I haven’t the wisdom
to soothe the grieving
nor comforting words
worth believing
But, I can cry
for a broken heart
and I can pray
for it’s broken parts
to find a way to come together again

To be without love
is to feel but a sliver
of the world’s pain
and nearly
perish from it

Why can’t my soul
quiet my mind?
They don’t seem
to be on the same page
One is in a place
I can’t seem to get to
the other
in a world of rage

It’s the nature of our nature
to be inflexibly unchanging
in view of a landscape
that is constantly rearranging
We can adapt and thrive
or we can barely survive
But, it’s the nature of our nature
to resist much that is changing

Can there be any greater gift
than the lesson of how to be happy
Too many students
not enough teachers

Nothing like heavy suffering
to appreciate the lighter weight
of it’s absence

It is what it is
But, that is all that it is
Otherwise, it’s drama

Heavier is the heart
that has aged from the weight of history

Time is the great conqueror
and we must bend hard to it’s will
For it is a powerful tyrant
and cares not for our petty notions
of immortality

Men of a martyr
Live on the outer
Like disciples of Christ
Who are so enticed
To follow a message
To live like they oughta

Adults are but older children
Who have outgrown their parents
In search of better supervision

Hope springs eternal
in the fertile ground of imagination

The appetite of time
is insatiable
It devours all
that was once mighty
and leaves
nothing but
the odor of decay

These powerful men
Who call themselves men!
Are nothing more
Than a deceitful blend
Of cowardice and hate
And then it’s too late
For us to discover
What they are in the end

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

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

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

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

Confront the wolf
that nips at your heels
if you grow weary
of running
You can always keep trying
to outrun the beast
but, it’s faster than you
and more cunning

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

And while the puppeteer sleeps
How divine the dream
that frees the marionette to dance

The anecdote to a child's trauma
is found in a mother's face
If only a shot
of this unconditional love
could be given to the whole human race

Anger is at the root
of all that upends them
It is the very marrow
of their frustrated despair
Armed against a world
that cannot befriend them
Only because
it doesn't know that they're there

Ah, to feel the stir of passion
And then be burned by it
Better than enduring
the slow suffocation of apathy

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

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

Maybe it’s those
closed pores in your heart
you are mistaking
for a few slivers of light
from God

I err,
therefore I am

It is said there’s a woman,
For every man,
But it's not written in stone,
Only written in sand

Alone amidst the hurried throngs
That move along a street
He’s the statue in a crowded square
Who chose to still his feet
Hoping for a cathartic tear
To mend his fear and pity
He watches all the desperate dots
Looking for the ‘I’ in city

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

Time enough
for work and worry
Thoughts all a flutter
and in a hurry
So when there is pause
to relax and rest
It’s up to one
to do what’s best
and step off the ride
to let the world glide
on by

I wouldn't know
the genius of Van Gogh
I only know what I feel
The glorious sight
of his color and light
is more
than I've a right to steal

Pink lilies in the tarns
Wave like satin in the wind
Veils to an underworld
Where secrets lie within

Smooth and silky ******* of sand
Amidst the ancient rock
Cast shadows in the valley
Neath the ice cream mountain top

Water hangs like bath towels
From the mountain’s misty eyes
Silhouettes of caribou
Dance across the dusky skies

Atop a celestial carousel
Sits a twinkling evening star
No need for idle wishes here
Dreams are good the way they are

When I wake I wonder
What the day will bring
Will my heart run silent
Or will it choose to sing
Will I sense the tragic death
Of yet another day
Or feel enough true gratitude
To kneel to God and pray
Will I find the joie de vivre
To take life as it goes
Or see my reflection frowning
At the world and all its woes

How much of the truth
must be missing
before everyone sees it's a lie
A tattered "Old Glory"
will come with the story
of how we let it all die

Grunts, groans
whimpers and moans
shakes, shivers, and barks
leaps of glee
at the chance to ***
on every pole in the park!

Maybe peace of mind
is living without what truly scares you
rips and tears you
into tiny pieces of yourself

Mindful to tread
ever so lightly
that fertile ground
we visit nightly
Careful now
it’s takes so little
to awaken adrift
in sweat and spittle
The pleasant dream
betrays yet again
hurling the psyche
into a den
of frightening, blood-thirsty nightmares

To live only for those moments
greased with cake and champagne
is to miss all the precious time in between

Compassion is the thread
that runs through most people
to let them know that we are all
cut from the same cloth

How hard the storms
We seem to weather
They leave our souls
Like well-worn leather

****** resignation
Perceived as strength
And so little notice
Of suffering in length

Maybe sadness is happiness
So dearly bereaved
And we live with the loneliness
Of love’s empty shirt sleeves

Oh, we who remain
betrothed to faith
yet, always manage to falter
If truth be known
we get cold feet
and leave it at the alter

After the grueling anger match
between God, the world, and I
I offer this lame explanation
before I begin to sigh
"God, I have to tell you
before you show me the door
I haven't blamed you for anything
that I haven't whipped myself for"

I’ve noticed that wheat fields
are bare without crows
They seem to be missing
that brush of Van Gogh’s
Another sky bruised
by dreary November
in landscapes I can neither
forget nor remember

Who are you actor?
Who are you really?
Indeed, you perform well
Yet, the question’s not silly

When the smile of a clown
Thinly veils a deep frown
Its disturbing façade
Makes the blood run chilly

Full of liquor and beer
The man in the mirror
Spoke to the other
At the shed of a tear

“Selfish deeds
For empty needs
Perhaps are why
Hearts ache and bleed”

‘Neath my head
I’m apt to keep
A feathered pillow
So that I may sleep

I rid my eyes
The last of sight
So true my mind
May know the night

I close my ears
To all the sound
And hear the bliss
Of silence found

As restful night
Wakes to the morn
A fresh new day
To me is born

Don’t let the traces of
snow on the ground
and the air still yet cold
blind you
to the clouds of March
so thinly painted high in the sky
as to remind us of a Spring yet to come

Sometimes I hear Winter
Through the voice of a cello
Music written by Bach
In andante and mello

Sometimes I see Winter
Through bare trees in the silence
Birds perched on white silos
Awaiting Spring violets