Gently

...and they walk throughout the park, lost in the love they share.
Gently they stroll, arm in arm, as the homeless sit and stare.
"Would you love me," he then asks, "if I were to be so poor?"
Smiling slightly, she turns and whispers, "I would love you all the more."
With that, they walk out of the park, down into the streets below.
She turns her face into the air to feel the falling snow.
He hears a screech! She looks his way. They are met with a surprise.
The driver, critical. He, unscathed, and his love? Well ...she dies.

Years pass. Time moves on, but forever would he stay
within that moment when she said yes to the ring he gave to her that day.
He sits within the park and dwells on the love they had.
Alone, he ponders the will of God, of fates both good and bad.
"Would you love me," he then hears, "if I were poor like that?"
And looking up, he sees a couple walking as they chat.
With this said, he bows his head, and then he slowly rises.
He leaves the park, the park he loved. A park he now despises.

At her grave, he sees the stone and kneeling, he gently sighs.
He releases the ring from his hand and asks the Lord his whys:
"Why's life this way?" He whispers gently, looking to the skies.
"Why am I still here?" As he gently shuts his eyes.
"Why?" He gently dies ...and up in Heaven, an angel gently cries.

What Christmas means to me

Saintly bells chiming hope, an angel earns his wings,
The smiling face of Bing Crosby, the poetry he sings,
Jimmy Stewart (the Bailey boy), Clarence at his side,
A winter wonderland, a miracle, so many filled with pride,
Rudolph and his little elf, the Bumble and his beast,
Santa, friends, my mother, Frosty, a family feast,
Stockings and anticipation, Durante, a jolly soul,
A warming fire in the hearth, love that makes home whole,
Reindeer, sleigh bells, mistletoe, a kiss from my wife,
Laughter, hot cocoa, It's A Wonderful Life,
Little drummer boy, the littlest angel, the north star shining bright,
The wise men's trek, a manger, the birth upon this night,
Ornaments and garland, the sappy smell of pine,
Ribbons and bows and children, the hand of God divine,
Once a year, peace on Earth, faith, good will toward men,
Ho ho ho, a prayer of thanks, here it comes again.

Christmas from the heart

So, I'm looking out on Christmas Eve ...and all I see is sand.
I miss my family so very much but I'm fighting for freedom in a foreign land.
At home, I bet there's enough snow that I could go sledding with my son.
Or build that carrot-nosed man with my daughter. Yeah, that would be fun.
But I have to be all the way over here ...and there's still work to be done.

So I'll say a prayer for my God to hear, straight from my lips to the Lord's ear.
We're doing what we can, seeing this through to finish what we start.
Please give my family a Merry Christmas ...and send it from my heart.

The children here don't get presents and it's not that Santa missed.
And yes, it's sad these times are bad but no kids are on the naughty list.
I know my kids have been good for their mother and I'm sorry that we're apart.
So send them a Merry Christmas for me ...and make it from the heart.

When the call comes in, I almost cry.
"Merry Christmas! We love you." ...brings a tear to my eye.
Thousands of miles away and yet everyone rejoices.
We long to hear the sound of our loved ones' voices.
They'll miss me this season but they understand.
We want peace on earth and good will toward man.
To make the world a better place, we all must do our part.

Merry Christmas, soldiers. Come home soon. We love you ...from the heart.

The Night Scene

No stars are out tonight.
They must be hiding in your eyes.
-Or in mine, for with them I find
you make my spirits rise.
I float in a sea of elation,
adrift in beauty true.
Lost in the frost of sensation,
swimming in the blue of you.
Cool and dreamy to the touch,
enveloping and tingling my skin
but the thoughts are steamy and become so much,
I feel fever from within.
The thought of kissing moistened lips,
the thought of a love to hold.
The start of a heart- beating in clips,
quickening from beauty so bold!
A beauty that shines within your eyes,
down deep into your soul,
like stars that play beside the moon
that make the night scene whole.
So, I see the reason the stars tonight
are absent and hide in your eyes
because the truer blue of your beauty
belongs within the skies.

Vermilion

Once, it was beauty.
Now, it's just "hot".
Once, we were masters of all we survey!
Now, what have you got?
Passion is "obsessive compulsive".
Morality, merely a guide.
The glory of a summer sunset
comes down to mercuric sulfide.
Once, it was the face that launched a thousand ships!
Now, adult content and a thousand clicks.
Once, what we would have given to kiss those lips!
Now, we "got game" and a bag full of tricks.
Respect has become a four-letter word
and ethics will never make you a star.
This vast excess of accessible knowledge!
Still, we do not know where to go to mine the cinnabar.
...or what it is... ...or of what I speak.
How can a nation so strong- demanding what is right from wrong!
- come across as so feable and weak?
Yet, it is the meak that speaks out we are toxic,
no matter what form the compound may take.
The message is clear- we need but to hear
- it is the mind of the listener that is opaque.
Take me back to vermillion days!
To the china red sunset of antiquity!
Cast me far from these heathen ways,
far from thes stalkers of promiscuity.
Allow me to bask in the final rays
of an orangish-red day's lament.
For once, we owned our destinies!
Now, we hardly make the rent.

A better man

I know I'm not a perfect man
But God knows I try.
I never will forsake her
And I won't tell her a lie.
She must see something in me
I just don't understand.
So God, I need some help please
To be a better man.

She cooks and cleans better than me.
We almost never fight.
She loves the way I rub her feet
At the end of every night.
I try to help to pay the bills.
I don't bring the office home.
Sometimes I think that life's a thrill
At night when we're alone.
There's some things that I'm good at.
Others I should refine
But there's nothin' I wouldn't do
For this lovely girl of mine.

'Cause I know I'm not a perfect man
But God, you know I'll try.
I promise not to forsake her
And I'll never tell her a lie.
She can always see right through me.
Somehow I don't understand.
So give me a little help please
To be a better man.

I'll strive. I'll try.
I'll do all I can to be what she sees in me.
I'll laugh. I'll love.
God, don't let her give up on me
'Cause I believe

I can be a better man.
I'll do all that I can
To be all that she sees in me and make her understand
How much I love
And am so thankful of
This life and love you've put in front of me.
So, Lord help me please
'Cause I believe
I can be a better man.

Fourier Transform

We are all that has existed,
does exist, or will exist.
If but a grain of sand,
a beachfront,
the entire seashore and the desert.
If but a droplet,
an ocean,
the life-giving element known as water.
We are one and of the same,
vibrating on a frequency of diversity,
trying to stay in tune.
The giant who sleeps
dreams your world,
yet will only awaken when you can see
that the figments of imagination
are the giant, the world, you, and me.
The farmer who speaks to his crops
with an honest heart, void of lies,
gives as much to their development
as the rains from the skies.
The child who believes with a child's heart
resides in the world but is not of
and needs a society to raise them
to never forget that love.
There is something more beyond us all,
beyond the isolation and feeling remote,
you will find once you come inside from the cold
and in the finale, take off the coat.
We raise the curtain
when the act is done
to see all the players.
We all are one.

"Reality is an illusion, though a persistant one." --Albert Einstein

The Life of the Sea

In standing before you, awaiting the eternity of breath
Closed are the opportunities save the one final - death.
Yet peace fills my limbs.
An agitated mind calms
relinquishing regrets, freeing quirks, qualms.
I know this force that devastates by day
holds no bars over hearts and has very little to say.
No chains drag me down, no prison keeps me whole.
Nothing in this world can be the captor of my soul.
And I face infinity, alone and out of place
with waters washing over me - and a smile on my face.

In the days before the years began,
there was youth within this world.
There was fabric to sew and stitch by hand
for sails to be unfurrelled.
There were masts to make, a bow being born,
a sailor to be called to sea.
Unbeknownst to all, through transforming experience,
that sailor turned out to be me.
Happiness and fun became memories
as I embarked on a journey of tribulations and strife.
With fond farewells, I hoisted the mast and set sail,
weathering through the trials of life.
My mother's home - no longer the sanctuary
where I could rest and in comfort nestle.
I set upon a course of my own.
My own faith. My own vessel.
There were days I just glided through.
There were nights of raucous laughter.
Many times I thought I would not survive
and didn't want to - until the morning after.
In some things, I had right but there were faults for sure.
Each day was a step
and then one step more.
I gained knowledge through time but wisdom eluded me.
So goes the aging sailor midst the life of the sea.
Some storms were worse, cautious sails would rend
but the wise eye prevailed who knew where to mend.
Joy was discovered.
In alien lands, I found love.
These tales were told in the evening
to the stars directing from above.
My mother was the ocean.
My father, the stern hand of time.
The story of my life became legend,
bellowed in song and rhyme.

And now, ashore, I stand before you.
Emotions in motion before the breath of infinity.
Counting the sands of experience.
Aware of all that was dear to me.
Never a prisoner of circumstance.
I feel freedom and have reached my goal.
Nary a man nor a situation has been the captor of my soul.
Though these winds were a wild force at night,
the sun, a harsh critic by day.
I weathered through, with fabric intact
and thus have nothing left to say.
With all-encompassing eternity and the realization of destiny in place,
I allow the waters to wash over me
- a smile upon my face.

Mother Ocean

She's not exactly what you would expect.
Her lovelife is in shambles from her heart being wrecked.
And although her outward appearance has an unpolished shine,
You never expect to see the beauty beneath all the brine.
But inside is a world nigh beyond compare
Where seahorses dance and puffers prance
-and the lobsters ...just sit ...and stare.
Where dolphins dispense intelligence
And great whales chant their ohm.
Where a cavalcade of creatures
Have come to call her home.
Her moods can change with the weather.
She shows her anger with such force.
And no one could ever tame her,
You just try to keep on course.
But inside, there is a symmetry
Between the beings in her womb.
All those who have opposed her serenity
Lie beneath her in their tomb.
Abuse she suffered by a hand she loved
That would take and take and never give.
So she tried her best to recede
But how on earth could she live?

put me out to pasture

Put me out to pasture
Leave me in this field where I may lie
You can always come to visit
So you don't have to say goodbye
Bring some carrots for the horses
And a sugar cube for the mare
They know I love to watch them run
But she keeps me company while I'm there
I know that's where I want to be
It's where I'll have the most fun
So put me out to pasture
When my working days are done

(as yet untitled)

I stand there feeling a little out of place,
wearing a shirt with a few more wrinkles than my face.
And they look at me as though I'd committed a crime
-I haven't been to worship in the longest time.
I quietly enter and slide into a pew
and do all the things I see the others do.
But something's missing -what, I do not know.
God left this place a long time ago.
--But I feel Him when I go on back outside.
--And I see Him in all the places I ride.
--I travel on this big black beast of chrome.
--Waiting for the father to call His children home.
There are others there beneath that cross and steeple
who are ignored by all the other people.
They feel there's something lost that can't be found,
wondering where they'll find the holy ground.
--But they feel Him when they go out again.
--And they see the reasons the Lord has said, "Amen."
--They travel on with no real place to roam.
--Waiting for the father to call His children home.
And the others- He refers to them as goats.
In their Sunday dress and nice warm winter coats.
They drop change for the lowly and think they've done their part,
never knowing what was in that stranger's heart.
But they go to church -and thus, are better than you,
as they put the backs of others in their pew.
They feel only what they're told to feel,
forgetting Jesus was a rebel -and He's real.
--They'll travel in their winter coats on a road paved with gold.
--Never hearing the shephard call His sheep in from the cold.
--But I feel Him no matter where I may roam.
--Blessing the day my Father calls me home.
Bless'd be the name of He who carries us all home.

For I love thee

I would gaze upon your shadow
though it is but a shade of your perfection.
I would stare down any mirrored surface
to gain nothing more than your reflection.

For I love thee greater than the stars at night
love the heavens they hold,
greater than a summer's day
loves the sun, so brash and bold.

I would gladly be ill or in great peril
if you were but the cure or rescue.
I would die a thousand deaths
if you were Heaven's virtue.

For I love thee more than the dreams of sleep
love the closing of thine eyes,
more than the moon loves to wane
or the sun loves to rise.

But if I were to live without your love,
I know not what I would do.
I would not want to waste my soul
upon a life I felt untrue.

For I love thee without care
of anything or anyone at all.
Without care of where I land,
within your love I fall.

Canta para ella

Yo canto para mi amor. I sing for my love.
On stony steps of an ancient burrough, as she watches from above.
Mirame, mi amor. Watch me sing to thee.
Whilst these people all around observe this stolen scene.
A time from Romeo and Juliet, a moment Shakespeare longed for.
I am crazy for you, my love. Soy loco para ti, mi amor.
Tienes un amor para ti? Do you have a love for you?
Then remember this song to sing for love, a romantic moment for you two.
Canta para ella. Canta para tu amor. Sing for your love.
Canta para ella. Sing for her.

A Return to Pan

Those tender years of youth, lost in a storm cloud of soul,
Take me through the wonderment upon a memory of gold.
Leave me in the lion's den on a salty summer night.
Where hearts afire walk a wire as a firebird in flight.
Take happer thoughts to heart but live the life at hand.
Make a memory of tomorrow like flights in NeverLand.
A special touch of trust, lying in someone's arms.
A radio note- alive, afloat- sailing on music's charms.
An angry cat on a hot tin roof, an actress on fire and free.
Whose soul could send one caterwauling- that is how I'll be!
Star dust settled in the night's sky, a choral member of the band.
Like a feral flight of freedom with the youth of Peter Pan.
Like a gentle giant's journey through NeverNeverLand.

Nursery Tales and Fairy Rhymes

Sensuality, sensitivity, censor all save proclivity.
In the hour of the mouse
When the clock has struck me down,
My courage will never waiver
Like the smile of a clown.
When my pockets, full and gaudy,
Have extended beyond my body;
When the nourished epidermis
Has marked a stretch of pastry kiss,
My mind, smoked like hickory,
Fathoms ding-a-derries and dickory.
And the every and the all
Is just an eggshell on the wall.
Hickory, dickory, doctor- the mouse ran up and clocked her.
The clock struck a cheek.
The blood, diluted and weak.
No more thicker than water,
Contrary to what I taught her.
Why the mouse ran blindly down
To the solemn sanctum of ground;
What was in that gentle town,
Save the Piper's fluty sound?
My heart fluttered like sparrows
Before the boy who shoots the arrows.
And the nothing and the nil
Is just a whey and curdy spill.
Sensitive, sensual, I sensed a paused perpetual.
A tree held Alice sleeping
Whilst my words were crassly creeping.
My home, oh my home
Was lost in the volumes of a tome.
Who could carry a crown of laughter,
Where my thoughts came tumbling after?
How can a clock berate
By the tick-tock of a hue too late?
My power of verbose banter,
Succumbed to candid cantor.
And all the while and all the during
Is mere talu to keep her stirring.

pocket poems

crinkled pages
wrinkled words
and lint is in the way
like all sages
I write absurds
and sell them in dismay
short but sweet
that is how i write
precious little gems
within a beat
of pure delight
pocket my poems

Carpe Diem

A cantaloupe, peppered with age, sits on a rotting table.
An oak so strong- the forest mage!- now stands on legs unable.
---and in that dying of the light, they falter once, they lose the fight.
An emery board, worn to nub, lays limp upon the floor.
A fingernail, down to stub, asleep and prunes no more.
---and as their lives slip away, they search for hope, they find decay.

These tragedies of which I speak are not for hearts and minds of weak.
Simple statements. Moments of past. Lived too young--- died too fast.

Taking into account the unexpected

As I walk about my every day, I notice those noticing me.
How many can say that?
A mother sees a father watching his son smiling in accomplishment
but frowns on her daughter's eyeing of the same boy.
Superimposing vision on observation to foresee what once occurred
by the same haunted look.
Experience clouds the judgement of a future's history
by a past blight of oversight.
To push the freedom of hard-learned ignorance toward a chosen path
of open-mindedness and finally be witness to the fact
that assumptions, without hindsight, lead away from the desired destination
of needing proper direction.
The things people notice are not as scary as the things that notice people.

A Tyger's Talu

Florescent leaves fall from the trees,
landing by your sanctuary.
A color clutter within the gutter
to disperse when you are wary.
Monotonous tones begin their moans,
a tyrannical wind blows through.
You- left sane- seem mundane
and so we say adieu.
Intolerable life brings forth strife,
for immortality is eternal.
And all the while, we reconcile
to watch an unpopped kernel.
Within the sea- fascimile-
this autumn charade is dead.
Your elixir of youth is now abused,
as the wily tyger is fed.
Beguile the lies with alibis-
a sanctimonious day!
The myriad hue all for you
in a forum of naivete.
And so, we're through. This old talu-
a play with imagery.
"The maelstrom is dead," the tyger said.
"This is poetry."

Lip Print

It's not the color your lip print makes
but the creases in between.
It's not the pain our love forsakes,
it's that it's never seen.
It's not your sweat against my skin
but the rancid taste of salt.
It's not the fact of where we've been,
it's that it's all my fault.
Problems can be solved, if given a little time
But when love's dissolved, life's filled with filthy brine.

It's not the passing of your scent, drifting in the air
but of the love we relent with every lonesome stare.
It's not the care in your hands, combing through my hair
but in your heart when love stands without a flick or flare.
Passion will return to core when you absolve that I am not your problem to solve.

It's not the heat from your cheek, pressed against my chest
but from your form, small, weak, giving life its best.
It's not the tingle in your spine as your form convulses slightly
but in your soul when we align and lay in comfort nightly.
It's not your nails, color-coated
but the marks they leave behind.
It's not the ego, fully bloated,
it's that it's fed too kind.
It's not the hatred when you mock
but the humor in your voice.
It's not a preference, and here's the shock,
it's that it's not a choice.
Read between the lines, unshade the yellow tint.
Look close and one finds truth within a lip print.

Coffe and Conversation

I entered an old, worn out diner
on an empty piece of road.
There was no neon to light my way,
no signage on where to go.
I just stepped out of life for a while,
hopin' to unburden my load.

I walked up to the counter
and took the package from my hand.
I propped my guitar against the next stool
and left it there to stand.
Although the scenery seemed so familiar,
I'd never been to this land.

The waitress saw me, poured a cup of coffee,
laid a cheap plastic menu by my cup.
Then she said to me, "Hon, what'll it be?
Somethin' to sip? Somethin' to sup?"
In reply, I started to cry
and told her this without lookin' up.

I've been everywhere.
Yet I still continue to roam.
Never found someone to care
that I could call my own.
I don't need alot from you now,
pretty soon I'll be gone.
Give me some coffee, conversation,
and this care package from home.

Before we knew, the coffee was through
and we knew more about our lives.
What it would mean to be serene
like good husbands and wives.
But through it all, everyone falls
and the pain cuts like a thousand knives.
So you keep makin' the coffee
and I'll keep playin' the dives.

She asked me had I ever opened the package.
I shook my head and said, "Nope."
It's still in its original wrappings
and tied with its original rope.
It's the thought that holds me together,
the idea that allows me to cope.
Like the thought of our lives of husbands and wives,
This package holds all my hope.

'Cause I've travelled everywhere man
and still continue to roam.
Always lookin' for someone to care
that I can call my own.
But I'm never in one place too long.
Turn around and I'll be gone.
For now, I'll stick to the coffee, conversation,
and this old care package from home.
Just give me some coffee, conversation,
and the hope in this package from home.

When I fall into sleep

When I fall into sleep
and slowly dream of you,
I enter upon a reality
where life is always blue.
When the iron curtains fall
and the sights of life disperse,
I enter a truer realm of life
where dreams are but a curse.
Imagery becomes reality. Thoughts become true life.
And I walk among the scenery of mind, my loving wife.

But when the night grows old,
when morning begins to sigh,
I again must face a death
and enter a lovely lie.
For life is but an ugly dream
and thoughts are never cheap.
So I pay my fee every night
when I fall into sleep.

The Slippery Side

Religion is a snake in the fog.
Salvation with a sting.
When one is bit by the hair of the dog,
Comfort rides on tragedy's wing.
Philosophy is cantankerous pain.
Rain on the windows of the soul.
Grooves on the face of time remain,
Reminding one what once was whole.
Venom courses to an anger attack.
The straws fall where they may.
Could they ever support a camel's back?
Harnessed by a heart's sun ray?
Hope and pray to prop the hay,
A bale on the frail frame of Atlas.
To nurture the nature of life's decay
On the waxed wings of a catalyst.
The earth that holds the muddy molds,
Undone by the loss of a rib.
Nightmares that run from fun unfolds,
Chased to the date of the crib.
The fleeing stops. Breath exhales.
Troubled feelings turn to mist.
Relieved of the burdening bales,
The lips of freedom are kissed.
Worries wither to faulty vapors,
Foreign tongues of dialogue.
Forgotten. One of memories capers.
Hidden, like a snake in the fog.

The Silence of Sounds

My loss- my love- which knows no bounds
seems to adhere to the silence of sounds.
In the miracle of moments- those precious few.
I seem to be dreaming- always thinking of you.

The memory of your form constantly keeps me warm
through these lonely nights, I find your presence.
And in the morn when again I am born,
I am filled with what I can only think of as effervescence.
That energy is spent- as has the day went-
running down into the dark of night.
And for the briefest period, I conflict with a myriad
of horrors that stab me with fright.
So, with pad and pen, I fight them back again
in the mightiest battle of words and ink.
Until the untold number is sent back to slumber
and I sleep- and dream- and think
Of a second chance in this repetitive dance
where I whisk you away from the heartache that pounds
to a world truly true, with songs of I love you.
So far away from the silence of sounds.

Ma'am, there's been an accident

And the westward wind blows heartache
across a brow furrowed by age.
She stands before an opened door
but still can feel the cage.
Enrapt by all who've gone before,
before her sentimental mentality of rage.
She stands aghast before the dorr,
agape from her ghostly rage.

And the eastern sun never rises
before her soul bereft of sight.
She stammers, trying to step forth,
to find her strenght too light.
Helpless here without her worth,
worth more than she has a right.
She stumbles back without going forth,
for she has forgotten the worth in sight.

And the northern lights, reflecting not,
knowing they cannot be seen.
She sits upon a wooden floor
unkept, with pride unclean.
Lost in thought so overwrought,
wrought from a past serene.
She slumps upon a wooden floor,
unkept with lights unseen.

And the southern drawl keeps whispering
to the ears and souls above.
She closes her eyes and cries here,
for all the were dreaming of.
For closed doors and kept cages,
rages unseen by the light of love.
She closes her mind and locks her soul
away from all they had been dreaming of.

faith

When we no longer fight for the sight of our salvation,
When not a single soul is left to heft a bloody sword,
When a point of view is not construed as someone's damnation,
Then we shall truly have faith in the Lord.
When love is the first instinct over anger,
When forgiveness is bliss and easily poured,
When we can hang from a cross and feel love for the hangers,
Then we truly shall have faith in the Lord.
Feel love for the Father as He feels for His son,
Feel love for the Son as He feels for us all.
With spirit we worship the three who are one.
Creator and cration with faith never fall.
Why preach without practicing the faith we afford?
Why teach without taxing ourselves through and through?
Why wait for fate to deem the day of the Lord?
When the Lord has so much faith in you.