the words are few and fleeting
they hide outside my door
my poet's mind retreating
a hollow empty roar
i turn to quiet nights
and share old words with the dead
these lost and passing spirits
whisper kindness in my head
the sleep it comes sporatic
the Sun no longer beams
to light my inner sanctum's eye
to capture poetic dreams
i yield to blank submission
the flickering screen and stare
i feel no sense of mission
the poem tree is bare

Following the release of 'Moving Pictures' in 1981, I saw Rush in concert. I never missed a tour from that point on until they retired in 2015. I took girlfriends, buddies, then my wife and then all 3 of my kids when they were old enough. Neil Peart was to me the greatest drummer of his era as well as one of it's most prolific writers. Never seeking notoriety or acclaim, he remained in the shadows and continued to lead Rush into quiet immortality. Perhaps in death he will attain the accolades he avoided in life. I am devastated to hear of his passing, but happy for him that he will now reunite with his wife and daughter who preceded him. Rest in Peace Neil, and I hope you realized the joy you brought to the millions of fans who knew and will never forget your humility and immense talent. Fans who never met you, but like me, feel they have lost a dear friend.

I had a dream
but this wasn't the typical
awake and forget dream
I remember everything
and as people in the dream were reacting
I knew exactly why
I knew their motives
their plan
It involved a military style evacuation
of a large office building
appeared to be the Middle East
I entered the building and walked through a long corridor
I came to a family of 5 or 6 that were standing at a side exit
afraid to leave. They finally exited and I saw what they feared...
a man who appeared to be American with a rifle about 20 yards ahead on a hill looking at them. He let them leave. I lied to him as I thought he might **** me since I wasn't quite sure who I was in this dream...who's side I was on
It concerned my Grandfather
he had asked me what day I was born
and the alcohol of choice at my birth
I replied that there was no alcohol due to the fact
that my Grandfather died from alcohol poisoning
In fact, my Grandfather died of pneumonia and refused to
take alcohol to help his condition. Why did I lie? How did the lie help?
Instead of killing me, we became friends and took a walk
we came upon a large home with a number of people
sitting on the porch
Two young teenagers, totally out of place began chatting about
an American cd they had purchased
The boy had buzzed blonde hair and a blue eagle tattooed
on his cheek
The female looked very close to his age and chatted non-stop
about her cd
An older female with long dark hair in a long dark dress pulled a rifle from under her side as she was laying on a bench or possibly the ground and pointed it at my friend
Not sure why they let me leave, but I told him I would return...
end of dream
the entire time I knew I was in a dream and reacted as I would, thought as I would and felt as if I was viewing the entire dream through a pair of VR glasses...or was it a dream?

any ideas?

when things slow
the cheetah after a futile chase
lay in the grass and ponder
gathers his breath
I watch the ice form and quiet
the rushing river below
or the Sun
retreat
submit to dusk
it is here I find the corridor

in the bowels of the ever after
a conscious soul resides
it distributes hope and heartfelt laughter
where true love slowly dies
it borrows smiles
for wasteful lies
and never asks a wage
provides a word to struggling poets
to offset certain rage
calms the heart felt burdened
by the madness in this world
and opens thought once buried
to peace and joy unfurled

the last lover leaves
before dawn
before the necessity of conversation
stale coffee reheated
brings the numbing reality that this was your last chance
old man
there's nothing left
no slivers of heart to give away
no thoughtful whispers in the dark that clever lovers say
you can no longer dance with brittle bones
your game has left you
and they were all games
were they not?
until the last sliver

now walk the shoreline as you always do
when they leave
and ponder the idea of love

grey dusk
blue tomorrow
fade to black
back to sorrow
take my heart
but never borrow
this love is all but spent

'let's walk to the ocean'
said the passing clown to the mime
it's quite a long way
expressed the mime
'yes it is?'
the clown replied
mime frowned
and they began walking...
clown in his big floppy red shoes
mime improvising as he went

at the edge of town they ran into a juggler
on the corner trying to pick up a few coins in his cup
clown asked the juggler if he'd care to join them
in their walk to the ocean
juggler said 'why not, things are kind of
up in the air for me right now'
they headed west toward the coast
clown had 5 boxes of Mike and Ikes...every flavor
in his red scarf on a stick
mime had plenty of slim jims
this would keep them fed until they reached their destination

several hours into their odyssey
a storm approached
a lone well drawn pine provided refuge until the storm cleared
as well as a snack and chance to learn of each other's journey
to this point
clown had done many things throughout his life
in pursuit of love, home and family
but he had failed in his search for a life he always dreamed of
and now this face of heavy make-up and big red nose would
hide the fact that he lived a life of constant sadness
mime had been a singer and worked for years to perfect
his craft... dreamed of making it to the big stage
but he refused to sing what they wanted him to sing and even though he had amazing talent, he was refused time and time again
becoming a mime would mean he'd never be reminded of the beautiful voice he possessed
juggler was a star pitcher known for his amazing fastball when he graduated college and was only days from signing a contract with the Yankees when a car accident damaged his shoulder so severely he lost his fastball
he juggles to keep his arm in shape in case his fastball ever returns
juggler asked clown why they were headed to the beach
mime was interested as well and produced the perfect look of inquiry
clown stood up...tossed the red scarf on a stick full of Mike & Ike's over his shoulder, brushed himself off and replied...
'why not?'

what do I need to say
to say I love you
how can you not know
how can I not know
if you think of me
in such a way

I will tell you soon
when the moon is right
when your smile is bright
and cuts through all the pain
of waiting

the dreams are forgotten quickly
no longer a source of interest
of mystery
or even sadness
they are simply accepted and left to vanquish
into the ether
the years
the words
the search for fire
in a dormant soul
the light is flickering
the voice is quieting
the vision of a kindred spirit
is all but blind hope
the poet in me
meanders alone in his thoughts
that are short and void of secrets
he no longer hears the call
no longer seeks the path
to discovering
the perfectly articulated
thought

i lost sight of her
somewhere along the way
like sleeping through a storm
her tears falling, unseen
crashed like silent raindrops
and washed away the road
we walked in different directions
intending to meet at the same location
destinations and destinies
intertwined
yet never one
...and the same

I begin my walk
on the circled asphalt path
behind the old Lutheran church
founded in 1790
the crickets chirp
a defiant roar
as I descend upon their quiet space
clouds are dark and a bit threatening
are they spirits taking form above me?
mistral winds on a windless day
seem to gather and fuse into words
sentences
held for a moment...clear
then lost to fuzzy and distorted whispers
'They are here...'
'Isaac'
'Listen to me...I must ****'
'I have an angel'
'power'

before departing
I stop at a headstone
I'm not sure why
but I attempt
to pronounce the last name of this departed soul
3 times
on the 3rd try I am interrupted by a young boy
who corrects me with the proper pronunciation
I turn at the gate and advise the spirits
that I am leaving
a friendly 'okay' came back to me

my God
I have walked in the living room of the dead

what is poetry
without a tear
for the dying embers
the distant cheer
for a truth now lost
in chaotic bliss
the magic hidden
within a kiss
the whisper of love
only lovers hear
what is poetry
without a tear