My Poetry

Mayfly

Walking on a Monday morning,
Going where I've been before;
I watch the papers gently blowing
Up against an open door.
See the people (always moving):
Walking with me, passing me by;
A glance, a nod. We share our feelings.
Then, to me, those people die.

Freefalling

A long, cold climb, a few short steps;
How long can a second last?
Shouldn't I be down by now?
What do they think, those walking past?
Perhaps they see a loser, who just
Could not face himself again.
Maybe they watch a good man falling,
And feel (inside) a part of him.
Or might they think a sinner is ending,
Paying the Devil his earthly due?
An unbeliever, giving his mind and
Soul to that which isn't true?
A child of God? A man of faith?
A friendless shell? An empty life?
A pain too great, and a heart to weak?
A tired man who's lost his wife?
Perhaps they think these things of me;
Maybe, somehow, they're even right.
I wish i hadn't done it now.
I wish i cou-.

Untitled

She is truth to me-
she shows me my inside,
What i'm thinking is printed in her eyes.
Beautiful eyes.
She is what i look for
in that moment of searching
for what does not exist.
She is what i find
when i ask myself who i can talk to,
or why i cannot.
But she is more than that.
That warm feeling of belonging?
She is Home.

Hallelujah

I run and watch and cry and ponder
wading through darkness at every pace.
The raindrops, drizzling, slowly wander
down my cheeks as I silently race
over streets that, yesterday, filled my ears
with wonderful sounds and joyful sights.
Now, though, I ceaselessly run from my tears,
evading the darkness, avoiding the light.
There is a shadow hidden deep
within us all, which silently cries
an hallelujah while we sleep,
but joyless, revealing all of its lies.
I tried so hard to tell it true,
my words can't seem to show it right.
But now the devil's had his due,
now your day has gone to night.
Why do angels ever fall?
I cannot say i knew you...
but i have heard the empty call,
the broken hallelujah.

We The People of the Conglomerate States

Little boxes, tiny squares
Moving in lines and rows
angles, circles, planes &
points: of these the future
is made.
If perhaps we make enough
of these ordered shapes and
chromate colors, then maybe
we can one day forget those
imperfect curves, the living
flaws we call bodies.
We were once human.
Don't tell.

The Little Death

the way:
to be kind
to be good polite helpful cheerful useful
nice happy reverent thoughtful and friendly.
this is the law.
follow it to the letter-
the money changer in heaven above is watching you.
how sad,
a believer without faith.

No Choice

who can know / the troubles of tomorrow?
who can foresee / the pains of the day?
when will we feel / the loss of our freedom,
how can we know / the price of one day?

two roads diverged / in a yellow wood
two roads, with nary / a difference between.
i took the one / less travelled; i stood
and i chose, / though neither id seen.

but now, at the end / of the road i have trodden
now i look across / those golden plains
wondering what land / that road may have gone to
what life i had had / had i traveled that way.

but this i have learned: / had i stood and thought,
which road i should take, / which to win, which to lose?
then id never have come / and id never have gone,
for too often we have /no real choice but to choose.

Ants

Ants,
scurrying endlessly -
filling their tunnels with life.
They show the world their power
with monuments of sand and dust,
erected amidst celebrations of life.
To the world they say,
"I am here!
Though you may trample,
still I build!
I live!"
And then they die.
Foolish ants.

Alone

Hidden truths, unspoken words,
Secret lines of thought;
Oh, what pain! when look we back
To see what we have wrought.

As life occurs, so we live-
Every man apart;
Hiding deep behind his mask
The feelings in his heart.

None may penetrate our shell,
And never will it break,
Though time and friendship wear it down,
Though loneliness its toll doth take.

Our lives would so much better be
If truth were told by all;
If no one hid, if no one kept
Their soul behind a wall.

But so we live and so we die-
Our fates are set in stone.
Every man an island.
Every man alone.

For Alicia

Life may be fleeting, but friendship is not;
When a heart touches mine, it will always be there.
She is Your blessing, unasked and unsought,
And it is for her that I offer this prayer:
Lord,
Let her be happy, and let her have joy.
Bring her to friends, and to those she can love.
Give to her comfort when her peace is destroyed.
Keep her warm and safe from above.
Show her the truth, but let her remain
Untouched by the cruel, unchanged by the lies.
Keep her from illness and keep her from pain.
And please remind her that, when she cries,
Somehow, somewhere far away,
I am with her, reading again
This prayer, each and every day,
And crying.
Thank you Lord.
Amen

---

Love

A man -he stands- his arms held wide,
Eyes open, chest bared, facing the sky;
The rainspears, in piercing him, leave no mark;
The sun, as he watches it, fades into dark.
Arms open, he waits for another to show;
Another will come; another will go;
And still he will stand, day after night,
From dawn until dusk, through darkness, through light,
His embrace still empty, but compassing all;
His body, though thinner, remains strong and tall.
Now summer, now winter, come summer again -
Still keeping his vigil, his hope held therein -
This man still stands, his arms held wide,
Eyes open, chest bared, and facing the sky -
But his gaze never wavers, his heart never pains,
For he loves the world, and all it contains.

---

Untitled

A fish.
Darting around, searching
for an escape
from its glass prison.
An ostrich.
Hiding its face in
an illusion of
protection - darkness,
false safety.
A raven.
Fluttering wildly,
trying to fly
on broken wings;
its croak brings no help.
A hyena.
Cackling loudly
at the misfortunes of
others, living on
borrowed flesh.
A donkey.
Sullenly standing,
though whipped bloody
and beaten -
its pain
holds no meaning.
A moth.
Flitting around the lamp,
its deity;
little believing
what it has no eyes
to see.
I am me.
Sorry.

---

I Cry

A beautiful world
Shining bright Greens and Blues
Laughing people
A happy child runs in the grass
Tails wag boys shriek
(In pleasure though not in pain)
Life is good and so are
They those joking grins
Shed light on dim gleaming past

they those people blind
themselves to all what's all around them
life is good now for long now
not for long though death
no they see not those hidden dark
places unseen places deep in me
in you in everyone.
But no one sees it but me not you
i am alone and here and now and so
I cry

Who Wins?

I have beat them, I have won.
They sit there, pond'ring "fair" and "right"
Thinking that the game is done.
We'll send him to eternal night."
Say some, "He's earned it, more than true"
and "He killed, so kill him! Eye for Eye!"
"Let him pay the devil's due."
and others sit and mourn and cry
and watch as the judges softly tell
the sentence, the punishment of a son
of man and God, a child still
Death has beat them.
Death has won.

Race Against Time

My life is a race
as I run without end,
My troubles, like turbulence
riding the wind.

Continuing on,
one foot, then the other;
I glance quickly forward,
to the White Man, my brother.

We have been racing
for countless generation,
drawing ever nearer
with every revelation.

Finally my hopes
are becoming my children's past,
and tantalizingly soon,
I'll no longer be last.

for I am drawing ever closer
to the white man just ahead,
My feet are pounding painfully,
and my eyes are seeing red.

As i close the gap between us
I somehow pick up speed,
My heart is pounding hundredfold;
I slowly take the lead.

The race is neck and neck
And though he tries to keep the beat,
The White Man has grown weary
and can no longer keep his feet.

He trips and takes a tumble;
though prouder than ever before,
He can no longer keep the pace
O'er the cracked and pitted floor.

I drop back and, shouldering
the burden that is mine,
I pick up by brother the White Man,
and i carry him over the line.

Running

Running from the starting line,
running through the end;
running over sandy dunes,
running against the wind;
running down the concrete path,
running up the street;
running, always running,
though weary on my feet.

Drifting about from place to place,
a snowflake on the breeze;
floating up, then down again,
the bubbles in the seas;
slithering softly through the wood,
a graceful snake on marshy ground;
flitting quickly from flower to branch,
a hummingbird flashes without a sound.

I stop in amazement at the world that i found,
something entirely new to me;
the gracefulness and carefulness,
the colorful flower of diversity!
At last, tired to the point of exhaustion,
tired from running every place that I've been,
I sat for a while to rest my legs,
and then I started running again.

Pandora

To look at the box
without understanding
what use it could serve.

To open the Box
that was previously sealed,
its contents unknown.

To see in the Box
the dark colors of dreams,
amidst small variations in tone.

To touch the colors,
and to notice your hand,
now stained a dangerous hue.

To watch as the darkness,
loosed by yourself,
somehow escapes from you.

For knowledge and understanding
can only be found
in the depths of a Pandora's Box.

Remember Me

A flickering flame in a moonless night,
Carried by an aged and wrinkled hand
The ghosts of the darkness, afraid of the light
Hover soundlessly just out of sight.

As the man walks up the silent stair
That his feet have traveled for time out of mind
His hand travels to his shock-white hair
His face is old and worn by care.

His mouth is creased, as if by need,
And the lonely expression defends that thought
His face will remind us of valiant deeds,
And his eyes, his eyes are glimmering beads.

He comes to the end of the stairs at last.
He walks to the ash covered hearth
And with a rattling breath that shakes his breast,
He begins the ritual he knows best.

First the tinder to catch the spark.
The the sticks to feed the flame.
Add the fuel and some pieces of bark
And a flame is born to heat up the dark.

He sits back in his chair and watches the fire,
Wavering and thin, but steady as stone.
His mind drifts, as it might desire,
To past lives, to wander there till he retires.

He sits and thinks for a long, long time.
The places he's been, the people he's seen,
Over every nickel and every dime,
Every deed, and every crime.

He sits through the night, pondering his past,
Wondering if he could have done something different
To reduce the pain, redo the cast,
But then he thinks of the time, his last.

He realizes that after your spirit has fled,
The only thing that really matters
Is what you've done, not what you've said;
It's what you thought, the life you've led.

And when eternity you find,
When your heart no longer beats,
The memories you leave behind
Are You.

Faith?

Quarks, photons, muons, mesons,
Souls, God, heaven, hell.
Either way a leap of faith
Either way a baseless trust.
The dogma of science-
This i question now.

What is Truth?

the earths crust breaks ripples folds,
buckles into a new shape, a new form.
forever later we look see Immensity
without reason, without meaning.
this is right?
God made this place this thing
and in it we see him - such is beauty:
without cause, without proof.
this is right?
The mountains are.
I am.
This is Right.

A Father

Gazing up, staring blindly
into a void, empty and black.
A silent sentinel over the darkness,
I watched waiting for something it lacked.

One by one, then faster and more,
twinkles of light appeared in the gloom.
Then, at the moment I'd waited for,
I made my wishes on the light of the moon.

I wished for success, for my children, at least;
I wished that their memories of me wouldn't be lost;
I wished that I'd given them more than i had,
I hoped for improvement, no matter the cost.

I willed that my son would be someone great,
remembered forever for changes he's made;
I wished my son would enjoy, of all other things,
who he is, where he is, and all of the love that it brings.

I turned around,
Went back inside,
tucked my son in
and wished him "good life."

Senses

I feel the cold that hurts my hand
I feel and icy, forgotted land
I feel a sidewalk under my feet
feet that keep walking while i stand.
I taste the cool air on my breath
I taste the pain of a season's death
I taste the feeling, swift and sweet,
the feeling of heat that i had left.
I smell the fear of freezing men
I smell the pain of a thousand lies
I smell the scent of rotting food,
food that stinks of cinnamon.
I hear the words of the slowly dead,
I hear the thought: a gift for man
I hear the words of the lowly dead:
"a gift to ease the life he's led."
I see a raven dart and fly,
I see a snowflake in the sky,
I see a kitten bereft of sun,
a kitten that will surely die.
I take it in.

A Blanket of Snow

Chill winter, creeping slowly in
Autumn fades away at last.
A time to end, and to begin
(Beginnings always end too fast)

The world is silent, soft and still
Accepting, awaiting its age-old fate
To die and then wake, by effort of will,
Coming early, but leaving too late.

I am the world, and winter has come
But knowing in truth the way of the earth
I retreat and await that warmth, from
Which I will soon redraw my rebirth