I love
You love
We love

I love you
You love me
We love us

He comes
He loves

He loves you
You love him

I go
You stay
He stays

I cry
You love
He loves

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.

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

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

You and me,
we disagree
about Democrats
and rioting,
socialism
and increasing taxes,
illegal immigrants
causing lower wages,
betraying farmers
fostering hatred of Blue,
and failing our schools.

Is BANG BANG all you have to say?

Just a random thought –
It is truly a wonder that
husbands are not pretty close
to being perfect people
when you realize
how very often
their errors and transgressions
are pointed out to them

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

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.

Everything evolves.
Species improve
or become extinct
Mountains and oceans
grow and shrink
Love
grows or goes.

Falling in love isn’t a plan
Somehow, it happens ,
and somewhere
eyes just meet eyes
and both know
at last
I’ve found you.

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.

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.

She named him Alfred.
The tree where we would park
and talk about dreams
or climb in the back seat
and create our present scenes.

Back in the days
when people parked
instead of tweeted
and loved instead of liked.

You thought
you should go.

I thought
you should stay.

You won.
Forever away.

Don’t leave me alone.
It’s not that I am
afraid of the dark
or monsters under the bed.
I don’t hear noises
or fear knocks on the door.
I don’t watch scary movies
Or have nightmares.

Please just don’t leave me alone.
I am already that.

Love,
if you should decide
to someday
try me again,
please don’t.

I could not
again
be what I was
with her

and I cannot
again
be what I am
without her.

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.

They meet in the corner at McDonald’s
every Wednesday.
Old men drinking coffee, talking softly
And every now and then
the club gets smaller again.

Everyone thinks it’s just old men
with nothing to do.
Passing time and watching time passing.
But the manager knows why they come
and he gives them coffee free.

Together many years ago
they shot down two planes at Pearl Harbor
Landed at Omaha Beach
Survived the Bataan Death March
Won a Silver Star and two Purple Hearts
At the Battle of the Bulge
And freed Auschwitz.

Just old men sitting in the corner at McDonald’s
Every Wednesday.

She passed in December –
No time is good, but
that seems the worst.

Until you remember
God decorates the heavens
At Christmas first.

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.

I heard today
A man is dying

I guess that’s
insignificant
in this age
of atom bombs
Viet Nam
Kennedy’s and King
Iraq, Iran and
Afghanistan
And 50,000 dead on roads.

I mean,
he’s just ONE man.
JUST one.
And what’s just ONE MORE?

Those of you
who think this true
do not know
the man is you.

Darkness
is a lack of light
like existence
is a lack of love
is a lack of life

and I know

Man was not meant
to live unloving
so I cling
to thoughts of you
and love unliving

while

I hope for more
than mere existence.

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.

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!

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.

I have an incredibly
severe case of
ugophobia.

The fear that
you go away.

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

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.

Hello
Will you dance with me?
Hello,
Will you hold me, please?
Hello
Will you marry me?
Goodbye
Hello’s the word before goodbye.
It’s just the word before goodbye.

Just where she is
and where she goes
and why
but her God knows

and where he lies
in restless rest
and cries
her God cares less.

Be a candle
in the night.
In the darkness
Be a light.

Too much hate.
Too much spite.
Share your kindness
Be a light.

In the middle
of the fight,
be the peace
Be a light.

There is no need
for always right
win every fight
words that bite
fears that incite
to prove your might
The world needs help
just being alright.

Be a candle
in the night.
In the darkness
Be a light.

Love is a colossal flying kite
and all you can do
is hold on by a thread
until is slips away
or comes crashing down.

We are all the CIA,
members from birth
‘til we leave this earth.

Some join openly.
Some never know
they belong.

But the
Creative Intelligence Agency
is part of everyone.

Some write.
Some paint.
Some sing.
Some hug their children
and wipe away tears.

But we all
make an imprint
on the creative soul
of man.

If I could do it all again,
Live my life from start to end,
doing everything the same
is what I’d do -
except the part of losing you.

I saw you sitting
all alone
staring blankly
at your phone.

They all walk past
and none say Hi.
No one even
sees you cry.

They all pretend
that you aren't there.
Alone is not
a place to share.

Come sit with me
and take my hand
Talk to me.
I’ll be your friend.

The Past and Present
are the same.
I live them both
and loathe them both
equally.

The Past, ever unchanging,
haunts me never ending.

The Present, ever unforgiving,
tramples my daily living.

The Past and Present
are the same.
The past all night
The present all day
The same haunting thoughts
that won’t go away

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.

Everyone has a song
deep in their soul
It’s the dream
that makes them whole.

Makes them believe
in God and love
and all that’s good.
You are my song.

Ok, it’s 2 AM and
I am sitting in a
dim-light room
staring at a computer
writing prose
about living life.

What a contradiction!

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.

We loved
therefore
I was.
And am
No more.

Hey! Someone somewhere!
It’s me, over here.
Another someone somewhere
looking too.

Looking everywhere,
both ways at every corner,
for someone somewhere,
lurking, searching too.

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
.

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.

Your eyes have hands –
I bet you didn’t know.
They touch, more than fingers
and hold, more than arms.
They hurt, more than fists
when you simply look away.

Tomorrow is my song.
Always tomorrow
with its chance of change.

On tomorrow
perhaps somewhere else
perhaps someone else
will step from falling leaves
or falling snow
or falling rain
and I will be there to meet her
and no longer need tomorrow.

But tomorrow is my song today.
Always tomorrow.
But I need.
Today.

A heart on the run
can’t be much fun.
Just good for a little
time in the sun.

So I’ll never be
THE ONE.

I’ll never be the
photo on your desk.

I’ll just be part
of a collection
In your iPhone
memory chest

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.