Early Dark

It's already dark
Sitting here watching TV
The cats are asleep

Red Sweatshirt

In a red sweatshirt
Sitting on a barren shore
But that time is gone

Once again I’m down
This Sisyphean nightmare
Get up, try again

Liquid Sun

Pours in the window
And puddles there on the floor
Cat yawns and stretches

Another Leaf

Another leaf falls
Another leaf but it's just
Another cliche

In the Laundromat
Beneath cold florescent lights
A foreign language

The strong smell of bleach
Linen, socks, and underwear
With perfect strangers

Don’t know him
But it’s all the same
Just the same

In the Laundromat
Beneath cold florescent lights
With perfect strangers

To Ruin Such a Work of Art

IV.
against whom do you jest?
against whom do you open wide your mouth?
what do you say within yourself?
are they right in your own eyes?
no one sees?
does you guilt keep you up at night?
how do you justify yourself?
do you believe in your own lies?

you sought wealth
but it was never enough
will silver keep you warm at night?
will gold dry your tears?
what good’s a feast eaten alone?
for whom do you labor and deprive yourself of pleasure?
it won’t deliver you when you cry out
but the wind will carry it away

you sought power
at whose expense?
do you see the faces of those you’ve used
those stepped on to reach your throne?
what became of the promises you made?
the lies spoken to earn their trust?
did you ever really care at all?
or where they just pawns in your game?

the self anointed
you say you know best
we must be saved from our simple ways
we do not know what’s best for us
could you be wrong?
do superior intentions override fact?
the road to hell is paved with good intentions
and the abuses of today were the reforms of the past

To Ruin Such a Work of Art

III.
a silent figure sits alone
as sand sifts through a sieve and falls
the time slips by her pale blue eyes
a dream within a dream she sees
a youthful beauty in her veins
of future’s hopes and dreams to come
but eyes that see beyond her age
a game within a game she sees

of lives and knives stabbed in the back
they grasp and claw and kick and climb
and rarely lift a hand to help
except for their own gain
other’s pain is but a sport
and power is the prize to win
they plot and laugh within themselves
and lift their joy from other’s shame

she wants to live and see the sun
she wants to feel the warmth of love
and tired of all the nights alone
she wants someone to call her name
at night she cannot hide her fears
or stop the tears within her eyes
but doors locked tight and blinds pulled down
will keep her safe ‘till sleep arrives

To Ruin Such a Work of Art

II.
standing on a hill of leaves and grass
wind blows life in lifeless leaves
across the lawn like children
they scurry from game to game
blown away from dust to dust
a turtleneck sweater cradles her chin
denim legs defy the breeze
planted firm as the world blows past

the rains come and feed the grass
growing high to reach the sun
the warmth awakes the seeds to grow
the light’s brushstrokes paint the flowers
the sun that brings forth life brings forth death
his furnace flames burn the grass
his wrath wilts the flower’s glory
their peddles fall to the ground

her home has become strange
her memories don’t seem to fit
dreams have been rooted from their beds
exposed to the frost and snow
protective walls have been torn down
the wind chills her bones those she trusted betrayed her
she doesn’t recognize her own family

now she’s alone
and independent force of will
no one to lean on or share the weight
no one to love or waste her tears
why care for a world that doesn’t care?
why believe a liar?
why trust a thief?
they lie in wait to steal her soul

To Ruin Such a Work of Art

I.
a girl so delicate and young
in silence her melody’s sung
while shyness holds her gentle tongue
on spider’s threads her words are hung

a gentle hand brushed hair from eyes
a subtle breath of silent sighs
a single girl beneath the skies
above a world that moans and cries

and awkward smile upon her lips
nervously alone she sits
within a world that runs and trips
a silent girl that never fits

i dare not bring before her eyes
the ugly sin that in me lies
my clumsy hands might break her heart
and ruin such a work of art

10-28-06

In the curve of your chin
The curl of your lip
In the arch of your brow
And in the defiant hair
That refuses to submit to your will
I see a beauty I cannot attain to
Looking down upon my shaky clumsy hands
I see the stains of blood I’ve shed and cannot justify
I see I am but a man
Weak and blind
Made to return to dust
But in your eyes I see hope
I see in the dust and ashes
These dry bones can live
In your tiny hands I see strength

Who am I that thou art mindful
Is it for me so week and sinful

But if it is for me
I will accept this
In the faith that the weak will be strong
The blind will see
And though I die I shall live
And if I live I shall not die
Love will perfect me and cover my sin
And maybe a portion of the love shown me
Will return to you

The Old House

VII.
Bottle caps, bottles, and boxes as sleds
Ivey, and stone, and bricks of red
Tulips, and poppies, and daffodils bright
Rain, and snow, and warm sunny light
Trickles of water and swamps of muck
Trinkets, and treasures, and charms of luck
Forts, and trees, and bottomless pits
Dirt, and grass, and gravel, and grit
Plums, and apples, and berries so tart
Clay, and wood, and snow made art
Such words still echo within my heart
Such dreams still flow deep in my heart.

The Old House

VI.
To this day I close my eyes
And walk the rooms of times gone by
I see the light shine through the glass
On all the dreams that could not last
I see the paint chip off the walls
And every line of crayon scrawl
I see the stains upon the floor
And crystal knobs on all the doors
They turn to open wide a view
Of things my childish mind once know
The things that mold me to this day
And things that long since went away

Once as a child I saw as a child
I walked as a child, I talked as a child
But know I stand the form of a man
The faults of a man the fears of a man
All we have is here and now
To find some joy and peace somehow
But even then a gift was formed
A seed from up above
And time does not impede the growth
Of faith and hope and love
And time cannot decay these three
The greatest of which is love

The Old House

V.
It seems to me it snowed that night
As we walked beneath orange tinted street lamps.
The streets were mostly vacant.
Most were home for the holidays.
Those who remained sheltered themselves
Within the confines of warmly lit homes.
In an old wooden wagon we towed our prize.
Heading home to set it up in the living room,
To decorate it in happy memories,
And light with the joy and love only a family knows.

The Old House IV.

Down in darkness deep and cold
Deep beneath the peaceful dreams
Drifting through our sleeping heads
As we lie in warm soft beds
Hid behind a bookcase tall
Sealed like tombs within a wall
Dark and damp in hidden pasts
O’er our dreams a fear is cast

Can the dark still recollect
Fear and sorrow time forgets
Can it store the past and lock it
In that dark cold basement closet

The Old House III.

III. pirate tree

a mast is formed by trunk and branch

and sail is wove from leaf and vine

a deck is planked with twig and grass

an earthen hull will do just fine

to sail upon these waves of wheat

a pirate's life is brave and free

as hills become an open sea

a pirate's life for me

a sword of wood is carved for me

and all I see is open sea

yo ho yo ho I'm wild and free

a pirate's life for me

the old house II.

there
in the darkest, dankest corner
in basement depths
imprisoned in a box of green steel
pipes and ducts from to and fro
along the ceiling
disappearing in walls and dark
bright eyes and fiery breath
seen from a tiny window in front
raging at confining walls

early in a dark december morning we rise
jack's paintings frosted on the windows
water diamonds on white
to sit cross-legged before the vents
to sit before the open vents painted into position
layers of time beyond comprehension
to bask in the comfortable warm breath
of a dragon trapped in our own basement.

The Old House I.

Ivy snakes its way up gnarled bark
Hiding secretes yet unseen
Within the willow's magic veil
The yard enclosed by secrete spells

Dark water's shallow depths
Reflecting jungles of leaves and limbs
Lies undisturbed now behind the wake
Of the sleeky swimming garter snake

magpie

Why does the little magpie squawk
and chatter all the time?
Why does he wake you in the morn
to hear his crooked rhyme?

Why does he dress in blacks and whites
instead of browns and tans?
Why, if you ask, I'm sure he'd say,
it's just because he can.

Mulberries

Curse this wall that keeps our lips apart.
Curse the space between our beating hearts.
Curse this lion that prowls the dark outside.
Curse this fear that keeps us pinned inside.
Curse these dreams that hypnotized my eyes.
All this cold reality ignores your bitter cries.
But let us still be grateful for the sun that dries our tears,
For the crack that lets your whispers reach my burning ears,
For the time we have together,
For the warmth that we can share,
For the healing balm of knowing
That someone out there cares.