Monday, July 22, 2013

10:26am - Moon River remix

Wider than a mile,
Oh I'm chasing down that cratered dream.
Streaming consciousness;
live and on an endless ream.
Adding white to meaner reds,
Since I've flown by the blues
I stare into the tinted glass
and with a smug, little wink
I wave hi to all that brass and bling
and wear my canvas pink.

Monday, July 15, 2013


A moment of --
Digging my toes into the cool green blades,
Catching the scent of kettle corn,
mixed with the freshness of the lake
A breeze hits the apples of my cheeks
and gently shakes the leaves
I listen to the orchestra
and they play with the fervent love of art
and appreciation --

Saturday, July 13, 2013


Assumption is a language -
built from words unsaid.
Questions do not exist -
so we never ask.
Truth in hints and hunches --
The great exposition of nonsense.

Friday, July 12, 2013


A poem past one a.m. can only mean one thing:
That I am prioritizing a thought --
just one.
It is like counting sheep,
without the herd;
like a skip on a record,
on the very first note;
like a series of binary code --
without any zeros,
just one, one, one...
You know why,
because you've been there before
and the reasons don't matter;
they're all scattered anyway.
Just a thought - just the one,
and I'm done for.


Bare branches shed no shade
They cast thin shadows --
creep upon the face.
A tree in winter,
blanketed in snow,
beauty in silence
but the season's cold.

Prayer for change.
Patience for Spring.
Waiting for leaves.
Beneath fuller boughs,
and the swaying green,
the music plays--
a forgotten melody.
The ear hears what the eyes already see.

Sunday, July 7, 2013


Thought-struck with the idea --
A trickle of spark and wires
coils itself down my spine
and jolts me upright;
like an antenna
ready to transmit
the message.

Thursday, July 4, 2013


Cyncism is a sickness
inflicting its worse symptoms
on those who were once innocents
but unlearned what the true nature of beauty is --
because they got hurt,
somewhere at sometime
by someone who mattered
who fell short of being better than they ought...
The story's the same old
- the person is not.

Then the sickness remains
and they cough and wheeze
all their negativity
on anything that could be
and infect anyone still healthy.
They cannot heal with self-medication
only reconciliation of mind and heart
For where cynicism breeds, beauty must part

So yes, I might be too eager to forgive --
I might be drinking this world in
with eyes too wide in a rose-coloured haze
And I may be simple and naive
and a target for pain,
but I'll pray to be wiser with the hope I can be kinder,
without reservation,without walls, without shields
without worrying who will be the next
to step on my heels.