The Starlings
outside my window
sing a song
of no regret.
There is snow
on the ground
and little food
to be found,
but it's okay
because today
the sun is out
and the sky
is clear.
It's very warm
for this time of year,
and if the theosophy
doesn't blind me
I know I'll find me
a weapon to use
to fight these blues.

Picking nasty notes
Not the yellow ones
That stare back at you
Before you open the fridge-door
But, blue ones that wave to my ear
Under the moon that is
Breaking through the picture window
Notes in the air, notes expressing despair
The moon shines for no one

It's late, no traffic
The radiator hisses ticks and pops
Trying hard to vocalize between plucked notes
Mighty vibrations vibrating
Blues dark blue, blues light blue
Blues  hurting, angry, breaking free
Into a turquoise green-blue sea
Back to the black of night
With the moonlight and a salty tear on ones cheek

Here in the mechanics
of the mind, some just aren't
mechanically inclined.

A line of people
waiting in a queue,
more and more gathered
until there was quite a few.

Some were crippled
and others were blind,
some were deaf and they did sign.

More and more came
to where they gathered that day.
They brought with them paper,
and shoddy goods they did take away.

A good rule of thumb,
none of what you see,
only half of what you hear.
They'll play on your ignorance,
they will cater to your fear.

Here in the mechanics of the mind,
some just aren't mechanically inclined,
and a good rule of thumb is a good rule of thumb.

It would be so sweet if it wasn't so bitter
It would really move if it didn't stand so still
It's going to take a lot of water, maybe a river
It'll take a lot of love until I've had my fill

Sometimes love's fire lifts us up
It burns so bright as we fill our cup
We touch so soft and slow beside the ancient well
It feels so good to be under loves spell
So we try to hold on tight but love takes wings
And in our pain we do hurtful things

Love's strong suit held close to the chest
Says you've got it made, your hand is the best
So you can go big or you can stay home
You can hold your horses, you can hold the phone
In the end you know it's true
You're going to slide on in, there's nothing you can do

When you can't find love because
It's hidden hard in heart-red shades and blue-grey shadow
It feels like you don't remember how to live
You stumble around and forget your place
You wring your hands and you knit a face
You try and pretend it doesn't matter, that's what you'll do
Who are you trying to kid, who's fooling who

She came to call
And stays most of the fall,
She takes the ground floor
You the one above

The floorboards creaked under your weight
Driving her wild, she'd yell at the ceiling
You thought maybe from a hospital she'd escaped
Any scenario was none too appealing

You hoped for more than this
Trying so ****** hard to appease
When you met in the kitchen
You wondered who this strange person was

Something about her had you sweating bullets
You reached for the tea towel while the kettle boiled
She whimpered and you knew not what to do
She shrieked and you poured the tea

Around the first snow you saw a way out
Above her you'd shuffle soft shoe on the wooden floor
Using the washroom you'd pull the seat up and snicker
Leaving hair in the sink, and a streaked mirror

Before much more time the cards were played
The rooster greeted the morning and her bags were packed
You waited at the station to make sure she got aboard
The sound of the train whistle set you free

The sun
A bullet hole
Burning through
The grey-white sky
Waiting on a train
At a crossing
Traffic standing still
Graffiti strewn as boxcar pass
Artful dodgers creating
On steel canvas'
Leaving their unsung scars
Smokey music fills my head
One of those moments
In my memory scrapbook
Thoughts of one who
Used to make me know
All is good with the world

Rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

Your father's scolding is
whipped waves roaring,
a howling wind that tore
the sound from
hell's aching bell.

Your Father's smile, bliss,
graceful, gentle, wide.
When it falls down
you can't hide.

Rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

Santa Claus is a spirit
He comes to those who believe
The only thing about being a spirit
Is you have to use people
To do things in this world
That's why he gets people
To bring the gifts that you want
But you have to believe

Fresh back
on the street
from prison,
a pumped up
hilarious Hercules,
forced to sleep
under a bridge
along with the
broken and dead
windblown umbrellas.

Now, yet another
up-rooted member
of the homeless,
flashing a *******
at these so-called
modern times.
Not even a bottle of wine
to keep him company.

The whining of
the automobile engines
echoing off the
concrete and steel,
ripping and tearing
at his overblown ego,
shredding it into strips.

He knows full well
before long he'll return
back to the cell block
by his own choice.
Not knowing anything
but a life of crime
since his youth.

Better to be a live dog
than a dead lion.

Better to be a rollin' log
than a lumberjack cryin'.

Better to be a drunkin' fool
than a ******'s spoon.

Better to be a happy camper
than a hurtin' unit.

Better to be a fresh pamper
than full of ****.

For a moment
I wished I was
sailing over the ocean,

far away from land,
far away from earth.

But I thought again
and I remembered that
I don't like water,

hardly even to drink,
maybe to mix with scotch,
but then, only in its frozen state.

The cat is on the ***
trying to weasel a treat
meow meow is all she say.

Wish I could be like her
well taken care of
all my needs met
each and every hour
all-the-live-long-day.

Sitting in amusement
falling in love
with a muse that
visits on occasion.

Some glances
at various watercolours
hung on walls.

Strokes and dabs
smears and smudges
peeking out from
under matting.

Dry oceans
rain clouds
no longer wet.

Crafted by a
friendly schizophrenic  
while half in the bag
I'll bet.

A smile beneath my nose
a tiny tear slips from my eye
I don't need a death sentence
to know that I'm alive.

Reaching for a treat
she gives a precious
growl and comes
quick and sleek.

My fingertips
feel her gentle nibble
so goes a night at home.

I walked passed the gardens
The place I kissed you first
Now you've walked away
Leaving my feelings to be nursed
You've already heard please baby please
I'm sorry for the things I've done
Seems like it was everything over the seas
Like it was everything under the sun
I'm drinking high-test and I must confess
I know we can't go back to when it was all brand new
But baby can't you see I'm such a mess
So tell me sweetheart how do I get over you
Honey my heart is in my hands
It slipped right down off my sleeve
Baby I thought a lot of things
But I never thought you'd ever leave
Now all there is to do is grieve grieve grieve

When it's bad it's really bad
Sometimes I wish I were
out at sea, the rocking of the ship to comfort me.

The days they crawl by with me waiting for nightfall,
as of now I sit in the quiet of the kitchen and listen.

Soft rain on the window pane, the sump pump in the basement
beating out a chugging rhythm, the clock on the wall, a metronome
tick tick tick tick, I'm zoned out no brightness just a feeling like a dull hangover.

The pills for sleep, they no longer work. I drink no coffee after my mornings' cup, fearing the caffeine will still linger in my system
when the time rolls around to try yet again to shut my lids and drift away.

When what little sleep I do get, it's interrupted by my mind
whispering: Am I sleeping, am I dreaming that I'm sleeping?
Then I become fully conscious again and I fight back tears that
slide down my temples to pool on my pillow.

Morning comes and I pray that I get through the day without ripping some customer a 'new one'. Another day I'll spend on edge,
edgy, distant in a way. My face wearing my angst, my back hunched. My eyes darting from left to right, up and down to avoid another's gaze.

I feel so ****** tired I fear what will come in the remnants of the day. How long can this go on!

The man said nothing is real

While making a sweeping gesture with his right hand
It's a simulation he says, all of it, nothing is real

I remember singing row row row your boat
Reminding me to be happy, because live is a dream

Again the man states while gesturing, nothing is real
Strawberry Fields, nothing is real, nothing to get hung-up about

The Hindu call it Maya, all an illusion, nothing is real

Science gods working toward virtual reality
Where we can't tell simulation from life, nothing is real

Back to the subtle pool of dark
and deep that lay below illumination.
Wriggling, slippery scales of black
In a pool so deep it's hard to see,
hard to grasp.

Down the hall, in the realm of control,
pulling into light a dark shadow.
Maybe two, at the least one.

Pull it close,
touch it in mind,
know it and hold it,
just to let it go
into a watershed of tears.

It will eat ones self,
chewed by its kind.
So deep and dark, subtle and fooling
this pool of mind.

There was a time
when you could move mountains
with your smile, and the earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now, Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide-and-seek,
perishing thoughts that ride down in bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before,
shall we cast down our glance in shame
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.

Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings,
and the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times when in spirit,
our fingertips would brace,
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.

Way up
in these clouds,
just as my expectations
did fall hard
on my head
full of child-like dreams.

Remembering a future
and ignoring a past
that could break any
fragile strong-man
on any brand new day.

Why can't I
make you
leave me alone,
even here,
up in these  blue skies,
above these white clouds
so far away from home.

She will smash
every wine glass.
They are all broken,
but not here heart.

She will walk barefoot
from room to room,
while her feet are bleeding,
but not her heart.

She will drink him up
until her heart aches
and her head hurts
but not her heart.

I can be some brutal
or so you say you can tell
but stop and look again
this could be a match made in heaven
for two angles straight from hell

So shake those dice baby
and give them a roll
By the time they hit the velvet
you know which way it's going to go

I know very well  what it's like to be drunk
and I know what it's like to be sober
I know what it's  like to be young
and quickly growing older

We could do it up just like a drug
You don't have to convince me
I'm already sold
It's back to throwing out a lifeline
to draw some heat
out of this mid-winters cold

Over our head
Creeps big time
The only thing that is.

Fleshly folded
Moment, too alive
To die.

Witness to a break
In the softer water's wave.

Now, back, forced to see
No salve for the blind,
Sometimes, oh to be blind.

One is eleven's rhyme.

I can't see the light in people
It's obscured by crowds
One by one reaching to connect
In the thick-of-it it's too loud
Picking up the ball to take home
Moody gets dark and broody
I crave and crave and savour
Dark and light, light and dark

She doesn't do landscapes,
she does landfills.
No ocean liners on the sea,
only shipwrecks on the bottom.

She states: Jesus was the best Riddler.

The trees
the fields
the sky

I was
reckless
always shy

Stone
cold
sober

Wishing
soon
it will
all be over

A mistake
egg on
my face

Never
knowing
my true
place

Skin deep in her cold green sea
A dark and gnarled sky above
On the curved horizon a sign reads:
She believes in Angels but she can't believe in Love.

Insane in her reverie, wings sewn cross-stitch
Down the spine of her back,
Rattling panes that the wind blows
Are a reminder of all she lack.

Saw-teeth across metal is music to her ears
The shriek of a tea kettle full of insolent childhood fear.
Rude eyes shout; forget the Devil, he has no bite.
She knows better and she's not going down without a fight.

Her attempts to speak of the things she has heard
Are the sounds of a cat who has sprung on a bird.
To spread her wings is to spread her legs
And embrace the power the darkness has made.

Oh, the suffering of heartache after heart's ache,
While pulling the wings off of flies.
She can make you laugh, she's pretty smart hey,
But it isn't the same as being wise.

Every bit of her live; it just occurs to her,
Yes it does, it just occurs.
Now is that being selfish or just being blind
If fooling people well is her way to unwind.

One day while I was listening to Bob Dylan
I had what they call an epiphany
You know, when your intuition and your consciousness
Are in sinc - some call it synchronicity
One day my love and I were sitting on the sofa
Partaking in some mushroom tea, just to see what we could see
Then my love said honey, you have to keep sowing those seeds you're sowing
Carry on with the way the wind is blowing
But your epitaph just has to read
Down Through The Years The Lord Has Been Good To Me