May each smile be true
and not worn upon a face
of treachery

As my head of hair keeps graying
and I feel my edges fraying
Sometimes the thought
that comforts me
is the humble act of praying

Good morning my pain,
my sorrow, my fear
Nice to see you
Don’t worry I’m here
I’ve ignored you all
for oh, so long
Now I realize
that was wrong
Wrong for the
little child in me
Distracting myself
So, I could not see
the depth of his inner suffering

How can smiles
melt our hardened hearts
yet, we have these terrible wars
fueled by hate across the globe
that oozes from our pores?

Whenever we feel
loneliness or despair
We cover it up
and pretend it’s not there
Denying emotions
and pushing them down
won’t make them leave
or silence the hound
But, how do you face the suffering
when it is bigger than you are?

Of late
there has been this restlessness
that has been stirring
like the wind before a storm
The rustle of the leaves
warns of an impending doom
and it begs the question
Is everything in life worth surviving?
Just a passing thought
but a sobering one
At least there are no crows
in my bedroom window

How tragic the man
who thinks the world’s
at his feet
then that Persian rug
pulled from beneath him
He is set at sea
part of the fleet
befriending the rest
of the jetsam

I sit in the silence
of their long empty rooms
that leave me
with a feeling of homelessness
I do not recognize
my house anymore
I live there
in uncomfortable loneliness

Object-Oriented Spirituality:
We are all unique expressions of God
Instances of the object named “Truth”

Yes, yes
Yes, I know
There comes a time
when we all must go
I know, I know
It’s the way of things
It has toppled tyrants
and buried kings
So, we must be thankful
for time spent
in our broken bodies,
souls woefully bent
to the needful side of suffering

Each weekday morning
swaths of traffic
cut through grids
of byways and streets
Parades of honking horns
creating a dissonance of chords and seemingly random notes jamming to the beat of the city

Perhaps narcissism is little more
than a preoccupation with one’s pain
Gotta figure pain is in there somewhere

Hurt people hurt people

Sometimes there are places to go
but, no where to stop

With all our ailments and defects
of character, may we be assured that the cure for it all will come soon enough
“At the last” “Everything hath end”

The longer you live the heavier the
weight of not dying

Anger can be a dangerous state of mind
Stress a flesh-eating disease

There is nothing more threatening
to one’s freedom
than the contraction of the mind
due to fear

The only way
to best darkness
is to wield a sword of light
And if it should
come back again
we’ll know just how to fight
May it rule forever
to guard our mighty land
or at least
until last we use
those tiny grains of sand

How tragic for those
who must walk in the rain
of their own tears
Tears that have been shed so hard
they fall red with blood
For the impact of loss
can so brutally harm the grief-stricken
they are counted
among the living dead

We are all part
of each other’s puzzles
Many of which would be incomplete without that piece
that is you
You may feel broken
but, you are a part of an even greater whole
The enigma that is us

Those who see the flaws in flowers
may marvel at their gift of sight
But, they stumble
in a world of darkness
Victims of too much light

These precious flowers
were mad with glee
Having a party
because they were free
To sway with ease
in a summer breeze
I could have sworn
they were waving at me

I am a heathen
who went vegan
and I’m not allowed to have meat
Tried the vegetable juice
and now I'm reduced
to searching for food in the street
They found me at dawn
on somebody's lawn
seasoning the boots on my feet
and to my dismay
I heard the cops say
boots are not what vegans can eat!

To be so blessed
as to sleep so sound
To sleep so sound
as to greet each day
with all it deserves
and let come what may

This man was much worse
than a spendthrift of time
unaware of what truly mattered
He wasted his words
full of worry and regret
then wore them
as clothes torn and tattered

When it’s Monday
he usually laments it
When it’s Tuesday
he usually resents it
Then, comes Wednesday
he feels better about it
So, on Thursday
he can drink about it
On the weekend
he can’t care about it
and usually ignores
his feelings about it
It’s a cycle
that repeats without end
For come Monday morning
it starts over again

Three yellow birds
have died in a cage
Canaries in the coal mine
kept miners from their wage
“Got to get down there
I’ve got a family to feed
That’s more important to me
than the air that I need
I don’t care about the danger
It’s too late for me
In another year
I won’t be around to see
more birds dying
on account of me
Just open up the mine
and let me be”



And put Vincent’s drawings
where all can see

Where does a person's feelings lie
when a child can't afford to hate?
Maybe love
turned away many times
was no longer willing to wait

I remember myself
as a child
Busted out of my house
untamed and wild
Nary a care for fear
Couldn’t be bothered with loathing
Breathlessly waiting
for what the next moment would bring
Happy with
just about everything

I work hard
every day
to make things
go my way
So much so
that in fact
I lose sight
of how to act
While at work
I'd rather not
get myself
tied in a knot
If truth be known
I'd rather play
but, then again
I like the pay

Wise man say that if one is tired of
gaining weight at mere glance of food, one need only wear blindfold to dinner table

It had been a day
of holding back tears
Putting fingers in holes
of a now leaky ****
A wall that had been sturdy
for so many years
crumbling into a person
I think I could like

I believe in a karmic world
Negative thoughts and deeds
beget more negativity
and this cause and effect
can balloon into a storm
A storm that can overwhelm  
all reason
Where sitting in a dark corner
of a room
is preferable to the light

His little girl
is no longer
She poses with a pitchfork now
Flanked by her husband and child
she sports the face of a P.O.W.
No longer in need of her father
and that’s the way it should be
He just wished she looked happier
A smile would be nice to see
Maybe it’s not what it looks like
Maybe she doesn’t want to be free
Maybe she loves
the life she has made
But, he thinks she just wants to flee

Stuck in patterns
that are damning to repeat
because vows to do better
don’t last
How does one be
who one wants to be
without healing
from an imperfect past?

Along with creating our own
personal philosophical views of life
comes the distinct possibility that we will become disillusioned by them
Because, if we had some answers,
we wouldn’t have so many **** questions

Eat when you are hungry
and when you’re tired sleep
Stop all the questioning
Life isn’t all that deep

Wise man say: “There are too many ways to look the fool without
arguing with one.”

Careful now
make not a mistake
It’s only your hide
the skinner wants to take
Ready to pounce
it won’t think twice
to be all over you
like white on rice

Old things for new
Old things for new
Cried a poor peddler
through a high province of Peru
He thought of the story
of the rain that got in
It filled the world up
to wash away sin
It was but an ark
that had saved not the least
of all that were chosen
from man and the beasts
And how had that mattered
in the Andes of Peru?
Long after the water
could reach Machu Picchu

Cradled in the arms
of Glenda herself
I could sleep
Sleep like I may never wake
or want to
for the rest is needful
and the dreams devine
I could bathe in the comfort
of clover and poppies
at the foot of Emerald City
waiting to hear the good witch tell me
“Good night sweet prince”

May we one day be toasting
the bright, morning sun
with the blessed chalice
full of nectarine dew
And if our quest
should test our resolve
raise a cup in its place
when the day is through

I err,
therefore I am

I can see the world
through a murky lens
clouded by storms
of my making
And if I am cursing
that which I can’t see
then, it’s only myself
I’m forsaking

Here lately the Sandman mocks me
with his calls to sleep that are nothing more than brutal sarcasm
To report to my bed at night
is the highest level of futility
Even the sheep are laughing
I’m here all week

Soft pink rose petals
touched his lips that day
and burned through his body
like the sun through the wings
of Icarus
For he had reached for ecstasy
and cared not for consequence
It was a good day to die

That fleeting moment
of divine inspiration
floats like a leaf
on a warm Autumn day
Gather it quickly
and pull it close to your heart
before a cold wind
comes and blows it away

Men are ugly
Women are not
Men are such hounds
because women are hot
Their desires are simple
Not very complex
Risking life and limb
For the chance of ***

We can outrun the wolf
on a good day
We can’t cry enough
on a bad day
And sometimes we fight
to get through the night
frightened of all
we could not say

Anxiety is a passing cloud
in a crowded sky
It may come from a painful truth
but, it lives a dreadful lie
It isn't yours
It isn't you
So, let it howl and bark
And gently sit beside it
to hold it in the dark

The silence of the woods
quieted the noise in his soul
As he walked the sacred trail
he felt the spirit of the wind
rustle through him
as if he were high in the trees
He bathed in the cool water
at the base of the silver falls
and prayed that his body
be cleansed of his ***** life
and that he be given the strength
to cope with the stress of adversity
For to conquer that
is to conquer the temptation
to soil oneself with sin

Rise to the blessing
of the morning sun
Open all the windows
it’s will be done
Let it chase away the darkness
of the cold, still night
Let there be clarity
where there was no light
May the sun’s luminescence
baptize all the faces
of those so receiving
of it’s bountiful graces
For a day without storms
is a good day indeed
and may that be remembered
in one’s hour of need

While the puppeteer sleeps
how divine the dream
that frees the marionette to dance

Before the terrible tyrant wakes
Pops the dream
and spoils it's chance

With all the unknown variables
in the complex equation of our lives
for X to equal happiness
we must be always solving for the
value of X

There are ghosts that dwell
in the spooky mist
above the water at night
With the break of dawn
they will soon be gone
like vampires in the light