do it anyway

830/2003 (930pm)

no one tells him he's

got to get this much done

in this amount of time

he just moves the pen at

a steady pace and someday

surely someone will see it

for what it is random thought

captured like snap shots

of the purple sunset sky

tonight how else might another

know of sights seen thoughts

out loud with pen and the sounds

tonight night frighten if revealed

to be more than fireworks

in a city that is more of a large town

where no one tells him he's

got to write this or that might

not be what another might see

hear think but that's the point

under the right conditions anyone

can throw down words on the page

how many will stop to appreciate

the moonlit sky

and how many will stay indoors

in front of programmed entertainment

no one tells him he's got to do the things

he does but he does

in spite of it all

whether anyone can appreciate the time

it takes or how it sounds spoken

or read out loud with no one

tell him to stop

start back up as soon

as they leave he's made

the decision to do it anyway...

as if invisible

as if invisible

he sits facing

another wall waiting

for it to crumble

so he can

proceed unobstructed

full speed ahead

full of nervous habits

none of which

can be broken

with ease

of driving a truck

through a snow bank

in august but the whole

earth is getting warmer

eventually he and the others

might struggle to the breath

everyone will have to carry

portable artificial lungs

to cleanse the air

before consumption

silly to think all the humans

have done will have no effect

even if this life is the only one

chance and what if it isn't

what difference does that make

now present day

as the wars rage

killing those who have nothing

at all to do with the heart

of the matter never told true

reasons for anything

so that everyone will just fall into

place there has got to be more

to it but why is getting along in this world

so low on the list of priorities

right next to taking care of

the only home given to all...

probably never see

this is probably one
of the largest books he's ever
written in but those reading
printed text would never know
nor will they ever see his strange
handwriting style most
poetry he has read has been
printed as well as all the books
he has read
he often wonders though
how much character is lost
when it becomes a book in print
what does the author express
in their handwriting can you tell the mood
by the handwriting of the writer
easy to read others as he has seen
are absolutely illegible
and so the printed version would be favored
and what does all this ramble mean
for you to decide as he scribbles away
in his extra-large lined leather journal that
you will probably never see...

at our fingertips

really just don't understand
the mindset of some
those whose hopes and dreams
are not their own
but preplanned just like
everyone else
easy to buy into
what about what we really want
what's really important
step into a realm where understanding
holds importance the day
is not spent in pursuit
of what others dictate
our own minds must flourish
under less pressure
and no stress we have to learn
to let it go in between
bouts with self doubt
we should realize potential
each one of us holds
deep within or at
our fingertips...

explanation

it is a city
and I spell the name
incorrectly
but I have a reason
it's not an enormous city
as far as cities go
it's relatively small
but it's not a town
it's bigger
or a big town
Brocktown...

explore

what kind of strength
does it take
to be patient enough
to be a part of a positive change
moving forward with speed
and agility overcoming
the downest days
because of the highest
smiles trying very hard
not to be the pest
what kind of mind
does it take to explore
thoughts constantly...

only minutes

only minutes since
eyes last touched beauty
the smile that makes the worries
of the day fly far and fast
only minutes now
until unconsciousness
side by side asleep
awake in our dreams
only minutes until the dog
snores a bit and the cat pulls at the door
wonder what they think
and if they don't
what are they looking at
and squawking about
only minutes until who knew
one year ago who knows
what another year will bring
only minutes most each one
appreciated as if
there are only minutes left
on the clock in between
breaths hear the movement
from another room
only minutes until
this quiet time shared
together in thought
nothing can compare
and the fan circulates
enough air only minutes
until morning seems
to arrive too fast...

new way to smile

wonder what
my brother is doing
far from home
but right at home
in the mountains
a teacher to many
including his brother
hoping again soon
he will visit the east coast
stay awhile maybe through
holidaze or new year's eve
wonder what his son
has learned today
maybe discovering
a new way to smile...

follow your own rules

the light changes to green
and he doesn't go
he sits and they pass
with their obscenities
on their way to church
no doubt and he knows
he is holding up the flow
of things on an early morning
ride where he just wants to slow down
for one brief moment
the day will no doubt be
run here run there
on time and late
but follow your own rules
and make the path you follow
mean something other than
being one in the herd
not understanding your mission
light turns yellow
pulls into the intersection
divided in half by the double line
on the other side
traveling in the wrong lane at times
stronger than another as they turn
when his high beams stare them down
he hears the familiar whistle
knows little or nothing
about the slow limp
and pipe cleaner Joe dropped
what he couldn't hold
fell down the stairs
next time he might follow
his own rules and
not worry about what another
might do because he will
and you lose
follow your own rules...

for what it's done

don't want to stop
thinking about it
because something
has to facilitate the change
is as inevitable as the movement
of the tide eroding the shore
corporatism will surely
erode liberty
can't stop thinking
about it is the controllers
who turn everyone into
hungry consumers
and workers for the corporations
who are the controllers
looking at all they created
then liberty taken
right under our noses
as we sleep on the system
saying it could be worse
and it could and it will
if we let it get bigger
and be the solution
when corporatism is the problem
and needs to be recognized
and held accountable...

just sitting here

sitting here
and not wanting to work
someone else's profit
and just stacking it
getting so old
where is the profit
for the work I do
and I have the choice
to stay home
be one of those guys
doesn't go to work
because he can get away
with staying home
and getting paid
realizing it might be
one of his final
choices whether or not
to just sit here all day...

looks like he feels

they keep pouring out
as he twists his hair
and thinks of strength
of one lock and they
tell him he looks foolish
and maybe he does
but he looks like he feels
not everyone thinks for themselves
and sometimes he will wait all day
to see the smile
then ruled too strange
for the moment
not the appropriate
time for laughter...

many things to mind

thirteen days is a lot of time
between thoughts and pages
stuck together
with dried coffee spilled
thirteen days ago
he remembers being
in a similar spot
it was probably raining
and the country is fighting
in wars that won't soon end
no matter what they say
no matter how many die in the sand
of a foreign land thirteen days later
does anyone actually feel safer
deeper in thought who knows
if anyone is even thinking
thirteen days later the world
has gone mad some will sneak
through with pockets filled
with truth not beans
but will they be heard
by the fearful masses
who beg to be freed from their ignorance
thirteen days of silence
and bettering oneself
might prove more productive
means to allowing a peace to flourish
rather than the annoying rash
of decals window press ons
supporting what or whom
thirteen days bring
many things to mind...

ongoing conversation

church bells in the distance

and suddenly the continuation

of the strangest conversation

it’ll all be on the board

when the card players

sit around the table

discussing the business at hand

twenty minutes pass

in the slow blink of a tired eye

church bells every fifteen minutes

until time tells them

to sound no longer

watching the small black dog

suddenly in the presence of all kinds

of rapid thoughts running circles

in the mind sore from much meditation

on nearly every thought but

maybe he is all wrong

and all of these words

are part of his elaborate imagination

back and forth as the sun descends

no guilt for his lack of rhyme

you’ve got the let the mind

free to think what it will

as words enter and exit

too quick to catch

all at once slow it down

or read it backwards…

land in the back yard

the low flying plane

sounds like it will land

in the back yard

it is wonderful to sit

on the back porch

so many places he might rather be

sometimes the desire is to be

around other people

and constantly wonder what they are thinking

as they move from spot to spot

some hurry and some move slowly

but surely with a purpose

aside from taking up space

it might be needed by the important few

that orchestrate the symphony

of the many does anyone do this

thinking out loud on his porch

he can hear the laughter and sadness

and some of the silent whisperings

of the neighborhood at least one

snap shot is definitely not enough

room to capture it all

the plane is circling back

he is sure of it…

3 pages and it fades

three pages separate

him and the end

of another collection of thought

the most random type

still quite methodical

the purpose none other than

the thoughts themselves

three pages until he feels

as though he has accomplished

another chapter of thought

but some would always rather

not think about much

except getting to work

for someone else mind you

and it’s not important to

work on the self

three pages until number fifty-two

complete ready for the random selection

to be born into the next volume

of random thoughts

brought to you by none of than

himself

three pages in between

now and then when

new thoughts lie

before other’s eyes to read

and wonder no more

about what goes on in the mind

random thought processor

realizing he won’t soon

close the gap with this thought

as it fades into the night…

studied thought

how many days
pass before
one day you wake up
and realize everything
you have been
led to believe as truth
has been told to give you
a sense of security
and pride but is based
solely on the success
of a few selected
at the expense of all the rest
how many days
before will open eyes
and realize the corrections
that need to be made
to our idea of pride and
what we believe to be truth
how many days
will I sit at this table
putting thoughts down
only repetitive
to stress the importance
of studied thought…

repetitive

out on the back porch
scribbling away with something
to say without getting
repetitive monotone
like a sedative
puts your head out sideways
lying on the floor
like a dog motionless
an already fallen log
with grass growing all around
fell without a sound
still want to tell a story
unload the brain how long
will it take until I too fall
and will I break
as down I go
buried cold in the snow
of summer must be rain
something wet will
distort the brain
so words come out
a slight bit twisted
and when I threw the pitch
went by quick you missed it...

not far behind

trying not to get ahead
of myself or left behind
forget the words
then hit rewind unwind
search and find until something
comes to mind what we've been told
no mater how old we have got to doubt
to get all the truth out
from up in the head no matter
what's said here
the same won't get ahead
but not far behind...

even if only one

even if only one a day
turns to night
faster than he could
imagine clarity
coming through thought
extended for hours
without stoppage
or even a stalling point
even if only one page at a time
writing the story
of the history of his life
unfolding quietly
and even if no one notices
the changes and he makes them
come about at least once a day
if he can commit only a little
time daily to the mind circus...

back again

back again
two thoughts right next
to each other
making noise
not as much confidence
in all these words
give me confidence
in two thoughts simultaneously
occurring on days when nothing
makes sense even when
standing upside down
wonder what he carries
in the bag my guess
is not a gun
but what do I know
back again for another
cup of coffee and
a little conversation
keeping the bag on the table
maybe in case anyone
questions his motives
or the direction headed
even if no one knows
who he is or what he does
or where he goes
what time is it now...

take a look

take a look
through the blinds
to see the sky
even if it is gray been doing it
so long
seems as if it may never stop
even to pause
for a moment
take a look over the hills
and into the sunset
behind the gray
of course...

someone should be

sometimes I feel I am
doing this just to fill
books with thoughts
over all these years
doing it daily
the sun is dancing
with the rain today
sometimes I feel I am
alone
doing this and no one
will notice
this today and maybe
that's why
sometimes I feel I am
doing this
because
someone should be...

something more than

sifting through
mind of madness
writing is thought's way
taking verbal pictures
writing is drawing
sketches of these
bursts of light
shining from within
the mind's eye
but without reading
writing seems pointless
who is the audience
for all this random thought
is there one at all
or is it a creation
of this mad scattered mind
bent on putting words in front of eyes
to read and think
what's the point of life
if we don't think
can't always let someone else
think for you
choices need to be made
for yourself
writing is a way to turn
a rainy Monday morning
into something more than
a rainy Monday morning...

pounding the side of tonight

and still there are times
that the pen just won't move
and the page stays blank
under thought how many
different ways can it be expressed
quest for answers
and more questions
as the minutes role by like
tumbleweed in the desert
still the mind goes blank at times
unwinding in the awful heat
and humidity nearly thirty minutes later
the page remains less than full time job
collecting thoughts for any and all
to see if they care who does
the thinking and who stands
eyes focused on the page
beneath pen and deep thought
pounding at the side of tonight
long passed too tired
to stay awake sixty minutes passed now
barely two pages filled
what is he thinking as the night
slips closer to tomorrow
further from yesterday and some would say
he's got nothing to speak
of thought he's got
too many...

stop the death

three months since forces
won the battle still fighting
the war for what?
how many are going in
every corner of the earth
armed everyone
ready to destroy each other
money and power
and influence
there is no moral reason
hiding somewhere
behind all the greed
three months since forces
started liberating
and today I drove by
a war memorial in the city
thought that the aim should be
to decrease the need for such
memorials stop the wars
stop all the death...

enormously hot

unusually rainy and then
enormously hot
sticky the kind of air
that's hard to breathe
every other day it smells like rain
and does but even the momentary
cool breeze doesn't last for long
the sound of the afternoon rain in the trees
might actually be worth every drop of sweat
adjusting well for whatever record
spinning end over end at times
avoiding a step deep into some pit...