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.

We always talked about forever.
Now, as I walk down the hall
the last time
turn and look in your eyes
the last time,
walk out and close the door
the last time
I realize –
Gone is forever too.

Forget me –
my smile
laugh
tears
and anger

Forget me –
my touch
caress
hugs
my ***.

Forget me –
holding you,
wanting you,
loving you.
Leaving you.

Forget me –
I am gone.
I am no longer.

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

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 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.

Tonight I’m setting up
A GoFindMe site.
I need everyone’s help
For someone
To GoFindMe me.

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.

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.

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.

The hate you give
lives.
In the souls of those you love,
who learn to hate like you,
and the souls of those you hate
who learn to hate you in return.

The hate you give
grows.
It spreads to those
who surround you
and spreads to those
who surround the ones that hate you.

The hate you give
creates war.
Between religions
and regions
and colors
and haves vs have nots

The hate you learn
becomes the hate you give.
Only you can
unlearn your hate
and break the chain
of hate you give.

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.

Man is basically just
heart and soul and mind..

Some lose heart
and become the cruel,
who care only for themselves
and no others.

Some lose soul
and become the evil,
who care nothing about
damaging the world.

Some lose mind
and become the crazy,
who care little about
reality and truth.

Some lose all three,
and become politicians

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

I believe
in Santa Claus
Peter Pan
the Easter Bunny
and Love.
Although sometimes
I am not so sure
about the latter.

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.

I fear losing you
because I fear
not trying hard enough
or doing enough
or being man enough
to make you stay.

I think you are
my in-between love.
The one between
my last heartbreak
and my next one
with you.

I strongly dislike
People who hate.  
Because of color
or where they lived
or who they love
or even their favorite team.

I strongly dislike
People who judge.
As if they know “right”
better than you.
I leave all that
For God to do.

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

For the first time ever, I understand
how hard it is to be a man.

You’re smarter than the other guy
but only half the time.

And smarter than the women –
NEVER

I won’t care
if you
take me 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
I won’t mind
if you
tell me I’m the one.

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

She stabbed me in the heart, and
walked away without looking back.

The pain is slowly killing me –
someone please, pull out the knife.
Hold me, kiss me, give me life.

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’ve had so many
cuts and stabs and
holes punched in me
by the women who
passed through my life,
that when a new one
comes along and
we drink a toast to us
I leak all over
everything we try to be.

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.

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.

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.

Love is like a sail boat.
Hope is the wind and
dreams are the sails,
carrying you through
life’s rough seas,
always to home

My sails are
torn and tattered.
My hull is leaking
lying battered,
on the rocks of
Isle Alone.

Sometimes someone passes
through your life, and
years later you cross paths
again, and that’s when
you realize you didn’t know
what you had back then

And then you realize
how lucky you were
you didn’t know.
Because you might not have
what you finally have now.

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

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.

Everyone gets a box
of marbles in their life.
Shooters by the score.

And every day we pull one out
And shoot it at the world.

Sometimes you move the world;
sometimes it swallows you up.

But tomorrow you always get
another marble.

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.

Marshmallows
are just clouds
you can eat
or squish
between your fingers.

Clouds
are just marshmallows
all grown up.

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.

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?

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

There was a young lady back then
Who started the music again
With poetry flowing
And emotions growing.
But she left and the words just quit rhyming

I have a friend,
named Pen Dulum,
a handsome man
who loves the pretty ladies.

And sometimes
my friend Pen
also loves the
big, stout lads.

So I guess it’s true,
what everyone says.
My friend Pen
swings both ways.