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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

Sometimes, I just find a busy street
and walk around and smile at people.

Most of them
Look away
Look down
Look surprised
Look angry
Look back with that
“who the hell are you” look.

But once in a while
someone surprises me
and smiles back.

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

I woke up screaming, and
thinking you were gone,
I went running down the hall
calling out your name.

You stepped out from
the bathroom door, smiling,
and gently touched my hand
and made the night OK.

And then I awoke again.
and you were
gone.
And the Black Ink River flowed

Facebook, Twitter, and texts
have did thier best
to obliterate
the english language.
Gramer, spelin, capitels,
and all that sort
are goin the road
of dinasours

Can't we please
B Literate?

There is a right
time and place
to say
“I love you”

That time and place
is when you feel it
and know it
and need to share it.

The only other
time and place
might be never
or too late.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

I know God has a reason
for every one he calls
to join Him
in His hallowed halls.

But I still miss you constantly,
fond memories still bring pain.
I use my mental braille at night
to feel your body once again.

Cracked up.
Total breakdown.
Unexpected.
Just one day
I went out of your mind

It was a beautiful hello
Eyes met
Hands touched
Heart dreams collided

It was a beautiful goodbye
To lonely and alone.

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!

I have been in the arena
and heard the crowds roar
and been in solitude
and heard the silence more.

I have been the hero
and heard the ovations
and been the loser
and heard castigations

I’ve been famous
and heard adulation
and been forgotten
and heard denigration

I’ve been in love
and heard birds sing
and been out of love
and heard nothing.

I prefer the arena.
And hero.
And famous.
And especially love.

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.

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

I’ve lived here all my life –
At least that’s how it seems.
I always thought I’d spend these years
Living out my dreams.

But I’m not what I thought I’d be
When I started down this road
Thirty years of busted dreams
Is a real **** heavy load

I’m going home, find my favorite chair
I’m finished with this fight
My heart is tired, my soul is sore
Tonight might be the night

If there were some way,
If I could find it,
I would leave this body behind.

Undress completely
From my bones
And leave my flesh.

I would be silence,
Void of any thought,
Totally absent of me.

I would forget
my breath
and all my sounds.

I would walk on hands
In fear of footprints,
Tracks of a five-toed bird.

I would become an absence
Of words, thoughts, memories:
A five-toed bird taken to flight

And in a year
Of all dark days
I would be forgotten

Death will come -
no one will beat the odds.
So why live life so cautiously,
that when it comes,
you regret the path you’ve taken.

Our lives are meant
to challenge all the odds,
to love and laugh and live
a life so full that
death is just a punctuation mark.

I don’t understand why
people fear the darkness.
Do they not close their eyes
to give a loving kiss,
and trust the ultimate unknown?

I pull the blankets overhead,
wrapped around you,
surrounded by the darkness
where we see with only hands.

The March deadness
Blows down the beach.
I sit.  Without the nerve
to walk on, but with nerve enough
not to walk away.

Water at my feet.
Tired.
I will not run-walk away
The tide is slowly coming in.

I have an incredibly
severe case of
ugophobia.

The fear that
you go away.

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.

When hope seems gone
And days seem dark
I drop to one knee
And think of 23.

Fifteen and me,
the untreatables,
agreed
to experimental surgery.

Sometimes I question why  
I was the one to survive
But mostly I thank God
I am one alive.

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.

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.

I am a painter,
not a poet.
Painting with an alphabet brush.

Colors only you can see –
red to you
is different to me.

A Mona Lisa smile
might be a frown,
when written down.

I do not write
to make you see
my world as I see it.

I paint with words
what you already know
but don’t know how to say it.

Be kind to me
with soft words and looks
and I promise to be
not man enough to love,
and hurt.

I will be kind to you,
with words enough, and looks
to make you glad to have me stay
a little while,
with no regrets that I am finally gone.

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,

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.

BEGINNING I  

You’re a strange world
laughing eyes
softness
tears for crushed flowers

You make a strange world out of me
when you touch me
and make me
begin to think
of kids and kites
and going to church again
on Sundays
and breaking promises
I made to me.

BEGINNING II

The sun and you
are going,
the pain is coming
and I am
beginning II rain

BEGINNING III

I am beginning
to believe
it’s time to quit.

Believing
Hoping
Hurting.