loose hat

loose fitting

pieces into place

the fork at the end

of another day becomes dark

approaches soon we will see night

here we sit

again you take off

into another night

you are gone off to get your groove on

slide to one side

of the story told

loud in your ear

bent to the point

lost behind too much makeup            

an excuse me for sounding blunt

tip grazes my skin

scarred for life

only what we make it

stop before I quit this place

now is gone off now to get your groove on

gray sky light my way to another

gray day after today was beautiful

thought came to mind

can handle physical pain

no more songs to sing

hear me slip out of sight

so bright light the way

until we are gone        

off to get your groove on

don’t you know more

questions at this time I will try

to make it clear

the clouds roll away

everything comes and goes away

from this spot

the table is broken

trying to walk straight

line drawn between you and I

a little bit envious of you

brilliantly talented

enough for all to notice now

you are gone off to get your groove on. . .

nothing concluded 57

suddenly saddened

with news of disaster

in eyes

hoping he doesn’t

fall

away from eyes

many words

anyone can hear

with the right ears

don’t leave

not a choice

no one can tell

wishing

all was well—

nothing concluded. . .

I just stack it

traveling at the speed
of something slow
down and see
what you missed
the last pick up spot
on the flaming truck
running over fingers
pointing at some
might forget, but no
I don’t shine the
fruit, I just stack it...

pull or push
me out the window
is locked and no one
answer is correct
my mistakes
could reach the sky
if it was not for gravity
pulling at my feet
are tired of constantly standing
in the middle
put me on an end
and push me hard
enough to blow your mind
made of cotton swabs
the deck of a ghost ship
the gift to a relative
living far from you
no I do not shine
the fruit, I just stack it...

complete the circle
three times and then sit
for a bit, wish I could quit
too many habits
feel like a nun
of them make sense out
of all the silly words
clashing together
the music sounds nice
parking job
I wish I could quit mine
as well as I can be
something I am not
nothing, but the world
would continue if I left
or right it sends me
to sleep
only enough to get me
to the morning light
the dark hallway
off in the distance I see
a switch that does
not work, but no
I do not shine the fruit,
I just stack it...

seven sticks of death
came to me in a dream
of reality is only
half the story because
no one knows what may
come next time
never stops, but how
funny is it when you close
your eyes and when you open
them it is the next day
after day this amazes me
I see what we ignore all
the words not meant mind
being bent a corner of
the page where I stopped
stopping and kept going
but knowing all along
I do not shine the fruit,
I just stack it...

what good may come
back later and we will
cover the burned bread
with jam
another session into a busy week
voice screaming from below
the top of my lungs
are not good
idea won’t get me anywhere
is the quarter I spent
a year ago today wondering
how I could get an inch
taller and not notice
the change a stranger
to you sometime back
and far off in front
it could happen again
I keep telling you though you know
I do not shine the fruit,
I just stack it...

three parts

PART ONE
no one understands
doesn’t mean anyone is more important than another
getting a feeling that some look to him as if he is
higher and though his years
maybe a couple more than those
he chooses to associate with
no different and definitely no better
one draws a portrait and another speaks
a fan club
what has he done to deserve this attention
no one enjoys what he likes the best—
sit and write undisturbed
he doesn’t need to be doing anything to feel
as though he is productively spending his time
better than the rest?
you know this man
though you choose to keep your safe distance
you are the closest that he has to good friend
his guru has left off to new beginnings again
don’t think he has mentioned the value
he puts on his friendship to you. . .

PART TWO
a sign of the crossing of two roads leading
possibly to the same destination
when this journey began some time
before having the ability to know
the problems only exist in order
to be overcome
closer and listen to the story
maybe you ignored the sign given
cannot ignore the obvious
believers in the way
only what you make of it when you are alone
what do you think you know yourself
directions do not come with ease
no one can tell us what to think
we have the answers
proving we don’t have a clue
this brings us right back to the question
or problem
no viable solution to wash away all pain
is life is pain
will diminish when we embrace it
with all we have
and let it go. . .

PART THREE
may not see my point
don’t look too hard
it will jump right off this page
smack you in the face
you along with the rest think him strange
not who you think he is
and though random thoughts come from his hand
his mouth his mind
does not mean to shock
firmly believing that you know each other
for a reason
have been here before in different forms
and this is not the first time knowing each other
some of the same confusion in your head...

since 1922

the four of us share one thing
the city in which we were born
seventy-5 years ago the oldest came to be
and I am the first born of a first born
so what does that mean
nineteen hundred and twenty-two
what was I doing in that year
seeing some of the similarities
that may have skipped a generation
and are me
the city of shoes and champions
history and what it has become
seventy five years and two generations later
sitting where many have sat before
third generation to be born in this city. . .

feathers

eyes drawn to slits
can barely see moving here and there
feeling out of control of thoughts
today moved so fast
barely time to think
about what creates happiness
that which no one wants to do
can only lead the horse to water
drinking is another problem
altogether on the count of three
break the walls and sound the alarm
not waking from a sound sleep
a tired mind and body
one third of life spent in this way
down to the bottom of another cup
filled out the form
someone not him
turning into a vacant parking lot
people not here or there or anywhere
hand over foot far off in the distance
between two random spots
an object containing incomplete thoughts
mind over and under the bridge
the gap between two branches of the family tree
fallen and been rerouted to a narrow path
worn by the souls
torn into pieces scattered all in different places
the brown—orange sky is falling
rise in the east with the sun through eyes…

my pen never forgets

never seen this man before he was here
he’s been many places
remind him of memories
he lost an arm in the war
has become one he fights with his mind
has taken quite a beating
a sound that may travel further
than I could ever walk
to the end of the street
may or may not
lead me to the other side
of the thought
I may have had the answer
my own question
and talk about thirty years ago
I did not exist
in this form
taking another
when this one is done
I will find another time
one where I will not look in the mirror
another stopping pointing
the sky is cloud blanket
a hole where the sun
has worn through the days
and night time runs in
tomorrow is only hours away
from here and there
and then everywhere
nowhere am I going
what will I see
when I get there
it is all over again
I wonder about the man who
when I look straight
avoids my harmless eyes
seeing his gut hang out of his shirt
torn it is almost disgusting
I can see past the madman appearance
five years it is only the second time
they have let you out of the cage
they put you in there
thirty years ago your mind was more
they built walls around your mind
days pass and cartons of cigarettes stained
fingers and twelve dollars may have gone far
thirty years ago
what will it get this poor soul
that just needs someone to talk to
not frightened by the wandering eye
and as he talks to me
he doesn’t realize
though I may never see him again
I will never forget my pen never forgets…

nothing concluded 56

and

another day

comes to a close

and

feeling a little sad

sadness

comes blowing

through the trees

hear it coming

from far off

like someone

running away from

a problem not so big

sounds like trouble

from far off

the closer it gets

the trees

threatening it seems

only wind though powerful

only the mind

blowing no answers

though questions pile

up like dry leaves

and no one

can make them all go away

it’s quite an odd year

and strange

conversation

keeps following

wherever he is

standing high up

on this cliff

and he’d never jump

but he might slip and fall

nothing concluded. . .

bright idea

aching all over

the horizon seeing

somewhere that is not here

the sound is loud

screams from the side

of another wish

upon a star so bright

idea that comes to mind

being alone overcoming

closer and hear stories told

what to do

not knowing what he is babbling

on and on

to another check is wasted

gambling always losing the happiness

he has left

or right and wrong

doesn’t matter. . .

this one

still need a jacket
can’t quite get warm though
the sun is shining at seven thirty
don’t know how long I want to stay quiet
don’t make a sound
will shatter the pain
this glass crumbling down on top of me
my mind stops before the line up
will be sure to stop before you
I have a gift of words
filling pages
turned and new thoughts swirl in my coffee
talking over issues
some unread magazine thrown into
a pile of trash this one…

done

another warrior on the rise
from among the ashes
have fallen from the burning trees
swaying in the wind
blowing thoughts
and things never appear as they seem
splitting adventure out into the jungle
of emotions I am beginning to feel
as though I am doing something right again
I may be wrong
not at all worried this time
is now and then there it is
something I can’t quite
understand my own mind
spinning out of control
drink up all your desires
hidden behind stone walls
constructed around the thoughts
see what is left
back into a corner of the room
enough for me to breathe
air is thick and now
I am done…

not right now

a triple scoop of he doesn't know

smothered with maybe tomorrow
and a side order of burned fries
in the pan around and see two down
three to go to work on what is
most important is being with yourself
is what he told her upon returning
from a week long trip
over his own feet as he sits in the backyard
listening to the sounds the trees make
as the leaves are allowed to grow freely
swinging from thought to thought
it included all taxes it excludes all other offers
to lend him a helping hand he needs
is his own and no other would be of any use
this to get to the next life
is truly what one makes of it
seems as though they do not know
that he hears their spring special supposed
to sweeten his day sour apple falls
at his feet keep moving
and he doesn't know he will not walk
two steps back aching from the mop
he pushes away all the unnecessary
seeing the parade of buses arriving
next to a ripped shirt as the rich
get richer land where they bury the corpses
that have passed on or off the hook
with sound in an explanation
he will give but not right now. . .

kidding myself

another rainy day
time brings light to a subject
split section thought
I could hide my eyes
have grown quite tired so I will rest
wait by the side of the road
down the street alone
felt as though I was accompanied by
someone else
seems to be holding my pen at
this moment
rambling on and on
into another belief
I might be kidding myself…

5 of me

here I am sitting alone
nothing strange about the day
raining again nothing out of the ordinary

a man about forty-five years old
alone too, I order my regular
he plays with his keys nervously
seems to be in a hurry
he orders eats and leaves
that fast unnoticed

younger man might be younger than me
sitting quietly eating lunch
smoking cigarettes, thinking
observing all around
and looking sad

another man about sixty or so
reading the news
seemingly un-bothered by the smoke
he doesn’t himself
and seems content with the life
he has been living

and of course there is joe
about 50
veteran’s hospital out-patient
gambling man in debt
said he bought $100 in scratch tickets
with a credit card
he is worried and talking
to himself out loud

there are five of me
here today
at different moment in my life
in looking at these men
I see myself. . .

horn pome

so he sat watching as you blew your frustration

out through your horn is your pen

writing manic poetry as he does not

understand up straight mom would always

tell him he would be something great might

never happens every time he take an

interest not in him and you have known each

other for quite some time has passed the

deep dark cave of his mind and see right

into the heart of your horn pome

did he say you would understand what he is

saying he will make it even if he does not

know when or where is the point he

thought he was trying to make a change the

channel and you will find there is still

nothing good on the box where he stands

trying to make a difference is that they do not

see him for who he is and bet you do not

even know he will not repeat himself so

many times he gets a little angry as he watches

and sure he sees what they see as you play

no one sees that in him and finally

warm weather blows through you horn another pome

and he knows what he says that and can’t find his

sanity do not remember where he put his

finger on the problem and hand over the

good one and up the scale the wall and reach

the roof of his mouth has become so dry

patch of road leading him to another

thought he saw something in her eyes were not

seeing him but what does he know he can’t

compare to your horn pome

the sky is finally clear away all he has never seen

so much confusion hits him in the facing

the wall not proud of who he is not what

he wishes he was someone with a talent like yours is

what he does not envy but wish he could

compare to at least so he could be happy

with himself not for anyone more time he closes his

eyes and here is your horn pome…

only me

thinking about only one thing
under this blue sky
wondering about this one thing
why it asks me why
and for what reason—may never know
and the direction of life—which way to go
the end of the line
don’t know what I see
talking to myself
because it’s only me

trying to regain thoughts no longer here
out close to the edge wishing you near
my side what matters today
how I might see myself don’t go away
still stuck deep in the turbulent sea
looking all around
but it’s only me

arriving at the spot where I find peace
each day brings me closer a moment’s release
the pangs of pressure push on all sides
rising and falling like predictable tides
no matter what happens it’s all I can see
with three eyes open it’s still only me. . .

no use

smell of oranges makes me think
of something strange
never going on in my mind
not made up of many complicated things
always seem simpler when you stand back
and look at them for what they have become
very tired of situations
that spin my head out west
away from something
makes me think I am not worth
much more than a day in the life I live
is boring me time for a change
of scenery is what
would work too well
time is wasted sitting and writing
down everything my mind
is telling me that I am
getting too old for where I am
tiring fast as my car
can go and so sorry it’s not fast enough for so many
think I don’t care enough
too much
does no good anyway
what’s the use...

nothing concluded 55

the usual spot

don’t want a usual spot

got to change

my habits

wish I had none

beginning

and ending

the day

at the same place

makes me wonder

must break the chains

that tie me

to these

habits

I cannot lose

knowing I can

sometimes wondering

why change

if comfortable

where I am at

sometimes

oblivious to what

makes me

go

in circles

and though each day

is similar

in some way it id different

in some way

I go in circles

life seems to be

a circle

we end where we

began

onto another beginning

the sun bears down

and I sit quiet

will be here again

when the day ends

nothing concluded. . .

dirty walls

chain linked downward
white hook and pot
holding green leafy memories
so many conversations
absorbed in the dirty walls
of my surroundings
don’t care much what I might miss
when somewhere else around the corner
arrive home with tired eyes
cannot struggle to keep them open longer
open another book and turn to my dreams
leading me to reality
that’s all thought no hope involved
in this process to be the plant just hanging
observing for a day all the situations
that bounce off the dirty walls surrounding…

across my back

across my back
up a bit of knowledge
I have suddenly acquired
a distaste for complex situations
drive me crazy
colored night sky above all dark shades
drawn down low and I see no light
a subtle light illuminates
in all things and if I look hard enough
I know I can find answers
to my own questions
do not hope for another beginning
from the final curtain falls on
all that was so simple
when I was a child
swimming from day to day
as the tire from the old oak tree
and as I grow I realize I have
not taken the time to notice
that tree in quite some time ago
I was so sad and alone
and I wish for your success on
your journey south
one of the few sane minds,
I know you will find happiness,
wherever you go you know
what to do and I envy this
the two will talk more when you return…

hours pass

my eyes move in circles
and I don’t want to leave
the spot where the hours pass
and I am side by side
with one so as the hours
pass I cannot see the clock
don’t want to think about
returning to the cell
can’t remember not knowing
as the hours pass
too quickly…

quite nice

it’s May weather we can
believe it or not the same
this time it will be different
strokes the cat and it purrs
unlike the engine in the car
roaring like a lion on my back
to the point me in the right direction
don’t quite fit need a smaller size
not too big bad wolf blow sand into another
thought of two feet of snow
in a matter of hours not only yours
only what you make of it
coming screeching to a halt at the edge
of the cliff can’t make me jump
the gun pointed at another friend
calling me the best at being the worst
idea I have come up with too many
false hopes to be a better
day after today is done
in the backyard chopping wood
you ride with me to the end of it all
makes sense when you stand back
and loo a little harder at first glance
you may misunderstand my words
forming one incomplete thought
at this moment feeling comfortable
sitting here and there you are that star
shining off that ink scar with much meaning
exactly what I say
wasn’t today quite nice…

depress

and what is right
can’t think tonight
tomorrow I don’t know
what is wrong
with this song
words just kind of flow
out of a mouth
bird flying south
north I am confused
about a strange feeling
no time to be kneeling
joints becoming abused
not moving too fast
can make it last
enjoy each step of the way
angry red hair
don’t even care
won’t depress myself today…

nothing concluded 54

and so what’s left

nothings right

the middle is impossible

and the extremes

well…painful

some will try

and push

the end of some rope

my only desire

to swing freely

are any here

paying attention

to the story

unfolding

before eyes

nothing concluded

no surprise

night after night

a meditation

a quiet spot I find…

sleep well

many gather nightly routine
and it may not appeal to you but
it passes the time
has come for some to
leaves are sprouting in the trees
late this year should be a good one
time I thought I knew something
isn't right now and then
I sit under the clear black
sky above telling
stories that put me to
sleep well

many are here but do they hear
we all sit and wait for nothing
makes sense anymore
or less the same
old story told a million times
over the vast mountains
that scream out my name
is unimportant and sounds
rather funny
how things change
so much that one
does not know what
one has started with two
and then three and for many hours
I try to jump to
sleep well

neither do I
know what is written
I am not blind but
I am deaf to the annoying
sounds like they are at it again
we a shoot out at the OK
I am quite all right
thanks for asking but
I do not know anymore then
the next helpless victim
on the stage ready for the nightly battle
the beast within all of us
need to just take a step back and see
where we are struggling
to understand the complex nature
of what we call being
so tired and ready-
sleep well

and before the sunsets and
the moon rises
from the dead
of the day
is bright sun shining
it's tired light
the darkness of the narrow
road that points me in the right direction
so all I have to do is keep on walking
from spot to spot
and I will not become too tired
to hear what it is
you have to say
that has got to end
the madness of the morning
and I realize I must
sleep well. . .

nothing concluded 53

pushing far

and away

from the spot

where I once stood

couldn’t quite understand

don’t know much

more now

somehow still feeling

the forward thrust

of progression

allowing many

moments to pass

before reacting to situations

placed at my feet

without anger

all that would turn

up the heat

and activate the anger

working simultaneously

in the opposite direction

he must know

how much he will be

missed on his

search for truth

the journey

my guru

my brother

departing

once again

nothing concluded…

as it burns

which one
will the choice be made
to bow down to those
whose ignorance prevails
they wear keeping them blind
ignorance reigns down to the bottom
of another cup filled
with the bullshit stories told and the lies
buried with the bodies of those who suffer
for the injustices done
and ignored what we are taught
to hate and learn to fight
join the army and see the world as you have never seen it
or whatever’s left after intervening
none of our business
as usual on the home front
lawn mowed and sleep well for tomorrow is another day
in the life of the family
struggles to get by on governmental assistance
wasted hoping to win the big one
dropped the big one
ended the war
in your mind
what they say and what they do
what they need a change of ideals
inbred and milk and enough to buy some booze
and smokes rising from the melting pot as it burns...

check in the square
where we assemble in hopes that angry cries are heard
the newsmen lie and damn right we’re pissed
all over the red white and blue rag of freedom
sounds more like a question
everyone is asking how to live the dream
won’t come true with complacency
the couch potato grows roots in the cushion
all the lies with blah blah blah
makes what we buy more appealing
off layer after layer
until the truth is revealed
the empty promises to do more before seven a.m.
then we do all day
sitting waiting for night fall
back another step or two
many greedy hands signing their own approval for raises
the sun rising smoke can be seen as it burns...

high life, low life,
but it’s just another our life
story retold to be more politically correct
the history books should be burned
in the mind as lies form mountains in our pathways
to truth be told
us too many times they are a-changing
for the worst case scenario that who knows
who created only to destroy those
who are inferior because our bombs are bigger
than the problem we thought we had
enough of the smoke blurring our vision
can no longer see the fire as it burns...

and can it wait another minute
years pass and innocent men imprisoned
sentenced to die
for their culture
for their minds
for their voice
for being revolutionary
when it’s how this country was formed
hypocrisy and racism
in the land of the free
guilty man goes free
bloody glove and footprints were not enough
evidently he was an outstanding citizen
either that or he had the funds to fool the fools
either that or the government didn’t want his land
either that or he wasn’t a threat to main stream America
back to the point of hypocrisy
and lies to cover up the green grass
has been cut
up the constitution
isn’t written for all
for some will realize
and start all over
may possibly offend those
who believe the stories told at bedtime
for a change
the system sucks blood out of those
who have hardly anything to take
the power into a raised fist
flashing a middle finger
ready to defy a government
built on stolen property
watch as it burns...

nothing concluded 52

small fingers

on small hands

small women

no small talk

far from a small mind

speaking of him much

pain is evident

you do not waver

standing strong

wind bringing tears

it’s not sad to hear

the tales as the ear

is bent weekly

and I do not mind one bit

extra part of my job

the part I

added on

my own after

having a dream

nothing concluded…