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.

She said, as she walked out
and slammed the door –
I don’t know why I wasted
all these years with you!

I guess she doesn’t realize
I wasted those years too.

We were strangers
Then lovers
Now strangers again.
Red Rover, Red Rover.
Send someone new over.

Sometimes I stay up too late
and I start to think
and then I think too much.

And when I think too much
I start to remember,
And then I remember too much.

And when I remember too much,
I start to drink
and then I drink too much.

And then I go to bed
and stare at the ceiling
and I stare and think too much.

And when I go to sleep
I dream of losing you
and then I dream too much.

And then I wake up
from my dream of losing you.
And then I scream too much.

There are some bruises
collected along the way
that I just never
talk about.

Words, said and unsaid.
Backs turned away.
Eyes, staring fierce
or just turned down

People sometime leave a mark –
probably never knowing
they put a dent in some
unsuspecting heart.

I would guess
I’ve left some too.

Along the road I’ve learned
a few things about goodbye.

Sometimes, when it doesn’t hurt,
I realize it was probably simply
the right thing to do.

And sometimes, when I lay awake
for nights afterwards,
I know it was all wrong.

What I have not learned
is how to tell which is which
before goodbye.

Sometimes writing
is my only link
to sanity,
my last-grasp handle
between this crazy
every day world
and the world
I want to see
and want to
believe can be.

I have scratched and clawed,
fought and scrambled,
hurried and waited,
and finally made it
to OK.

There are so many stereotypes –
All blacks are rioters.
All women are feminists.
All Hispanics are illegals.
All whites are racist.
All politicians are liars.
Ok – so that one’s true
.

I put Wits End
in my GPS,
to help me find my way.
It said I was already there.

This can’t be right,
I thought, and
drove to another
side of town.

And when I tried again,
plugging in Wits End –
It said it’s where I am
and also where I’ve been.

The worst battle you will ever start
will be between your head and heart,
when one tells you it’s time to go
and the other cries out NO!

Sometimes late at night
I become a man-shell
sitting there,
not sad,
not happy,
not anything.

Not thinking
about tomorrows
or dreams
or anything.

It’s just me
and walls,
and random noise.
not anything else.

Just me
not watching
or doing anything
waiting
and nothing else.

Sometimes it’s just best
to smile and nod and agree
with whatever the idiots say,
and go back home
and live your life your way.

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 every one and unity.

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

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,
People, not just homeless.
Homeless People Matter Too.
HPM2

Without discourse or conversation,
or ideas bantered in open discussion,
we all become dead-minded members
of the HERD, just meandering,
instead of members of the HEARD,
striving for understanding.

Lions belong in jungles.
Sharks belong in the ocean.
Eagles belong in the air.
Monkeys belong in trees.
Frogs belong in ponds
My Mind belongs in jails.

Poets are hoarders,
collecting every memory
and emotion
and random thought,
and putting them
on a scrap of paper
or in a notebook
or a file somewhere
until the notebooks
and files and piles
of scraps of paper
become an infinite
collection of the mind’s
random capacity.

She was just the one you call
for a last-minute date for the ball.
For a quick fun trip to the beach,
or a painful trip to the mall.

She was just the one you call
late at night, just to talk,
or early in the morning
just to go for a walk.

She was just the one you call
who made anything fun.
How did you not see
she was just The One, after all?

Everyone in your life
exists for a reason.
Some are there
to be your teacher
and some to be your student.

And some are there to test
your anger management skills.

Why are we never satisfied
with what we have,
always wanting, still,
what we do not yet have,
forgetting that on yesterdays,
what we now have
is what we wanted then.

Why do people always say
Tomorrow will be a better day?
This is a tomorrow, and
It isn’t better than yesterday.

The best we have
dress in olive drab
or blue or white
and go fight
and die forgotten
by those dressed
in politician suits,
who get statues built
honoring them
for sending the best
to die and lie
beneath forgotten crosses.