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.

I have an incredibly
severe case of
ugophobia.

The fear that
you go away.

When you meet a politician,
do not judge too quickly.
Remember,
once upon a time,
they were human too
and had a heart and soul.

There is nothing
I would not do for you.
And, it seems, nothing
you would do for me.

Don’t blame life for passing you by,
just because you didn’t jump on
when the bus came along.

Negative people only see
the black in every rainbow.

The sun is shining –
“It’s going to rain.”

They never seem to see
even rain is beautiful

If I were a betting man
I’d put all my money down
on America vs. Democrats.

I know that Democrats
are 5 to 1 favorites
to wreck America.

But I have hope.
And faith .
And I pray like hell.

Sometimes the poet drops
poet-tears on paper
for those who cannot
write or cry.

I seem much better
at mapping plans
of what to say and do
after a failure
and losing,
then during the time
when opportunity
presents a chance
of winning.

Sometimes it’s important
to burn some bridges along the way.
Sometimes the only way forward
Is to lose the safe retreat.

When you fractured my heart
You weren’t the first.
Just the worst.

I’ve become cautious
about what I want,
maybe even a little suspicious
that it blocks my view of
what I need.

It seems such a shame
to be a man collecting dust.
The windmill turns no more.
I am becoming rust.

I do not mind being alone
In a room or woods, or
on a beach or street
with just silence.
Sometimes silence
has a lot to say.

I write for me,
mostly I think,
and no one else
because I know,
I am the only one
and no one else
that cares about
these pieces of me
scribbled in books.

But if you like
something you find,
take it please –
sometimes
some times and things
I write just might
be for you, too.

Why do people pick out colors
in a box of M & M’s?
Are the colors that important –
is red prettier than green?

Isn’t that the way
we pick out lovers?
Is pretty more important
than the chocolate inside?

You not loving me
might be the best love
I never had.

It led me to
another road,
a path to
another smile
that let me
stay a while.

And that became
forever.

I seem much better
at mapping plans
of what to say and do
after a failure
and losing,
then during the time
when opportunity
presents a chance
of winning.

Love is as blind
to dance or song
as politicians are
to right or wrong

It’s called FALLING in love
for a reason.
Sometimes falls hurt
and no one is there
to pick you up and
put band-aids on the bleeding.

It’s you –
it’s always been you

Along the way
all the others
were just experiments
that failed
while I looked for you.

I wondered
if I would find you,
wondered if
and when.

And now –
it’s you.
Finally

Love is just a poker game.
Everyone starts
with a stack of chips.

Red for heart.
Blue for trust.
White for hope.

The gamblers walk into the world,
pull out their chips,
and sit down at the table.

Show-down is the game.
Winner take all and
losers go home broken.

When you told me
“I’ll always be there”
I thought you meant
be there for me,
not go THERE
and be THERE
and stay THERE
forever
so many miles
and months away

I prefer
being alone
with you
more then
being alone
or
being together
with others

I don’t think I’ve ever
hated a person.
But a thought,
now that’s fair game.

It can be yours,
sometimes it’s mine,
but I can lambast
anyone‘s line.

It matters not the topic,
and matters not the logic.
All that needs be done
is say it and make it public

I must be a suicide lover –
every time I get killed  
losing at love,
I go out and try again.

Kiss me.
Hold me.
Until I am
No longer afraid
of what I become
with you.

Sometimes I feel the pieces of me
are no more than
socks and underwear,
randomly stuffed in a drawer,
symbols of the pieces of a man
stuffed not so neatly in a mind.

Today I’ll put on yellow socks,
blue pants and green strip shirt,
red baseball cap with
Batman tennis shoes,
and other random choices.

And everyone who sees me knows
my brain is working like my clothes.

I carry a little book
to write down some lines
from time to time

Tonight I started to
write a few about you
and they just kept
pouring out and
sentences kept running on
and words kept getting
all jumbled together and
thoughts were all rambling
and pretty soon
tears were falling and
nothing made sense.
Kind of like you leaving.

Sitting, looking out the window,
only me and darkness
waiting on the Christmas sun.

Wondering what is next to do –
sun doesn’t fix the solitude.
Maybe I will just go out and run.

Run forever, until I find
the mystery edge of earth,
keep running ‘til I’m done.