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

My doctor says I drink too much.
Coffee, that is.
What does he know about true love and such?

So I cut back, from six to five.
Pots, that is.
It's hard, but I am still alive.

But what I really fear
is what he makes me do next year.

When I found the note
that said
you were moving in
with your lover
I thought it meant me.

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

Been holding on, doing ok
Kinda, some days.
Not really though
Just what I say

I keep moving on,
Running through the night
Down this nowhere road
With no guiding light

Tired of feeling
like just getting by
and losing hope
at the speed of life.

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.

Once upon a time
I used to be me.  
I knew what I could do,
and what I wanted to be.

No one asked if I had dreams
so I began to think I shouldn’t,
and the life I wanted to have
began to look like one I couldn’t.

So I began that grow-up trip,
cutting away pieces of me,
a little at a time, so slowly
I never even noticed.

Every day, another piece
discarded in the far-back mind,
replaced with the new pieces
everyone said I had to find

And then one day, suddenly
I’ve passed through the grow-up route
and now I am this collection of pieces.
I don’t give a **** about.

But I can still remember,
once upon a time,
when I used to be me.

There is only
Hello
    then
In Between
    and then
Goodbye

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.

What will we remember
in the coming years,
if all this ends in tears?

If passion become patience
and dancing becomes TV
and I love you
becomes good-night?

What will we remember?
Good times or just good byes?

Poetry is that secret panacea
meant to be shared
by those who pain so badly
that only literary
band-aids help.

Are Pandas
Black with White trim
or
White with Black trim?

Or are they just Bears
and black and white
are just colors.

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

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

When love
is lots of pieces
of someone
I hide my address book away
for that rainy day
when love
again becomes pieces
of lots of someones.

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 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,
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.

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

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.

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

I could give you words
and things
and thoughts
and moments in the sun

and promise you
no promises to break
if you’d just let me
love you for a while

A day or so of yesterday
I walked this land in joy.

Why am I so lonely now?
Why am I still here?
Waiting, always waiting.
Longing – where is she?
There is no end, I fear.
I will not be free.

Looking back to gentler days
and forward not at all
I find myself
Just wishing
that my life
would
simply
stop.

Sometimes,
just sometimes,
I feel your presence still
and hope
you are not alone
or unhappy
or afraid of tomorrows.

Sometimes.
Just in some quiet times
or in a crowded room.

I am dancing naked in the rain.
There is no better way to dance.
And nowhere else to dance.
But the rain.

I do not dodge the drops.
I do not try as I once did.
There is nothing else to do but dance.
And in the rain.

I did not really dance before,
although I really thought I did.
Before I learned nothing is stronger
than the rain.

And I wore clothes, back then
when I really thought I danced.
Before I learned of the need for nothing
in the rain.

I am dancing naked in the rain
It’s doing its work, beating me down
Until there is no one remaining.
Just the rain.

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.

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 striped shirt,
red baseball cap with
Batman tennis shoes,
and other random choices.

And everyone who sees me knows
my brain works randomly like my clothes.

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.

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.

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.

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

I rarely ever think of you,
and soft kisses,
gentle touches,
laughing eyes,
and furtive glances.

Except when I
sit in a bar with friends,
or sit home alone.
Go to church.
Go to work.
Go to sleep.
Wake up.
Other than that, I rarely ever
think of you at all.

After she left
I thought a lot
about why she was gone.
I racked my brain
for all the things
I didn’t say
and didn’t do.
Until I finally understood -

Sometimes,
good things just die
A tree grows old.
Your dog grows old.
And sometimes,
even love grows old.

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

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

My family thinks
I am very smart
but not so very wise
because when I think of
something smart to say
I am not wise enough
to just shut up.

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.

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.

Sometimes I need to be alone,
to close out the world
and just be alone.
I don’t want you to be
a helping hand – I want you to be
a friend that leaves me alone, and
let’s me get through whatever on my own.

Sometimes, really, I just need to be alone.

Sometimes,
in the dead of night
I remember us.
Not how we started
or even how we ended.
Just the goodness
of being us

Thank you for dropping in -
I know your time is short
And mine is passing quickly.
So quickly you will

Learn to tie a bow,
count to 10, and
catch a ball

Make you own ponytail,
drive a car.
Flirt.

Find a guy
Say good bye.

Do not say I’m handsome –
I know too well I’m not,
with tracks of time to mark
the memories I’ve got.

Say instead you’ll stay a while
And let me share your touch.
There’ve been too many through the years
that would not give that much.

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

Tell me what you’re feeling.
I know that’s not an easy thing.
Tell me if your leaving.
My heart can take the pain

Tell me what you’re thinking –
do we still have a chance?
Tell me what you’re hoping,
or is this our last dance?

Even if this is goodbye –
(that IS my greatest fear)
tell me what you want to say,
not what I want to hear.