alone, more than
watching the pain in her eyes,
watching me go.

Knowing she will heal from
a broken heart and life for her
will go on much sooner,
and that she did deserve.

I fight with them every night,
in dreams before the morning light.
And they follow me every day,
treacherously blocking my way.

Today, I’ve summed up the manliness
to face those attacking my fortress.
These demons and dragons need to see
they can no longer intimidate me.

I yelled and fought and beat the ground.
And when I looked I finally found
no demons and dragons after all.
Just me and a mirror on the wall.

A black man and
A blond man and
A brown man
all sat down to dinner.
And no one noticed.
Isn’t that the way
it’s meant to be?

Why can’t we be
Black or
Blond or
Brown,
with no meaning,
after all.

Why can’t colors
just be colors?
Why do we
make it more
than a red stop sign
or golden arches?

In six days, God created
earth and man,
and on the seventh day
He rested.

But on the eighth
He realized
His work was incomplete,
and He created
chocolate cake.

We all dream of
winning the lottery.
But if I did, I know
I’d still be me

Me in my Ferrari
Me in my Lear jet
Me on my Benetti yacht
Me with my Picasso
Me wearing my Rolex
Me on the beach –
     on my private island
Just me, still being me.

Your marriage will undoubtedly
and most assuredly fail
if you treat her
like she treats you.

You cannot criticize
the clothes she wears
the friends she chooses
the way she drives

You can’t complain
about her snoring
or tell her that
her family’s boring.

You can’t tell her she’s
had too much to drink
can’t dance at all and
that her singing stinks

When she comes in
two hours late,
don’t dare to ask her
where she’s been.

And with all certainty,
don’t ever bother
to tell her that
she’s just like her mother.

Why do people feel the need
to pull you back
when you want to fly?

To check off boxes
that define what you
must be and try?

To create a list of what you
cannot be and draw boundaries
that try to limit you more?

To tell you all the dangers
if you fail, instead of  
the glory if you soar?

My life is a trip
through a candle shop,
lighting one for each
dream, where I stop.

So many have just
burned out, dropping
wax on the table, turning
cold and just stopping.

A few still flicker,
but all grow shorter
and dimmer as time
and dreams grows colder.

I light one more -
there still is a chance,
for at least enough light
for life’s last dance.

Seems to me, if God
wanted us to be vegetarians,
he would have had Noah
build a smaller Arc
and just take 2 of every seed.

If trees gave off Wi-Fi
instead of just oxygen,
we probably wouldn’t
cut so many down
to make fields of
windmills and solar panels.

The Fear Of Being Alone
is the root cause of
suffering by staying.

It clouds the judgement,
and distorts the vision.
of seeing the time to go.

Common sense on its own
cannot overcome
the Fear Of Being Alone.

One day an old and worn-out train
will come along and call my name,
and I will know to climb inside.

There will be no need to run.
I’ll have no shadow in the sun
and know there is no need to hide.

And then the man I tried to be
will look out the glass and see
fields of dreams and azure skies.

And I will have no fears or tears,
and will not pray for one more day

The train runs swiftly on silent tracks
Allowing yesterdays to flash back,
thousands in the blink of an eye.

Wave to me, and do not cry
As the whistle blows and I pass by
On one last ride to see the sea.

And then the man I tried to be
will look out across that sea,
and see horizons of goodbye.

And I will have no fears or tears
and will not pray for one more day,

In six days, God created
earth and man,
and on the seventh day
He rested.

But on the eighth
He realized His work
was incomplete,
and He created
chocolate cake.

This New York world is just too big;
the ***** grinder never seems to stop.
I need to get back to your touch.
Just one more project to get done.
I was almost on my way to you, but
you were already on your way away,
you were already on your way gone.

Denver is just too cold for me;
I need the beach and summer sun.
A few more snowfalls and my
writing here will soon be done.
I was almost on my way to you, but
you were already on your way away,
you were already on your way gone.

Folly Beach just sounded right:
the perfect place to hide and finish
what I never seem to get completed.
Not much longer, I’ll be home.
I was almost on my way to you, but
you were already on your way away,
you were already on your way gone.

Broken hearts and broken ribs
are very much the same.
No bleeding, no band-aids,
no bruises or casts or slings.
And no one else can see the pain
every time you breathe.

To insure a long
and happy life
with your wife -
Go to settings
Click on YOU
Click on BRAIN FUNCTIONS
Click on MOUTH
Uncheck the “Say Something Stupid” box

If trees gave off Wi-Fi
instead of just oxygen,
we probably wouldn’t
cut so many down
to make fields of
windmills and solar panels.

When we are in pain,
why do we remain
in the very place
causing the pain?

We are like vultures,
able to fly away
but choosing to stay
and watch the carrion decay.

I guess I’m not very smart,
maybe even a little stupid
or possible even a complete *****.  
I keep trying to do this foolish thing
called thinking on my own.

I’m probably not very good at
understanding data and information,
concepts and theories, and
using logic and problem solving,
to form opinions of my own.
  
So I guess I should just keep trusting
NBC
CBS
ABC
FOX
CNBC
Facebook
Twitter
Politicians

WARNING!!
Read all instructions.

Handle with care.
Treat gently.
Hold tightly.
Do not yell.
Love completely.

Maybe we shouldn’t tear this off
when people grow older.

Are Pandas
Black with White trim
or
White with Black trim?

Or are they just Bears
and black and white
are just colors.

We all live in the past
much too much I think.
Not history, but our own.
We define ourselves
by what we have already been
instead of what we yet may be.

Our past is not a life sentence.
It’s just a life lesson.

Slavery was abolished in the Civil War,
but for the last 4 decades,
Politicians have worked diligently
to create economic slavery,
not just for poor minorities,
but equally for everyone.

Booker T. Washington one said
“A lie doesn’t become truth,
wrong doesn’t become right,
and evil doesn’t become good,
just because it’s accepted
by a majority.”

It’s amazing how, 150 years ago
he knew so much more about
the Politicians of today.

I’m sitting on the back porch,
thinking too much of you, and
pulling petals off the flowers.

And saying, with each petal
Remind me not.
Remind me not.
Remind me not.

My hope for us is like
lightning bugs in a jar,
blinking every now and then
like a distant star.

Growing dimmer,
dying in the jar,
and gone forever
if I set them free to fly afar.