The irony is
that the fear of death
gives rise to the fear of living
Meeting uncertainty
with an unshakable faith
is the gift that keeps on giving

A silent scream of terror
from a frozen face of fear
Although a bit scared
he couldn’t help but stare
at the painting on the mirror

Lay your head
upon the grass
'neath the wispy willows

Close your eyes
sleep with the peace
that dwells in Nature's pillows

Ease your mind
into the silence
Ride a horse
up to the Highlands

Amidst the clouds
of sweet serenity

White represents
The innocence of birth
Never will the slate be so clean
Black represents
The contemplation of death
And red all the passion between

Is it the Shakespeare
or is it love
Is it a rapier
on the wings of a dove
****** into his open heart
testing the poison
of Cupid's dart
Is it an elixir
poured from a sonnet
or he is bewitched
from the look of her bonnet
Is it Shakespeare
or is it love
or maybe the kiss
of her sweet scented glove

Whenever it’s dark and gray
On a winter’s rainy day
Content for a single ray
Deep into the month of May
Shine baby shine
Shine baby shine
Tell me the line
That will make you mine

From behind a window pane
I watch the relentless rain
I’m suffering from the pain
Of a broken water main
Shine baby shine
Shine baby shine
Will you be so kind
To put this gloom behind?

Sometimes I think
that my search for meaning
in humanity
errs on the side
of humanity

As the sun peeks over the edge of night
he slowly opens his eyes
and wakes not with an eagerness of spirit
He grows weary of battle
For this love and hate of himself
is always at war
and if there is any lacking in his resolve
victory for love will be hard-won
if won at all
Fatigue will plague his every moment
until the darkness grants his leave
It is then he can close his eyes to sleep once more

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?

It feels I've been awake since forever
Lying here bartering for my share of some sleep
I don't know when
I'll be dreaming again
or how many the Sandman
will take of my sheep

Back to dreamland
Again I fell
Now I feel
Like *******
Why did I
Not stay awake
And face the day
For my own sake
Now I can’t
Lift my head
Or peel myself
Off this bed
I must stop
This sleep and slumber
Or my room
Will fill with lumber!

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

Whether seeking pleasure
or running from pain
At the root of addiction
is trauma
Most find it easier
to blame it on genes
than expose
the family drama

He no longer sits in the park
until after dark
looking for blue birds
perched on a lily white shoulder
For the hope of the chance
at such surreal romance
Fell broken
as the wind in the park grew colder

Nothing seems
so heavy
to a fragile heart
so broken
than thoughts
so unhappy
they go
so unspoken

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

There are times
I don't dance
I but hobble
to the words of old songs
that seem all out of tune
It's when I could ban
the pen from my hand
Stand alone in the darkness
and just howl at the moon

Amidst the curse
Of my mortal sleep
I walked the border
of life and death
Others carried my sins
And defended my honor

Today
I ride into battle
Beneath a shower
of glorious apple blossoms
With this song in my heart
Worthy of both knight and king:

As swords cross
And wounds run deep
I pray to Avalon
My soul to keep
To see my foe
Know well his face
His dying breath
His last embrace

A swath of denim
in a frame of leather
On top of which lies
A cross of feathers
Cries this collage
of my personal
Abstract Expressionism

Picture lying
in a lush green field
cradled within an ancient glen
Boundless is your imagination
of where the gods lived back then

He walked the hill into the evening
until he reached the top
The moon was serenading him
so he took the time to stop
to look upon a lonesome tree
that had not been there before
Neath the light
of a starry night
like the painting
he so adored
He whispered a tiny heartfelt prayer
for those in town below
that had likely lived their lives
never having seen the show

I'm one of those
who when stubs his toes
upon life's uneven path
Blames his woes
on make-believe foes
or God's unlikely wrath

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

Imagine lying
in a lush green field
cradled within an ancient glen
Timeless is
the still life portrait
of what the gods
were like back then

His is the face
of a heavy obligation to stay alive
For he carries the weight
of the dead
and they call to him
from their unmarked graves

Find a way
to justify
a day of doing nothing

You don't owe the world a thing
But, maybe,
it owes you something

To feel the ache of suffering
is to to look no further than
the space between the lines
It is where the godless echoes live
and they try to convince us
that faith will not get us through
this long, arduous trip from home

When that big dark cloud
floats above your head
standing like a vulture
over unclaimed dead
When it casts it's long shadow
And troubles your sky
Insist that it move
to let the sun by

Cry in the rain
And the world cries with you

Sometimes I feel the Reaper
Winking at me
He wants to come over
For a chat and some tea
He’ll tell me that I am nothing
But an echo from the past
My future behind me
That I’m fading fast
He’ll score some very clever points
To weaken my resolve
Then sincerely assure me
There’s no problem he can’t solve
But like my neighbor’s crazy dog
Who barks up an empty tree
He and I
Won’t see eye to eye
And he may not enjoy his tea

May I rest against a tree
To part from this tired world
And like Fall leaves
That once set free
Fly like wings unfurled

May it be an Autumn wind
Warmed by the breath of God
That brings my soul home again
As they bury me ‘neath the sod

Silly hearts
****** toons
and goofballs
make light of all that is heavy
for us
and won't leave
a bucket of tears
without a barrel full of laughs
for balance

As I step through
a small patch of woods
this fine morning
I feel the cold breath
of Winter on my neck
I catch a glimpse
of a rabbit's white tail
bobbing in and out of my sight
It's Thanksgiving
and this moment of near silence
is not lost on me
As I head back
I pretend to be a woodsman
following the last of Autumn's
long shadows
to a warm house
that will soon fill of family and friends
and I am grateful for it

Geez Louise
I’ve been brought to my knees
Gripped by some evil
besieged by fried cheese
Enduring the upset
as best as I can
If only the stuff
had stayed stuck in the pan!

It happens every Thanksgiving day
Because I do not think ahead
I do not think about the pie
Until I 've eaten too much bread
I do not think about the bread
'til I've eaten too much dressing
And I'm usually on my second plate
Before I've heard the blessing

Every afternoon
from the window of an abandoned building
a young boy plays a weathered guitar
his voice is sweet and enchanting
his message is one of love and hope
all that hear him are swept away
in a flood of euphoria and bliss
eventually he stops and disappears
all color drains from the street
there is no sound
the people go back to sleep
dreaming in a silent movie that is their lives

Such simplicity
yet magnanimous in its undertaking
One marvels at the whole of it
in awe of the glorious painstaking detail
Colors calm and easy
leaving no part of it's aura unappeasing
It's nature so sincere and moving
the stricken feel the need to bow

Sometimes, we can be such geniuses
Caught in the lies
Of what we think we know
It's just part of the show
Trading truth
For a clever disguise

Handpicked from of the street
they sat at his dinner table
stuffing themselves with free food and drink
laughing at all his stories
while he made his notes
Later, he would sketch
exaggerations
of his uglier observations
People were unmasked and revealed
for what they were
Fine profiles of the grotesque
in the ever growing catalogue raisonne.

Never one
to hold his tongue
the devil child within me
transforms the light breeze of peace
into a tempest of chaos
blowing storms over
my sea of tranquility
I need to give him
a warm loving embrace
of understanding
but all I want to do
is slap the brat’s face

Tiny blue ballerina
Dancing in a storm
Chaos all about her
As she tries to hold her form
The dreary sets seem out of place
And the music isn't right
The cellos have been fighting
With flutes all blasted night
Remember tiny dancer
You are following your bliss
So, take that ever graceful bow
And blow the audience a kiss

Tiny blue ballerina
Dancing in a storm
Chaos all about her
As she tries to hold her form
The dreary sets seem out of place
And the music isn't right
The cellos have been fighting
With the flutes throughout the night
Remember tiny dancer
You are following your bliss
So, take that ever graceful bow
And blow the audience a kiss

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

Dreams - the very marrow of hope
May be the lifeline to the living
Destroy one’s dreams
And the hate
Of their dead weight
May be unforgiving

Smashing dreams or smashing bones
It matters not
Both acts of ******
Stirred from the same ***

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

“I have to look for your father”
We’d hear our poor mother say
When he had little fear
Standing on the great pier
During a storm on the bay

When father had the Black Irish
We’d hear our poor mother pray
"God, keep him off the **** pier"
When bad weather is near
So the sea can’t wash him away

“I have to look for your father”
we’d hear our poor mother say
for he had little fear
standing on the great pier
during a storm on the bay

When father had the Black Irish
we’d hear hear our poor mother pray
“Keep him off that **** pier”
when bad weather was near
so the sea couldn’t wash him away

Unhappy
are those
who mean to collect debts
from those
not indebted to pay
It’s an odd little game
that nobody wins
yet, people
seem willing to play.

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

Fear and Rage
Brother to brother
Whenever they awaken
One says to the other
What kind of suffering
can we cause today?
That’s when one hears
the other one say
I just love the smell of ******
in the morning