Us in the Shade

The shade there was swell,
Under the groping vines that ran up
then down the other barked side.
The picnic set was shining then,
and your teeth were purely white.
The sun backlit the scene,
and the hill provided an urgingly lovely sight.

The air was cool and your hand was warm
wrapping sulkily into mine.
I thought I was living in a dream
but that moment was in time;
a place where courting mazes solve
and you were thought to be mine.

On The Way Out

We should get going,
Yes! We should leave,
Right now. The time’s showing
We are late, and out the door
We should make haste,
With a steady leap
Or a hefty heave!

The party is over, Dear Friend,
And, oh, look at the time!
To stay would require
A second though,
And I refuse to pretend
To change my leaving mind!

My Candy World

I live in a chocolate chip candy world,
Full of Orange Slice daffodils,
And rainbow scented gum drops.

But out of my marshmallow window,
And jelly covered sill,
I see a world of burnt meat,
And feting, wretched heat,
That seems to want to burn me.

At least, it has my neighbors.

The Valley

The blistered lips of broken promises and lies leave you
Such a lonely victim of this darkness in the valley!
Find the sun there sunken, sullen, and hearty
Hidden in the cracks of the stone-faced walls
And revel in their wrinkling skin!

They crumble and rumble with every scathing plate,
But the light burning in you is bright,
And has weathered darker nights
Than this pitch black valley could ever hope to dim!

Scale the sized sides and find your truths within,
Dig into the dying disappointments
To find your promises kept yet again!

Winter Wash

Blissful, blissful winter wash
Always clean for I,
Has been too cold and so harsh
For anyone but I.

I humbled in the snow,
Always a fan of cold,
But those summer few,
Of whom I knew,
Needed someone to hold.

The angel flakes
And powered quakes,
Of which I’ve learned to love,
Have questered over
My friendly lovers
From somewhere far above.

I smile at a gray sky,
And lay awake through the night.
My known aren’t so lucky though,
And their now’s aren’t as bright.

Blissful, blissful winter wash
Always clean for me,
Help them over their troubled ends,
This once, just for me.

A Stolen Smile

The best smile you’ve ever seen,
So big and bright and golden,
Was so powerful at that time,
That nothing had seemed more solemn.

The eyes glinted with that certain spark,
And warmth drenched all receivers.
The sun smiled with it warmly,
And gave willing to the happy weaver.

Which makes it all so dastardly
That suddenly the sun sets.
It rises through its demises,
But it still doesn’t seem fair quite yet.

It warms, but feigns,
Lies of remains,
And shadows are so lonely.

“Stay today?”
Then
Fade away.
And again it is undone.

For My Friends (Sad, or Needing Support)

Enter yourself with that tough bit of hope,
Past all of your shadows to where you need to be.
Whisper away the bruises and be held through the night
They need you there, they need you there,
While you massage away the dwelling frights.
Nothing more to swallow you.
Nothing more to hollow you.
Love will fill you up, love will fill you up
And someday your smile won’t be stolen.
I swear someday your smile won’t be stolen.
Leave the huddle and fetal crouch
To the place where the world seeks you out.
Shout about the bruises and not being alone.
We need you here, we need you here,
Welcome back to your soft-gated home.

You Need A Necklace

You need a necklace to stop those things
That constantly encroach us.

You need a necklace to standby and hold to
When canvases suddenly lose all hue.

You need a necklace to keep you strong
And for a place to hang your charm.

You need a necklace to match your eyes
So when you’re out on the town
Things are given a chance to feel right.

You need a necklace to weight you down,
To soften the falls when you hit the ground.

You need a necklace to match that outfit
So when you wear it you smile to the world
And, finally, they can share it.

You need a necklace in a bright blue or pink,
Some sort of lovely color.

What do you think?

Oregon, Yukon, and Me

I am blank
And out of ideas
Perhaps tomorrow holds
Answers and inspirations.

And if not,
Then I’ll just fake it
And forge the river.

On this,
My Oregon Trail.

I don’t have measles yet,
And the oxen are doing well.
I’ve been hunting a lot lately,
And the snake bite never did swell.

I’m just blank
And need some sleep.
Maybe Yukon gold
Is easier to keep.

Coming In

I rivered into the house,
Quiet as a brook.
I avoided all the creeks,
Clever as a crook.

I climbed up the stairs,
Steady as a salmon,
I hurried into bed
So tired and frightened.

No drink, no story
Tucked in after glory,
I shrank and I withered
Because I knew
They just ignored me.

As a Man

The thundering of booms,
Across in the woods,
Is the destruction of life,
Functioning as it should.

Naturally selected
For a dominating position,
Grab a rifle and horns
To continue the institution.

Fight through all
the maggots and flies
In order to save
the construct of lies.

The meat in the middle
bleeds the very best
It tastes so tender,
And had it a choice
It would have bowed to surrender.

Your Call

The slick black phone cord,
All tangled in curls,
Shines white in some part,
Truly black, but in pearl.

She whispers to you
With that same soft voice
And you melt in her hand,
The same weak little boy.

The floor is hard,
Planked wood with no cushion,
Your feet rub the boards
Trying to avoid some scuffing.

You whisper to her
With that same steady push,
And you melt in the idea
Of wanting this too much.

For the Lost and Leaving

The window, the chair
The kitchen and rugs,
The table, the settings
The kisses and hugs.
The love, the care
The voice and the touch
The smell, the air
And we miss you so much.

Your smile, your breath
Your stories and cooking,
Your eyes, that wish,
Now lost in your looking.
Come back to us,
Please, I beg.
He needs you now
To help hold his head.

The journey, the trip
The home and the ride.
Burn like a fire
Surging inside.
Goodbyes and tomorrows
A held hand and a glance,
He tried to remind her
But never got the chance.

Hush

“The old man loved her, yes he did,
And always done right for her and the kids.”

“She could do better, and should have too,
She deserved so much more than some cow poke fool.”

“They don’t know all that he’s done alone,
Or how hard it is for him to put her in a home.”

“He could take care of her, and look what she got,
She might be sick but should get more than a view of the parking lot.”

“Why don’t they understand that he’d done his best?
He is a good man, always there for his blood and flesh.”

“Her mind been gone for such a long time,
But he still never deserved to call her his wife.”

It’s all circumstance, and none of you could ever know
The courage of a man that he refuses to show.
Stop your guessing as to why his head’s hung
And be there for the man while the birds sing his sad song.

Sky's Eyes

The sky has those eyes again
And I’m not so sure I like the look.
The green around the purple swelling
Looks so vile and menacing
That, even if it’s softer blues were to show,
I’d still be scared.

And I’d much prefer the bored,
Even if more depressing, gray.
At least I’d know that it might
Be cold or even snow then,
Right now I have no clues as to
What that look might mean,
And if you ever had those eyes
I’d be so scared.

I honestly don’t know how
So many puffs of clouds
Or flying scrambles of birds
Can stand all that bruised,
Ugly mass in those eyes,
And I am sure I don’t like the look.

Wishing

When the well filled
With my bronzed copper pennies,
I looked to the stars,
Remembering to stay humble,
And kept my reservations ready.

My eyes filled with you,
As they did before,
While I mouthed that special prayer.
But like the pennies, the stars ignored
And I knew that they’d never
Bring you close to here.

The Wave

When the weakened transparent wave,
tired from its failed surge
toward that place
where the high tide would sit,

raked over the small shells
deposited from bigger brothers’ grumblings,

the small shells sang and sparkled like rubbed crystal rims.

The mud-sand sank them deeper
and the sand dollars, starfish, and hermits
stabbed away from their new sinkholes,

back to the surface to chime in with the choir again.

Chirstmas on the Beach

I dreamt I spent Christmas on the beach,
and made myself a coral wreath.
I strung lights around a small palm tree,
and ordained it with shells from the cooling sea.

I plucked driftwood from the salted breaks,
and made a man of sand as if the snow he really is was a lesser fake.
I had seaweed mistletoe and an octopi menorah,
and when New Year’s rolled around I watched the tide fall
and stars lit the same old path in another silly new way.

Dove in the Overgrowth

Tripped by the Overgrowth,
and all it had overtaken
across the sand blasted beaches
with the rocking, broken water,

That dancing dove dipped
from the moon to drink there,
but stumbled and fell
with the fish she once hunted,
now muted and stunted by the Overgrowth:

That shady, dark canopy
that makes the beauty
of the rocks and the muscles
near that cold gray water
so hard to see
in the bleak February breeze.

Dust

The dust builds
And I sneeze into the age
But cover my mouth
And try to excuse myself.

You offer your tissue
And bless me before I have
The chance.

And the dust builds again
And my nerves build again
And I won’t make a sound this time.

The Mall

Whizz
Fizz
Hustle
And fuss,
No one
trips to
The Mall
exactly
like us!

A tasty deviation from
the defeatist persuasion,
signaling victory with finger ‘V’s,
abounds around the lull in war
and Christmas trees.

Murky is the meaning,
muddled in the message,
without a firm direction;
but huddle close
to the host
for a nice chunk
of broken suggestion.

Hide the face from
the fingers and linger
in the peace,
the body warmth warms
the body count until
there’s a softer bit
of release.

Who knew it’d matter,
with questioning eyes glowing
while plum limps
and yellowed teeth chatter?

Your book, your gift,
Your brand new obligation.
The pages, so crisp,
Demand your fascination.
The lines of small, black imagination,
That scroll across the pages,
Set your head all to crumbles,
Along with your gasps and your mumbles
That would be reviews otherwise.

The highlighting dabs of your little red pen,
Thin and quick like your wrists writing,
Or eyes reading,
Rip across the shreds of your interpretations.
The pages bleed with your questions;
Gutted by your mind’s eye’s imperfections.

Slither toward the ending and finish the execution,
Marked pages and a bent spine
Couple nicely with a ruined mind
And all that soaked, drowned, barrowed time.
Unwrapped and under-read,
Your gift now lingers wasted in your head,
Fingers still showing sings of how it bled,
And still no solemn tears of remembrance
For the hopeful glances of jackets or reviews
Fall down the cheeks of the head of abuse.

It’s done now.
Lower your gaze to the ground.
Stop staring,
Stop caring,
Stop wondering how.

Something Soft

Something soft,
In heaven blue.
I’m tired of
The harder hue.

You Figure It Out

Listen to music you found on the concrete
Ignore the scratches on the surface
And let it all play away.
Sip from the broken mugs,
The jagged edges kiss you.
Softer, you spill the drink,
It’s okay, clean it up.
You didn’t know it mattered
When you made all that clatter
But know you’re in trouble, now.
For shame, you woke the neighbors up.
Maybe someday, someone will stop
Throwing their music away
And you’ll stop breaking coffee mugs,
(they make great gifts)
So it will be quiet again
And you’ll make some friends
Other than the frowns of your
Cranky, woke-up neighbors.
Until then, ignore the scratches on the surface
And let it all play away.

English Airspace

I’ve seen a plane crash
And all the flames rise up
With that thick black smoke
Filling the sky
And just adding to
All the gray fog.

But I saw the pilot crawl,
Scratch and tear
Away from the wreckage
Stronger, smarter
And less alone than before.

I’d like to think
That because I saw the crash,
I can help the pilot heal.
But I don’t know
If I could even find the supplies
To begin that mission

Time doesn’t fix planes,
And makes for a poor parachute,
But I think Moms are right
When they say that: Time can
Fix all wounds.

“You’ll be alright, Pilot
I’ll be sure of that from my distance,
Or up close if you’ll let me.
You’ll fly again.
You’ll fly again.
You’ll fly again
And you won’t fall next time
Because you fell too far this time,
And I don’t know how much
Further you can go.”

For Evening Wind

With the window open
And the curtains blown
She crawled into bed
Naked and alone.

The fluffed feathered pillows
And paintings on the wall
Cocooned her in the room
Through the Spring and into Fall.

With ruffled down blankets
And a pitcher by her side,
She prepared for her Winter nap
And waking to a frozen moon rise.

The room grew dark
As the wind started to howl,
She would sleep so hardy
And she would sleep now.

Machine Head and Heart

The man with the machine head
Was stuck in a vestibule
With no one to ever tell him
Exactly what he should do.
Until his rock heart came alive
And decided to stand by his side
To teach him things about life
Like where to begin and why.
Soon the machine head could feel,
And all ones and zeros faded
Into something more concrete
Jaded, but still becoming real.
Then, the vestibule collapsed!
And the decision had been made
That the heart had severed his maid
And should deserve a proper grave.
But the machine head wasn’t free
And realized that all he’d need
Was something more than his reason,
More feeling, so he began pleading.
But the heart just wouldn’t hear it,
It’d never been used before
And why should it be now,
With the vestibule’s glass on the ground?
But the machine head wasn’t free!
And realized what he would need
And told his little heart
That it should be his something.

Wants

I wanna see the world brand new
I want chase away ghost
In go-carts with you.
I wanna sleep out on the street,
Get a thick blanket,
And have to cook what we eat.
I wanna never grow up,
Stay immature,
And never fall in love.
I wanna die a millionaire,
Give to the poor,
And not have to care.
I wanna get old with you,
Get gray and wrinkled
Until we both get the blues.
I wanna see the world brand new
We could both be ghost
And haunt the people of Peru.

To Paint Her

As she lounged on the couch
The soft golden sun light
From the window above
Caught in her hair but
Was hidden from blinding
Her beautifully still eyes.
She was a Goddess
She was Venus
And though I hurried to paint
Something worthy of her
(Or just capture a hint,
A small crumb, of that moment)
My heart wrote a poem
And my mind a song,
And that portrait I painted
Melted me back to my soft;
I was alive again by her posing view
And would keep her there until
That morning curtain drew
And the evening’s shadow shone,
But she was gorgeous and deserved
To be left alone.
Away from my own selfish gaze,
Away from all those poetic games.

There’s London in Your Eyes Tonight

Waiting for words that haven’t come
Or some sign that the right is not in the wrong.
Where is that face,
That pulls you in?
Where is that feeling,
Disappearing to again?
Not another thought, they come too hard,
Those stiff lumps in your throat still have to thaw.
But you’ve seen it all
And can see through this fog
Because

With the distance, the feeling grows
You count the days, but can you let him know
That there’s London in your eyes,
Tonight?

There’s London in your eyes,
Tonight.

Simple smiles have become numb
And the pain inside just fills you up. You know
That he is there,
But won’t let go.
Where are his words now?
You need to show him, but how?
Not another dream, they leave so fast
And this time you swore there’s no looking back,
And you’re flying now
Because he put you there
But still

With the distance, the feeling grows
You count the days, but can you let him know
That there’s London in your eyes,
Tonight?

There’s London in your eyes,
Tonight.

I Love Dancing

The tree bark is rough
And crumbles in my hand
I love dancing in Nature,
Though I do not understand.

The stars shine bright
From millions into the past
I love dancing in the Sky
Even if I’m not as fast.

The floor cushions under
And gently rocks to sleep
I love dancing at Home
Though I have nothing to eat.

The chair rocks steady
As the wind blusters by
I love dancing on the Porch
And don’t need a reason why.

A Moment's Beauty

On a hot night I was with someone
And we pulled into a gas station,
Because they needed gas.

They filled it up and went inside
To pay what they had owed,
They were moving fast, but my mind
Was moving slow.

Then, a car pulled up with an older couple up front.
They had a newer beige sedan who’s teeth hadn’t been cut.
And I looked and thought little of it
But then found the back seat.

There was a teenaged girl, laid down,
Crying but still looking sweet.
I wondered why she was crying
And why see’d look at me.

But then the sedan drove away
And I was left alone to question a moment’s beauty.

To L.H.

You would be sad today,
I think,
If you could see how
It had slowly become.

How the foundation you laid,
With such power! And conviction!,
Had fallen so surely numb.

The bricks you cast for those
High rising walls
Were all sold off
And now just prop up
Old motor homes.

But some still try
To build new walls,
Strong, sturdy,
And into the sky.

It’s just harder because there’s
Fewer Yous around
To help show them how.
Or to tell them why.

Top View

The view from the top
is only had after first
looking down.

The cool gravel ground
smiles back at your frown
and it reaffirms that all
too distinguished belief;

That success is gained
on the back of the bereaved.

Gray Geese

Gray geese feast
On the flesh of
Their fallen feathered friends.
The swans they wish
They were smile because
The geese have so much to learn.
So they soar away from
The blood stained water
Of that pond and plain.
But what of those fallen geese?
Are there no second chances
For devoured romances?
Does the red water still
Flow as fast as that clean,
Crystal iconoclast?
If no, then it is because
Nothing is left and the
Gray geese are out of breath.

Lifting (A Start of Sorts)

He lifted the weight over and over in that whitewashed, sterile room. One wall was all mirrors, so he could watch himself. But the opposite wall was a large window, but large white Phoenician blinds were always drawn. The walls were white and the carpet on the floor was beige and not very soft. But the weights that made him perfect and strong still shone in the room. The bright silver handles picked up the florescent lights gorgeously, and even the black rubber mass on each end of the handle reflected some light, even without any sun light.

The weight rose from his chest where he was laying on the hard black metal bench. The back was padded though, she he could lift in comfort. The weight rose toward the ceiling with every heave and fell back to his chest after every triumph. He sweated and got stronger every time. The lights in the ceiling, covered by glossy plastic sheets, approved as the bar and rubber were offered as a sacrifice for perfection.

Once he couldn’t breathe or lift the weight any more he laid the shiny silver bar back over his head on the bench. He lifted his head to look at his own tired body in the mirror. He had to gaze over his tired chest and sweat drenched little gray shorts. He couldn’t see his white high-top tennis shoes or the large bunch of sock that worked there way toward his calves. Work is good. He stood up and grabbed his small white towel from under the black metal work and wiped off the bench. He didn’t need the leftovers from his struggles left around; others would have to make their own.

He searched for his bottle of water he was sure had made it into the small work box of a room, but did not find it. It was small and rounded at the bottom with a dark blue label. The girls thought the bottles were cute; they made the water inside look darker that it was because of the tint of the bottle anyway. He decided he’d just put his shirt back on, walk out of the hotel’s weight room, and go drink some water from the faucet in his tiny room’s bathroom. He might need ice, or more little cups, and later he decided might be a good time to take a dip in the hotel’s small, plain pool with the dark blue painted bottom. It made the water look darker and more refreshing that way.

This is a Maelstrom

This is a maelstrom.
It is seeing a room,
Getting to know the furniture
Knowing the corners and contours
Memorizing the patterns on both
The carpet and the wall paper,
And then being blindfolded
And moved into another room,
Breathless, nervous
But brand new.
This is a maelstrom
And there will be baptism
In the rain, waves, and flood.
The storm has no eyes and we cannot see.
Suspended in mystification is a good place to be.
This is a ride, a white water rapid, but it is exciting.
There is a pretty sort of distress here.
No one knows anything.
I am just going to revel.
I used to know things but
giving that up is freedom.
I am just going to dance in the rain,
In the middle of this maelstrom.

From Poverty

From poverty; unslain, preferred by the wisemen,
From which the broken wisdom came
Upon the thrones of the philosopher kings,
Came the royal scepters, brilliant crowns, and golden rings.

The rags the old beggars wore, torn and feting,
Breathed a new life into that golden lining
Of robes and roses the ruling class wore,
That the poor wrapped up their children
In the cobbles but still hobbled down them sore.

Broken spirits and bent backs, crying children and empty sacks,
Sourced the power that should bring repose back,
But what of the crimes, until now committed?
Who shall determine if the punishments are fitting?

They, and they alone, away from the shadow
Of the ruling wisemen’s throne. Step to the challenge
And deliver the sword, to the throat of the mind
That left you and your children broken and poor,
Bent and sore!

A Wretch Like Me

Amazing grace, was a nice idea,
To save a wretch like me,
But what once was lost
seems bound to be.
And now, I think, I’m stuck.

Or at least struck by those
Lightning bolts Whoever
keeps tossing at me.
He or She? I don’t care
I just wish they’d stop
Lightning striking me.

If a little drummer boy
really played for a baby,
The parumpapumpum would
wake up the baby up and that stillness,
That all infants deserve,
Would be all disturbed.
So that gift was dumb.
And that little percussionist
should have to lull that baby back to sleep.
Or get struck by some Lightning.

Amazing grace, was a sweet sound
but someone stopped playing.
There are no harps or trumpets
and the sooner we realize
that sometimes it’s nice to be blind,
The sooner we can relax,
Find some sort of piece of mind
(In what’s lost),
And try to relearn that beautiful
(But mixed up)
word: fine.

Or at least skirt the real issue
and talk about things in riddles
that you will never understand
because sometimes I don’t want you to.
Rock a bye baby, on the tree top,
When the wind blows, that drum will pop.
When the sticks break, the cradle will
rock
And down come expectations,
Hopes, dreams, and all
that might have saved
a wretch like me.

The Rotting Words

These rotting words will die
Like the growing rot and mold
Of the pages that they occupy.

The form will fall from fashion
And the letters will lose their meaning,
These silly books are full of dead passion.

Some day the ink will fade away
And all that will be left is the memory
Of those beautiful words; just the memory.

I'll Try

It’s funny
That you should say
I stand steadfast in those tidal pools
Because I don’t have a choice to stand
It’s a power and a force
And I am a slave.
But truthfully,
I am a slave
And I will remain as steadfast as the water requires
No matter the waves
And I will never drown.

Driving Past a Crash

Rubber neck
Drive by
Blue Flash
No crime?

Rubber neck
White truck
Blue flash
No crime?

Rubber neck
Yellow tarp
Blue flash
No crime?

Rubber neck
Some crash
Drive past
No crime.

A Quirky Rhapsody

For you, I care.
I come eagerly.
With smiles for despair,
I would love to set you free.

For them, I sigh.
I’ve learned to hate their lie.
They just don’t seem to know
That they’re living in real life.

Depressed, No! Happy inside!
You and I can always run and hide
From those sad, sappy suckers
Who always want to cry!

For you, I care.
And I would hold your hand.
But for them, I’m tired
Of trying to understand.

For them, I sleep
While they learn to weep.
I will be so quiet!
And not even make a peep!

Refrain, No! Happy again!
They want to learn our ways,
How to fight a darker amend
And count their smiles in days!

For them, I hide
Somewhere they can’t see.
I don’t want to get
Their sadness over me.

For you, I listen
While your blue eyes glisten.
It’s like they go right threw me…
Initially, I think that’s what drew me…

I Have Seen Your Fall

I will not cry for you,
Or those sad things you do.
You just want me to care,
And I refuse to ever be there.

Stop trying for my sympathy
And grow up a little bit.
Just because it’s hard for you,
Doesn’t mean that you need me.

Look in the mirror and
Pretend if it’s not true,
That you can learn to love yourself
And, someday, won’t need me to.

I can deal with me.
I can smile and I’m happy.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t feel,
I’ve just learned how to deal.

Look past the pain and find
That happy place you left behind.
Smile and lie that it will be alright
If you care to make it another night.

Or just end it all
And leave no regrets.
I have seen your fall,
And eventually will forget.

A Dead Copperhead

On an old wooden fence
Once strong, but now needing mending,
Laid a dead copperhead,
Once vivacious, but now surely fading:

The brass sphere my father had shot,
From his old air riffle,
Had caught the snake in the heart;
And surfaced its death rattle.

So he caught it by the tail
And strung it ‘cross the fence.
It slithered toward and tether,
But dying all the while.

Once it stopped, on the fence,
The wind began to blow.
The snake was caught in the breeze
And swung too and fro.

It hung limp after it quit
And my father was quite proud.
It had put up quite the fight,
Or at least was told the crowd.

Before the Movie

If the black screen
All of a sudden seemed
More usually and lonely,
Would you break down and hold me?

If what pictures that were supposed to play
Would not show up, being gone away
Like those rabbits of who you used to tell
Who would run and jump and drown in the canal,

Would the screen have to stay blank and still?
Was it something I said, in mind or in real?
Does it have to stare back at me and you like that,
And would you comfort me without that fact?

If the black screen
All of a sudden let out a white scream,
And it hurt our little eager eyes,
Would you then get your hand off of my thigh?

You are those stories you told
And you only love me when the movie won’t show.
No, just watch, I’m sure I’ll be fine.
I can find some other hand for my thigh.

Evening Plea for Entertainment

Trouble me in a new riddle, dear
So your thought stained eyes can tingle,
At the way my head turns away in fear
Of those witty bells you love to jingle.

Speak or cast, in your merry way
Something elegant and lacy.
Come now, I will prepare the day,
I’ll ensure room and that it is spacey.

Lie to us if you must
Just pour out another tale!
You weave them so well, my darling,
That we all fear you’ll never pour out the tale!

I’ll build a fire to burn you a muse
And conjure up a gift.
A new story from you, earned through a ruse
To whom I have not yet given credit?

Let us listen, or let me read
About the giggles of majestic we.
Sit back and develop a plot
Of what happiness has, but sadness does not.

On Stage

The bright stage light beats down
On the old black painted wooden planks.
My eyes blink, and sear, but soon recover
And begin to scan those shadowed sitters.

My mouth moves but I am else where,
In a place where mind and body disconnect.
“Did I get flowers, are they even here?
They said they’d come, they must be sitting in the rear…’

It goes and comes, you flow and burn,
And if it’s right then by the power of the night
Something new and beautiful can be learned.
You can be more you than you’ve ever been
By being someone else and committing their sins.

Be a Man

Shut your mouth and be a man
Or put a gun in your hand.
So no one will understand—
Shut your mouth and be a man.

Shut your mouth and be a man.
At least do the best you can.
No one’s here to hold your hand.
Shut your mouth and be a man.

Shut your mouth and be a man.
It looks like you should have ran,
But you lost your chance to plan.
Shout your mouth and be a man.

All's Fair...

Let’s limp past the roses
And not stop to smell,
The fetid pedals of lost poses
And that scent of burning Hell.

I should drag you away
To save you the pain
Of seeing the white rose you let go
Die and turn red in the waning day.

Hush your whimpers
And mute your whines,
I’ll be back with the clippers
All in due time.

And then, when you hobble,
Broken and sore,
Past that flowered cobble
It won’t hurt anymore.

That is, unless,
Your blood and scabs
Leave you blank and painless:
Still and frozen in bed.

Then, I’ll limp back to the roses,
Stop, and have my pick.
Because, before this war closes,
I swear I will not leave sick.

Night Owls

“You know what it is Jim,”
He began to explain with
His head hung low and both
Elbows on the bar. “I think I
Just feel alone.” Jim gave the
Comment its due respect then
Slighted; “Well, you got me
Don’t you?” He looked up,
But not toward Jim, and sighed
A little. “Yeah, I do. But it just
Aint the same, Jimmy, as a
Person I can truly get to know.”

Jim should have been offended,
But knew exactly what he meant.
And suddenly, Jim realized they
Were both alone. Two men, friends,
Just sitting at a bar; alone together.

I Don't Know

I am awkward, but something good’s about to happen.
I just feel it tingling inside of me. But I’m a little scared,
Because I have no earthly idea of what it could possibly be.

I am excited. And nervous because this is new.
I felt this before, but when I was much younger.
This is that feeling you get, the last few days of school,
When you know you have nothing else important to do.

But I still have to wake up early. I still have to work.
I still have to deal with my friends and my silly quirks.
I have obligations the summer can’t hide, so why?
Why do I feel like I am going to be so surprised?

My legs are restless, watching my feet bang on the floor.
I can’t stop talking and I’m walking so much more.
When did this energy get poured into me? And how?
What good is coming my way to justify my feeling this way?

Gone Away

When I was little
My friends gone away.
When I was older
My house gone away.
When I was needed
I just gone away.

Every four years
My family gone away.
When there’s a war
My Daddy gone away.
Sisters and Brothers grow up,
Now they gone away.

My whole life, every now and then
Stuff just gone away.
But now that I found you
I won’t gone away.
That is until, justified,
You gone away.

But I’ll wait until
He gone away.
I’ll find a smile and hope
It don’t gone away.
This is my way of making my
Mistakes gone away.

That, and I’m tired of
Everything gone away.

Just So You Know

Just so you know,
I am not this deep in person
I am more charming
I am more charismatic.
I will chat the small talk
And give my opinions
But if you want the deep me
Just know you’ll have to dig a little.
I thought I’d give you some foresight,
Just so you’d know.

I’d hate to ruin your crystal, pristine
Little expectations of this poetic me.

Hands Down

I am able to babble on the edge of a broken gun,
I just drink my pistol-whiskey from sun up to dust,
I aint never hollered at a homeless beggar man,
And aint never met a woman who could understand.

Hands down
Hands down
The sun has gathered down
Hands down
Hands down
The Son has fallen down.

Slick black hair under dusky razor lights,
The lounge singer belts but could never think twice.
Chicken wires scratches, so throw some dirt in the cuts
I would give the world to you, if you’d just face front.

Hands down
Hands down
The sun has gathered down
Hands down
Hands down
The Son has fallen down.

Angst in Ramble

I want something deeper and ideological
Less of the lying and the pathological
I want something real, but something pretty
Mostly I just want out of this broken city.

Tell me there’s hope somewhere to be
That perfect person every one sees in me
I would hate to let all their aspirations down
But I need a raft in my potential so I don’t drown

I want to break away
In the best possible way
I want to pretend I that create,
When all I do is poorly relate

I’m happy and hate that they are sad
But I still get mad at the little I never had
So, call me selfish, at least I can smile
And this time I decided to stay for a while

I want to be that pain in your neck
I want to be your knotted back when you stretch
I want to be your flowers and your cure
Mostly I just want to doubt less and be sure.

I hate teenagers and their excuses
Stop crying and find more releases
You just need another person
So you can demand all their affections

Be desperate for some attention
Be pathetic to get their correction
Yes you’re sad, but you got them to smile
Maybe you should stick around, for a while.

I want something vain that truly is ugly
I want something jagged and that's snugly
I want it to rain with no clouds on the sun
Mostly, I want those possible disappointments undone.

Street Sign Critique

Streets signs are no help
In telling me where to be.
I don’t know which neighborhood
Is a bad one, or which is good.
The name on the sign,
Usually green under white,
Should tell, or at least hint,
Whether or not I,
Should stay or forget it.
Street names like:
“Loud White Boys”,
Or
“Old Black Women”,
Something to give clues
About what’s there hidden.
I don’t mind having to find
A place to walk down.
But if the signs
Could save me the time
I could do more where
I know I need to be.

Do You Remember That Time We Met?

Do remember that time we met?

(I saw your face and started to sweat.
You were so pretty, and I was sure
That you’d be mine right then and there.
But I’d have to win you, a gaze could work,
And trying to convince love to do wouldn’t hurt.
So I hoped you saw me from across the room
As I walked over to you and made my move.
You wore that dress and started to smile
And I thought I’d like to see it for a while.)

Do you remember that time we met?
Because I forgot, and only remember regret.

That Sassy Wind

If you thought you knew
Why that sassy wind blew,
Keep guessing
Because She’s not confessing.

That old maid just blisters
And splinters
And blows houses down,
And, I’d bet, does it with a frown.

So I just assume
Some other lady took her groom
And She’s just as mad as can be;
Stirring up dirt and tussling the sea

And it had to of been lately
Because the wind just got crazy,
So if you know why she’s fussing,
Please kill that bastard reason for her cussing.

Cadillac

Sit back, Cadillac,
And sip your coffee now.
The show’s playing for you,
So let your sorrows drown.

Lay back, Cadillac,
And dream your hopes some more.
She’s dancing for you now
And her feet will never get sore.

Jump back, Cadillac,
And let yourself be scared.
The future’s teeth chatter, too
Because, like you, it lets things loom.

Come back, Cadillac,
And just wait a little more.
The moon shines because of the sun
So we'll start again after she's done.

Sit back, Cadillac,
And sip your cider now.
The show played for you,
To let your sorrows drown.

Piece of Mind

Give me that piece of mind
I’ve waited so long to find.
Let me revel in the moment
And have my piece of mind.

Hand me those lovely flowers
I’ve waited for through the showers.
Let me revel in the scent
And have those lovely flowers.

Sit with me and hold me tight;
I’ve waited so long for this night.
Let me revel in the mood
And have you hold me tight.

Keep that smile on your face;
I’ve waited to know that only grace.
Let me revel in the joy
And have a smile on your face.

That Fight

…so she said…
…Then he said…
And she cried,
And he left.
But by morning
They were both sorry.
And they could build a house,
On the foundation of that regret.

Untrapped

I am not trapped
By any sense of the word,
But I still feel cornered by
My imaginary trappings.

Nothing should hold me back
Being white, protestant, and male,
But I still feel the string of a leash
Tugging on the collar round my neck.

I am not a caged bird
And no walls stray my dreams,
But there are still obstacles
To what would make me happy.

But the depressing thing is
I am not trapped,
And that little thing holding me back,
Might just be only me.

Readers

All readers are alone.
I am a reader.
I am alone.
But I write.
And I read.
So is the reader
Alone like me?

Your Own Personal Sin

“Your own personal sin,
Handcrafted by our professionals,
Was late getting in,
So accept our apologetic confessional.

You will have it
In a short bit.
Until then, if you could,
Don’t try too hard to be good.”

"A new question to answer..."

A new question to answer
For the task at hand,
Has the threat of cancer
Grown too bland?

Do we even try,
To not let them die?
What could we send,
That might get them in?

Attitude

Nothing’s right anymore
Because of that attitude.
You always seem sore
And make me mad at you.

I deal with mine
So that you won’t mind.
Please deal with yours
Behind closed doors.

Counting

I wish I could count so high
That I had nothing else to think
And that everyone passing by
Would excitedly watch on brink.

1, 2, 3, 4...
Here’s the way to something more
...7, 8, 9, 10
The problem lies in when to begin

Flowers

Flowers could grow
On top of a grave,
But we bring them to show
That there’s an easier way.

We gather and place,
To remember their face
And those times we’ve had,
The good longside the bad.

"So, that is what you meant..."

So, that is what you meant
When you thought I’d scare.
You thought I loose intent
Or maybe not fight so fair.

Just know I’m here
Now, without fear,
And wait I will
To that day until.

The Sure Sky

So sure was the sky
Of its cobalt hue,
That it bet the night
To prove it untrue.

Without the sun
The blue was done.
Black was the sky
As it began to cry.

Bees!

Bees! Bees!
Yellow and black
Killers from the Trees!
Back! Back!

Away! Away!
From here, I say!
Dive! Dive!
In the water, to survive!

"You're just distracted..."

You’re just distracted
By this new romantic.
But you’ve been impacted
And’ve acted quite frantic.

Where to go and what to see,
You don’t know what to believe.
Where to go and what to do,
What if the lies in those eyes are true?

"If I came to my senses..."

If I came to my senses
Would I know I was there?
Would I stop building fences,
Or would I even care?

If I stumbled on a clearing,
Would I remain endearing?
Or, would I loose my charm
And cause my chances harm?

"That great usurpation..."

That great usurpation
Surprised all the troops,
It shook their foundation
And questioned their roots:

“Take the hill!
Show your will!
Win we must!
In God we Trust!”

Dreams

So it seems these dreams of mine
Are far-fetched and far away.
But they stay in heart and mind
Until they seem the right way.

Feign the crushes! and steer the tide!
There’s hope yet; for their pride!
Grow the roots, because it seems,
They’ll blossom later: my far-fetched dreams.

Friends

How many friends have passed
Before the sun set and was alone?
Did the ship loose its mast
Before they sailed back home?

Did they disappear or drown?
Are they on dry land or in the ground?
How many friends have gone
Before the sun rose and made a new dawn?

Have You Seen the Breeze

Have you seen the breeze
That blows cool then cold?
I long still for that gentle breeze
That blows across the ground and over leaves.
Has it grown so bold,
Or gotten so old,
That I can no longer call it the breeze?

Hungover Breakfast

The muffins steamed hot on the plate
Waiting to be made breakfast food,
But last night he was drunk and home too late
to be considered anything but crude.

She would not give him the baking
While he was still hungover; shaking,
But maybe if he sobered up
He would get some coffee in his cup.

The Best Man

He looked toward the groom
But found no answer
There, or elsewhere in the room,
So he assumed right to romance her.

They gasped, while he grasped her waist,
And wondered how his kiss would taste.
They hinted, not completely letting
The groom know this should be their wedding.

Diamante I

Fate
Sure , Decided
Reassuring, Trapping, Continuing
Forever, Neutral, Spiteful, Hateful
Hurting, Harming, Changing
Desperate, Alarmed
Curse

Cinquain I

Slug:
Slimy worm
Writhing and wading
To scare and disrupt;
Shell-less snail.

Haiku I

So many chances,
Why only now does it work?
So many questions…

Sizing Up

She forced the pants
Over her thighs and
Decided to try for the
Hips. ‘Almost!” She
Grunted as she realized
That the old jeans would
Not fit. She titled her head
Back and smiled at the
Textured white ceiling:

Mission accomplished.

Fall in December

In December, Fall leaves drop,
Like the bombs of wars
Of any armored Lords,
From the trees tops.

Swings sway soft in cold breeze,
Like the necktie of a broken man,
Sad to hold life in his hand,
In the bathroom on his knees.

Cool nights deepen in their harm,
Like the needle of the addict,
Surging through the vein with such panic
That he ignores the hole in his arm.

But: piles of leaves that rustle
Remind me of warm fires,
Second chances for liars,
And that busy Christmas hustle.

The oranges and reds, bright and strong,
Are hugs from aunts and uncles
That make your knees buckle
Because it really has been too long.

Strangers smiling on street corners
Are like the good feeling of eye contact,
Not wanting to take a present back,
Or speaking the language of foreigners

For Peter

Once with all my eyes aglow,
(But so diverted that you
Would never know)
I found the style lines true,
And admired your outfit’s flow.

That crimson flame and pearl hue,
Swirled together in professional match,
Switch on that noble renew
So that you have earned the patch
Of that gorgeous swan the old tale drew.

Deviation from proper constraints, you don’t,
While professionalism sharpens your wit.
Dress down for right restraints, you won’t,
Style hatches from your every bit.

Reflection

“Oh, she knows
How I feel,” He
Said with a little
Chuckle. He just
Stared back through
The mirror almost
Smiling, but still
Disappointed. “Then
Why don’t you tell
her,” he attacked,
“And make sure?”

He lingered for a
Moment and thought
About replying, but
Soon learned that he
Really didn’t have
Any sort of an answer.

Window View

Diagonal sun lines
Drip from the window
Onto the floor under
The whitewashed sill.

At quiet times
When clouds roll
Through the muster
I have to kneel

And watch them take
On the lines
While they pass
Over it all.

There is no hate
But sometimes
The floor saddens
From being raw.

The sun’s diagonal kiss
Is enough to make the floor miss
All that stilted warmth
Dripping on the whitewashed sill

But the clouds’ remiss
Is their own bliss
And the sun’s warmth
For them is not silted.

She Waters Flowers

Right before the gate closes
all of the air
is pushed from the hoses
and the flowers are left bare.

She runs from what she planted
and hides in the house
away from the bad hymn
of a work-ruined blouse.

Now the flowers won’t grow
because they don’t have water
and the sky can’t loan
enough to keep them softer.

Right before the door closes
She remembers that all She knows is
the garden and its glee.

She runs from why she ran
back to the flowers
trying to understand
their mysterious powers.

Now the flowers can grow
because she will water them
and through the narrow
they will hear her softer hymn.