Wednesday, March 25, 2009


I stand alone on this barren stage,
The tears now gone along with rage.
My mind is a theater of collisions,
Following a script of absurd revisions.
The stage I'm on is drenched in confusion,
The audience around me has no allusions.
I plod along from scene to scene,
Wandering about in a Peripatetic dream.
Time flies by and there are some laughs,
More often than not I drown in gaffs.
When the lights begin to dim, the audience
Is aware why my life is grim.  The curtain
Falls on this amorphous production,
Its hero lost to a specious seduction.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


Lipstick smudged cigarette butts
Littering the oil stained pavement
Like so many pimples on the face of
A newly pubescent teenager.We pass by, 
Scarcely noticing neglected rubbish,
Carelessly discarded, and soon forgotten.
Beer cans and bottles, the "dead soldiers" of
The "now" generation, lie in the gutter
Awaiting claim by countless denizens, or
The occasional street cleaner.
We are the spirit of carpe diem, with
Little concern for our footprints and no
Vision for the future of our children.  So
Our heels beet a rapid tattoo as we walk
Hurriedly through theses concrete and 
Glass walled canyons, a pilgrimage
In need of a new destination and an exit
Out of darkness.  The question remains:

Thursday, March 12, 2009


The granite markers, a solemn testament
To those brought home in the shadow of
Night so not to disturb the tranquility of
Those paladins of power, too important
To fight the real-and imagined-enemy.
Names and dates carved into grey stone
Commemorate the fallen-our youth, Lost
To mistakes, lost to fear, oh, just plain lost.
We have learned nothing from these battles, both
Won AND lost on some distant and barren field.
We forget all those canvas bags returned to us,
Filled with the body parts of our loved ones.
We are too busy destroying our future leaders
With pithy comments relevant only to tired eyes
Trying to focus on some late night talk show.
We swell with self-importance as we honor
The Dead, too intent to appreciate the living.
Those granite markers, will they comfort us?
Will those cold stone reminders help us?  Ever?

Memories Kept Of George W.

We we were sending boys off to war,
Politicians kept on talking but
We kept shipping out more.
You'd think we had suffered
More than enough pain,
And we had learned a lesson
That there was nothing to gain.
The body bags kept coming,
The tears kept on flowing,
The man in the White House
Smiled without "knowing."
He had his chance a long time ago
But "daddy" pulled some strings and
George W. did not have to go.
Night after night we kept on crying,
Lives kept on being wasted and
The White House kept on lying.
The story kept on playing,
The tragic carnage was still there,
Who would stand up to be counted,
And show that we cared?


Footprints  cast along the shore,
The path of the old man's journey,
Fading into a relentless surf.
He struggled with the nets,
His gnarled fingers fighting the rope,
An endless battle for the ancient warrior.
I wept for him as I listened to his plea
To the heavens for just a "little more time."
I called out:  "Do you need some help"?
My words were lost in a shout of salty noise.
The fisherman pulled his hat low across his brow,
A vain attempt to hide from nature's wrath.
He was at one with the fury swirling around him,
A lonely man lost in his toil, the heavy burden
Of the day weighing on his shoulders.
Finally, the hours of silent effort and his
Footprints slowly disappeared in the evening light.


Eyes bright yet damp,
Crows feet stretching
At the corners showing
Only time, not sadness.
Her lips parted, ready
To reveal all those years
Wrought with pain, joy,
And the wisdom of a life
Close to the earth, her reality.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009



We are cast about as though

Sprawled in a boat, a gale swirling

Around us, and very little hope.

We ignored the reminders that

We always have a choice, yet here

We are with so little to rejoice.

The soldiers we sent-off to Iraq-had

Very little hope of ever coming back.

The houses we bought without

Spending a dime, ignored the caveat,

“There is no permanence nor time.”

Our health care system, created by

The corporate “shtick”, has offered

Little hope to those who got sick.

Mr. Obama is here and directing our sails,

With pundits like Limbaugh hoping he fails.

This radio dilettante with a tiresome canard,

Is doomed to be hoisted on a very sharp petard.

This country is in trouble, that you can be sure,

Yet a sycophant like Rush is never the cure.

The “gale” will continue, causing more grief,

But in the end we’ll prevail, that’s my belief.




Monday, March 9, 2009


The tulip shaped goblet,
Crystal clear in it's simplicity,
Offers its blood red liquid 
For my embrace.  I wince at 
The distorted reflection in 
The glass, while my lips are
Parched in thirsty anticipation.
The mind spins with justification of
"Just this one", and "what possible harm"?
Questions asked thousands of times,
Giving way to the denial gnawing in my gut.
The glass seems to wink at me, a taunting
Recognition of the agony churning within,
Sweat beginning to stream down my cheek.
The "tapes" continue their dull refrain,
The rose colored elixir waiting to be savored,
But not by me, not by me, ever!

Sunday, March 8, 2009


We are polarized, so many of us,
"Looking through a glass darkly"
Wanting only what WE want,
Not caring-nor sharing-with them.
The wealth and fancy automobiles
Whisk us through garbage strewn 
City streets, tucked behind tinted glass;
We are safe from them, they cannot see.
But who really is invisible, us or them?
Who should we really fear, them, or us?
Soon, we will become them, then what?

Thursday, March 5, 2009


When you are closer to the end
Than you are to the beginning
Time seems to race by laughing,
Oblivious to an expiration date.
Hazy memories, jumbled thoughts,
All reeling in that giant playground
Covered by a receding hairline, the
Color reminiscent of a winter sky.
The questions, always the questions,
Breaking through to prod me to
A bleak distraction, not allowing for
A return to a spiritless conventionality.
Who am I?  There is a history, but
What of my [past?  Is it tied to my future?
Am I really the man who sits here?  Or,
Am I acting out some Thespian drama,
Set on a stage made of Jello, with the same
Stability and security but lacking taste?
I stumble along, pondering the issues but,
In the end, does it really, REALLY  matter? 

Wednesday, March 4, 2009


The simple things in life
Are what I hope to find but,
The empty sense of loneliness
Is all that plagues my mind.
I travel here and there with
The need to find some peace,
When I end this pilgrimage
My life on earth will cease.
The elevator I travel on 
Has stopped at many floors,
The fear that now confronts me
Is what's behind those doors.
I do not understand what it is
That makes me want to look,
All that I can think of  is
My life's a comic book.
I want to smile and laugh
And jump up to the sky, but
The only thing I seem to do
Is lay right down and cry.


I walk the path again,
One that you and 
I have travelled.
The streets, teaming 
With people and
Surrounded by all 
The sounds and smells
The city has to offer.
I search for your image
In a shop window, hoping
To catch a glimpse of
Your carefree smile, an
Easy laugh playing on your lips.
I ask "where are you?"
Knowing the answer is
A pain deep in my heart.
I long for your kisses and
The soft caresses in the night.
Walking slowly, I imagine
The moon casting a gentle light
On your tender face, its image
Reflected in your hazel eyes.
You are always there, a reminder of
Eternal love and life long caring.
The memory of your smile dries
My lonely tears and offers a glow
That keeps my hopes alive for
A love not lost or forgotten

Sunday, March 1, 2009


The candle flickered, a beacon of hope,
Sending out blurred images in the gloom.
I moved closer to the shimmering flame,
Like some moth drawn to the pungent
Odor of wax drifting up to the rafters.
Thoughts of a lost childhood emerged,
The light still bouncing around me,
Creating clouded memories of long ago.
Childish fears returned, those of a small boy
Wrapped in a blanket, little tears washing
Down pink cheeks waiting, wanting
To be loved, not forgotten,  The smiles of hope,
Much like the flickering candle grew smaller,
The light becoming dimmer, but those little 
Tears of a small boy remained forever.