Book one spans from about 1995 to 2001.
Book two is around September 2002 to May 2003.
Book three is from May 2003 to March 2004.
Book four is from April 2004 to present.
If asked about the weather Most would contest That warm, sunny weather Is truly the best I, on the other hand Would have to disagree Sunshine is nice But it’s too warm for me Many would conclude That I am insane For I am really Fond of the rain It is not dreary It isn’t blue It helps keep everything Clean and new The air is crisp A pleasure to breathe Although to most It seems to deceive Maybe ‘tis true I’m slightly insane But I am really, really Fond of the rain
It was a cool summer’s eve Silence saturated the air Except for the pitter-patter of feet And the sound of crickets everywhere The stage was set As we moved through the night My wicked creation Was well out of sight We searched and searched long For just the right one ‘till low and behold We found the bastard son ‘twas a beast of a mailbox Sturdy and strong If my creation succeeded He wouldn’t last long So I opened the door And placed it inside And scouted the area For places to hide When all was done I sealed his fate The fuse was ablaze We ran through a gate We ran and we ran To a ditch down the road And crouched down we waited For the bomb to explode We waited and waited And waited… nothing! Surely by now We should have heard something! We waited and waited And waited some more Perhaps I knocked the fuse out While closing the door… What could have gone wrong? I started to fear KABOOOOM!!! wait a minute--that was the bomb! Lets get the hell out of here!!! We kept on running ‘till we were well out of sight When we finally got home I turned in for the night The very next day We went back to the spot To see if there was anything Left of the box But the box was unharmed Sturdy and braced And mail was scattered All over the place
When I stay up late at night, And think of things to write, Who helps me to justify my ends? My friends, dear reader, my friends. When I wake up too early to talk, Go to class in a speedily walk, And end up sleeping through class Like a bug in the bottom of a glass Who’s notes to me will they lend? My friends, dear reader, my friends. So in this hour of late Being in such a tireless state Who’s humor and seriousness to me tends? My friends, yes truly, my friends.
I am a Rocket. Not one with a big name, No sonic speeds— Just an ordinary Joe Whose fuse was lit Some time ago. I am not fast (burning it all at once!) But rather I soar, Using just enough fuel To get above the birds And below the moon. For though this fuel drives me, (lifelong, indeed!) I head not for the expanse of the black sky. (one would go mad with such decisions) No, I travel along Parallel to this world I know. Just high enough to stay Off the ground— But still within safety’s clutch. And though I would love to stay (blowing bubbles from a raft—dabbling with the day: how grand!) My Soul has been ignited And I cannot slow down. I am a Rocket, who never learned how to slow down.
“Part 2: Amendments”
‘Tis not to say That you don’t fly higher than me, Or over all mankind. What appears simple to mine eye, I know is more complex, And I still don’t have you figured out. For your life has many facets, Some cracked, some polished, Some hidden, Some magnificent, Some that I have never seen before; Truly amazing! I think we both fly high, with dabblings in the sky, Yet you are still a mystery to my minds eye. But what would life be, If it was all laid out before thee? Would not it be nebulous if we knew? And thus we don’t—but maybe you do... Or maybe I do? Oh what a glorious and grand day It will be, When I can stop letting life pass through a filter. When I can stop questioning everything. When life can simply be lived.
Today I found the place I’ll ask you If I ever get the chance It’s nestled high up in the mountains Amid beaver ponds, fallen conifers and aspens Granite, lupine and chipmunks Where snowmelt turns to puddles Puddles to dribbles Dribbles to ponds Ponds to streams Streams to rivers And rivers to an ocean Flowing; growing the way my love has grown for you Now the depths of an ocean are great And the shores far across— But measure not my love with an ocean For it would not hold the love I have for you. Today I found the place I’ll ask you If I ever get the chance
It’s nice when people see the things in your work that you find beautiful... it’s like agreeing that a flower is beautiful... but maybe an unusual flower, one that most might walk past... but some people stop and see that magnificence it contains.
Intertwined in a thicket of branches, With Light streaming in from all directions. Confined; withheld; uncertain. Breaking through one branch at a time, But the branches seem to be ever-encompassing. Until she stops. Listens... There is a voice from within, That has been calling the whole time. Only she has been too preoccupied to hear it. Preoccupied with untangling herself. The voice proclaims, "open your eyes". Opening her eyes, There are no branches anywhere in sight. She is in awe to find herself in a beautiful field of golden flowers... Surrounded by Warmth and Love. Free. Unbound. "Where did the branches go?" she asked herself. "The reality is" the small voice replied, "they were NEVER there to begin with".
At the end of the Pier, under the glow of city lights, the sea lions are sleeping, for it is almost Midnight. You listen to the air, so quiet and still, you embrace the moment, not listening to your will. And as you walk, down Cannery Row, your hair gently glides, as the breeze starts to blow. And the sky turns Purple, and the streetlights dim, you know that you just walked through heaven again.
I Believe in Love at first sight, for it has happened once before, and will happen once more. I patiently await her, and know that all the waiting will be more than worthwhile. For I would wait a thousand years, for a glimpse of her smile. Do you think that I say this, not knowing full-well, that waiting a thousand years, would be like I was in Hell? But hell could not keep me, from the one that I am meant to find, for the Lord is on my side, and she is on my mind. So Dear friend, though you search for your soul-mate too; Do I believe in Love at first sight? I Do, I Do.
I realize the fire... glistening with sweet warmth, fueled by the wood of an ancient juniper, burning hotter and more intense... filling the cool desert sky with embers of love.
Night falls, encompassing the orange glow of the city lights Rain, softly whispering its soft secrets to the window, In its dire industrial melody Inside, it is warm; soft; serene; Save the melancholy amassing of footsteps and fading conversations in the distance But here, here I am alone Tucked away in a lounge chair, where, I can absorb it all, yet take nothing Where my thoughts wash away, Like a footprint in the sand Leaving nothing behind, But a small stretch of golden sand Tucked away in a hidden cove Where only one will venture One who stops And listens to the rain
A Lovely Love, A Love which lights the morning Sun That is her, and beauty calls her by name The birds sit quietly and listen, to this voice of white pearls, taking note of the subtlety of her way. Innocence is she, and a child I’ve long forgotten Ignorance is I, for I did not restrain my heart. She is that Lovely Love, and I... am but a whisper in the wind.
The Love you emanate is as a warm sunny day; barefoot in the grass. Your Soul shines through your diamond eyes, which envelop my thought. You express the highest Good, and compromise for no one... Yet your tender intentions provide Love for All—of All. You shine so brightly, yet heaven IS a sunny day. Whispers of Angels permeate fear and doubt, Can Venus help her circular orbit? There is but One, One Way. One Truth. One Life: most Grand! This life we both do know and understand. I speak not of the world, nor the multitudinous things within, for they fade away as the spring frost melts. Rather I speak of things not seen... but seen by Hearts. The Hearts of true Lovers, Lovers of Truth, bound by grace, Living in Light. And perched upon the branch of taintless Love, Two birds nestled in the Warmth of one another, Feeding one another, bits of Love. Bathing one another, in beauty and compassion. Nudging one another, with the motive of the essence of a blooming rose. Climbing to the ridge of Understanding, one thought at a time.
Yonder bosom of my life, Crutch and shackle are you. I see you in the face of a thousand years’ strife, In the face of an old tired man —on the brow of the California field worker, There you are. You are every man’s desire, And every woman’s passion. America the beautiful. You are a strip of lights in the Nevada desert. You are a cotton-candy vendor in a Cheyenne rodeo. You are the smile of a little girl— America the beautiful. Where the man who has no home, And the man who has five, America the beautiful. Where the crooked politician shakes your hand, And the lawyers drain your trust, America the beautiful. Oh beautiful for spacious skies, You are an ideal, An ideal that has been sold half-price. Purple mountains majesty, You are the back alley abortion clinic. America, You once were founded on freedom from oppression. Now you seek it in every way of life, And try always to run from it, But it always catches up with you, It always pins you down, And you take it home.
I wish I could be of comfort I wish I could take your pain But you will not let me help you I must watch you go through this again Tell me, what good will it do you? To let this sadness command Keep not your soul in a dreary place But rather a Heavenly land I hope that these words will reach you I hope they will ease your pain For it seems my voice is not strong enough To break you free from your chain
You. You who sits there; unnoticed. You. You who wishes to succeed the world. Yes You. You whose heart was broken too many times, That it has now become numb to love. Why? Why do you seek what’s higher? Now. Now is the time to claim what’s yours. Where? Where does the tumbleweed stop?
Crisp morning breaks on this tired house The ancient planks loosen in the warming sun. I wake to the sound of a door mouse Searching the floor for a misplaced crumb. Half asleep I find my way to the propane stove Where I manage to start a pot of coffee-water Outside I am greeted by old man Sun And his beaming smile that blinds my eyes. The ants have found their way up to the porch again Crawling along as a long, drawn-out mass Of squirming feet and antennae I salute them on their tireless journey And wonder when they sleep I make haste into the pine wood kitchen As the kettle whistles its greeting. The smell of damp wood is finally replaced By the aroma of Generic Decaf in all its splendor. As I ponder the meaning of a plate glass window I wonder how many were here before me And how many will be here after my time And I wonder if the root of all happiness is perhaps As simple as waking up to a summer day in the Colorado Rockies.
Scene I: The Dawn of Love In her is a Love that moves mountains Absolutely Beautiful. She’s the clasped hands of True Lovers And the first ray of the morning Sun, For even the daffodils turn as she walks by Following the brighter of two sources. She is a pitcher of liquid Joy Topping off some glasses, And filling others For her pitcher is always full. Her Love makes its way into the darkest of places It is a warm yellow light that shines For everyone to see. She is the child running through the brown grass field She is the smile of grace that beams from an elderly woman, --And the dignity upon her brow. Softer than a rose petal, Stronger than a raging river, Yet gentle as a mother’s touch. In her is a Love that moves me Absolutely Beautiful. Scene II: Afternoon Sunshine Earthly tidings surround me in this quiet place I cannot still the artist that is within me Everywhere I look—I see you Time, nor space, could contain thee How does a painter paint that which canvas cannot hold? How does a composer write that which cannot be played? Love, you are a Lavender Rose, in a field of daisies. Scene III: Dusk My arms beheld you one night Sweet love beyond measure They cried when love did part As a man who’s lost his treasure And such treasure I’ve not known since What grace my heart once knew Has flown away from my wonder And left my thoughts untrue Scene IV: Twilight It is a gray day With my cloudy thoughts A child’s Love melts into The puddle from whence it came. A misleading love is she Or a fool am I for listening Another day breaks o’er a tired heart Another teardrop glistening.
Elliot is a brown teddy-dog With 10 years of love encrusted In his worn fur He is owned by a fair maiden And I borrowed him—as good company For stuffed animals are so much More personable than people They always have time for you (Even my brother has to “pencil me in”) And they know nothing of judging In their shaggy brown world They will never refuse love Never question should people call too much They never need ‘space.’ They only know love. True: trials and risks carry bigger rewards But O’ what a great day it will be When we can love one another—any other With always open arms Like those of a brown teddy-dog named Elliot.
well a cat in a hat is a hell of a gnat when transformed by a wizard who’s hat liked the cat But the problem lies elsewhere, like the elderberry bear Who’s feet, all eight, were caught in a snare Of a flapper who’s trapper would leave her each night to go find his bear with a gun and a light but the man found an elf, who disliked himself, for he tripped on a log and fell on the shell of a camel—what the hell? A camel certainly does not have a shell! And even if there was such a thing—how absurd! How an elf could trip—unless dropped from a bird Who was looking for something meaty to eat Not an elf who did bite her sore and cracked feet So she stopped to land on the branch of a hat But was swallowed by a cat who resembled a gnat So let this be a lesson, bears, elves and birds That cats dressed like gnats are up to no good
To those who lie, smite or deceive Hate, dishonor, cheat or thieve The world would have us to condemn to judge, hate and punish them Fancying ourselves keepers of peace Yet what we do is to release The wrong once done—now done again Does twice the wrong negate the pain? There is but one way to heal the heart With love surrounding from the start To quell all anger, distrust and fear Who are to blame—True man is pure For if we choose to perpetuate Forgiveness for wrong, love for hate Kindness, mercy, “goodwill towards men” It will be then and only then That we love our neighbor as ourself And take religion off the shelf Where pride, condemnation, judgement and distrust Left the heart of the Word to rust To wait for that shining and glorious day When love would lead us to freedom’s way.
We flee, we flock Congregate and balk To watch a Screen Upon a wall With moving pictures That take us all To different lands, Times and stories Some with sadness Some with glory Until the lie we buy as truth Ends in the projection booth Where dreams are shown “Seven dollars please” If hearts enlarged and Spirits freed To soar above the world content then it was seven worthy dollars spent
One day as we strolled, through the woods of thought We talked of what-would’s, what-should’s and what not And of days ill-spent, and of times yet to come Of thoughts more beautiful than the songbirds song And as we sit on the King and Queen’s seat Atop a newfound magnificent peak Of what has always tenderly been, Seen and known—nonetheless hidden, Though hidden not to the searching heart Who’s love abounds in God from the start And as we stroll on memory lane We find ourselves one and the same Both angels with seemingly tattered wings Who cannot reach behind to mend them again But in one another’s sweet persistence and care Wings fixed, hearts healed, And so it was there, In the woods of thought, on that day soon to be Whence came the uprooting of that drearily tree Of doubt, distress, fear and despair Replaced by a trust and love to bear On each other’s wings, not one all alone, With God to guide them along the flight home.
Damn irony. Damn irony. One would think that it would subside Between two people connected inside. Damn Irony. Damn Irony! One would expect to have likes Just the same as another, but always?! Ridiculous I proclaim! Damn Irony. Damn irony. No matter how familiar you are, You still surprise me, Damn irony.
¿Qué ves cuando me miras a mí? Yo veo ojos relumbrantes pero con mi sorpresa la canción sigue igual. Trato y trato de volar como una mosca en un montón de esperanza ...yo el tonto. Porque tus ojos han volteado en la dirección que miran y temo que ese lugar pequeño no es donde permanece mi amor y si fuera ¿sería todo lo que pensaba y soñaba? ~translated by David Almazan
"Sparkling Eyes"
What do you see, when you look at me? I see sparkling eyes—yet to my surprise the song remains the same. I try and try—buzzing like a fly on a pile of hope I the dope, for eyes have long turned in the place that they look and that tiny spot I fear is not where my love resides besides, if it were would it be everything I thought and dreamed?
Love, ah Love. It’s not so far above not beneath—not uncouth Or unseen lest seen by anger, lust or pain Shielding eyes from the laden rain Which carries hope on its journey home never alone but encompassed by even words alone yea my heart is prone to sink in prose when love doth leave the path I chose. But I found the thorn imbedded in brain, thoughts all the same removed by faith and left to the ground and buried deep so as not find the lonely traveler’s feet.
Heat. Chains. The Devil lives here. he knocks. No answer. he knocks again. Still no answer. I find this land of scorched thorns and blistered rock to be palatable at best. It’s an unpleasant piece of fat, that a stern mother makes her daughter chew. And she chews with wrinkled nose. he knocks. Still no answer. Door bolted. Blinds shut. Yea this wasteland is an ocean of boiling water with pin-point barnacle-covered rocks and giant blowfish with sunken eye sockets from scavenger lizards with ravenous appetites. It is a thousand-mile waste dump of unwanted things and rusted dreams. Knock knock. “Who is it?” “Pleasure, bliss, riches and glory!” “Go away devil!” I am a patient man and strong in will. But places like this—infested with every unkind thing—with temperature simmering so the frog doesn’t jump before realizing that he’s been boiled alive... This kind of hell can wear even the strongest to rubble. The devil knocks again. I know well not to answer, yet I find myself with open door in hand, and freshly trampled toes left bleeding. Crying like an orphan child, the door is shut and locked. Self-betrayed I wonder why the hinges are so well oiled.
People hound me endlessly like a dog pursues the neighbors’ garbage can knowing instinctively that it is trash day. They poke fun and speculate on why I, potentially overqualified, remain a bachelor. Perhaps it is they who have had Love to hold on to for so long, never without for long, that they would feel lost without someone to put their arms around. Well I have my reasons. Reasons for turning away from those suits that don’t quite fit. And I seek to learn to first be content. To rely on God as the one to firstly put my arms around. For he deserves them most and will never leave, yea surrounds always. And I also have a twinkle in my heart A sparkle that shines to different depths than most would know, even I—but I’m learning. Learning that true love is not having a mystical encounter on a lonely beach two people drawn the same way down paths to meet. They do meet, but not in that fashion. True love usually finds its way through the back door through the way least expected and not realized until walked upon. And true love comes in many ways which none can predict. Some fool themselves, some wish it to be what it’s not. Yet it is what it is, and love, sweet love is a friend of mine. If only they knew, what love knows, They would not bother, but quietly study, for it is what they search for, lifelong indeed.
It’s another day at work, Twelve more hours lost I keep growing older And the nights keep getting colder. I wonder what I’m gonna do When my brain decides to give I just sit and wonder Where’s the life I wanted to live? But then I remember All the good things I have A place to live, food to eat Clothes on my back and shoes on my feet And then I gotta give thanks To whoever it be That watches my back And takes good care of me. Well we had a fight again Our marriage always seems to rock You say I don’t spend enough time at home I wonder why I feel alone But then I remember All the good things I have Two great kids that fill my life And twelve great years with a loving wife And then I gotta give thanks To whoever it is That takes good care Of my wife and kids. Well I’m an old man now And my wife’s long passed Sometimes I wonder If dreams were made to last Don’t see the kids much As I waste away here I wonder what’s ahead As the grave draws near But then I remember All the good things that I had Blessings, love and happiness, All I’d really wanted, I guess And then I remember to give thanks To whoever it be That’s gonna take my hand To that light I see.
As humans we tarnish things constantly, Though it jades me not Because things that last Are in reality untarnishable, And that is what I shall choose To see in this life Eternal.
Why is the black sheep The outcast of the flock? Because a white sheep is not unique. And uniqueness is beautiful. Therefore, the presence of the black sheep Would make the flock ugly. But the black sheep is not beautiful Simply because it is unique, For uniqueness does not designate one as good, And goodness is requisite for beauty. The black sheep is beautiful Because it strives for good Beyond the contentment of the flock And thus returns love to the outcasters even in the stubborn face of hate. For love, more than all else Makes one beautiful.
Life is a two way street You give and give To better live The people you meet Enlarge your life Brighten your skies When we choose to trade The plans we made And let our paths unfold Let truth be told Then we open the way For the brightest day It’s yet to come So let your love strings strum
Love I love you; Love as though Life may end tomorrow. But, though the blooming flower fadeth, Leaving only the memory of glorious splendor, Life, and thee o love, Fadeth not, but blooms More and more Into the magnificence of perfection. And though, as with all We have our differences, They cannot compete With our kindred likenesses and besides, what I have learned In life is to recognize the good/majority Though most today Prefer to dwell on deficiency. Which is why Paths cross In lives such as ours Because our unity in God Is a blessing to all.
I want to say those words of love to you; To swoon you, to open you and open myself to you to let the warm water surround you that surrounds me, to speak the language of my love to you but you are still searching still questioning still doubting many things I fear that if I revealed my heart to you, And all that therein is, That you would run away Doubt Pause And forget where you were And that I cannot risk Perhaps the time will come When that trail must be blazed But for now my love lay silent.
I’m an American And I know my rights I have the right to treat others without respect I have the right to bear arms—for the betterment of humanity I have the right to come to someone else’s house And tell them where they can live I also have the right to remain silent But instead I choose to raise my voice Cause there’s change in the air And I’m not gonna take long way there In God we distrust In flesh we lust It all stops now It all starts here Lay down your hate It only leads to the grave Stretch your arms out wide Let the light of freedom Reveal True mankind
Call it death The final lie To overcome Before we die Human reason And ignorance Leads us further away From All that Is We look and look And what do we find? The real search Lies inside What your ears Your eyes Your touch Your smell Can’t tell Is the Truth That’s inside of you Not in skin and bone Brain or heart But what cannot die Is who you are Individual And part of a Whole Surrounded by love True Life unfolds The task we have The cross to bear Is to love each other Is to give and share The love that first Was given to us Was given to all And so we must Pass it on And live Good lives But lead by example Don’t criticize Cause we all are walking Down different roads It is His plan And not our own So do your part And give your love Don’t wait around For the heaven’s above To open wide What you have inside And you’ll see the birth Of heaven on earth
What times these are Though time be not Of much importance Since constancy knows her not Yet this time brings me To love an idea Most fair And though love remains In the veins of my being I try to give myself a mental Blood transfusion Try to milk out that which Seems to rest so heavy In my heart and perpetually On my mind But it will not go It shall not leave For it has been given me As a gift And though we think That gifts are always desirable There are those which are not But if taken and cared for And learned from They can be the greatest gifts of all.
Rust-Orange words Make Life So Flavorful Which Causes Me To Wonder Why I Express My Core With Words That Taste Like Chicken
Fingers wander To a hand close by It is a small Yet vast uncharted territory (For what is a hand, but an extension Of one’s being for muscles move only when thought does and thought is what the worms cannot consume) minds wander Time goes by Even slower When your agenda Of innocent love Finds me unprepared Does one reject love? Or unattended the venture placed? Nay one can only love love Yet how does one Cultivate love Where over-tilled heartsoil Has left a barren field? One rests the plow Of self and fear And lets the perfect equilibrium That has always been Do Her perfect work
love—my love is a vagabond in my life she is a mistress coming and going as she pleases never staying long never playing through to the end of the song
You are canvas and palette (pastel and vivid) You are a book and the reader (I would ask the reader about the book) You are the musician and the music (which resonates endlessly in my being) But what does one make of a plucked heart-string when love seems so fickle-illusive-irrational? Does one add a harmony, carrying the Sound fuller; higher or does one even get a foot in the water for fear of drowning or frigid temperature (lack of warmth)? If you were a rose, I would plant you and tend you in small-princely fashion and bask in the essence of your fragrance. We would know no night in the sunlight we would wear. But you cannot yet be planted for the wind carries you the seed through mountains and prairies and lands beyond these. But the winds will settle one day and I shall love the seed wherever it lands (for it would be selfish to desire it to grow in aught but the soil that was prepared for it). For though I would be the reader the musician the book and your music there is one Muse and we of this intricate tapestry are already woven in place—to be discovered. And though I live not by bread alone should only your music live in my life it would forever fill my depths with rose-colored lovesplendor.
Trying to forget forgetting to remember a snowy December of trees weighed down with fruit not yet dropped for she has not yet stopped to enjoy what they bear as they live just to share the sunlight of summer and the raindrops of spring when love is abandoned and birds shewed who sing fall winds seal the fate of a fruit long forgotten a snowy December finds a fruit finally rotten
