nothing concluded 118

rejoining the scene

in progress many thoughts

splatter pages what does it all

mean rejoining the world

where we left off

a point long ago

when every moment

seemed to matter

none do or so he's told

we all just keep on

rejoining our lives

already in progress

(or digress as the case may be)

he knows he hasn't

missed much

he knows he has been wrong

too many times to contribute

guessing at what matters

most daily reassuring

himself with every step

on solid ground

still walking around

as if he's going

somewhere else might be

a little quieter than the back porch

tonight and it's almost

tomorrow again

and he's disturbed

that it keeps happening

quickly nothing concluded...

nothing concluded 117

twists in hair and in the road

a head be hind

how long has he been

walking in circles

when will he follow the road

everyone else seems to be

getting along fine

what's his problem

when will he cut his hair

and start listening

to those influential voices

the do know best

or so they say

nothing concluded

in the middle of Saturday afternoon

nothing concluded

all night and twice

tomorrow will bring new

thought he would be somewhere

by now understanding

the web his mind

spins like a spider ready

to feast on the catch

seeing the empty chair across

a dark table nothing concluded...

silently he comes and goes

silently he comes and goes
and suddenly he doesn't have to ask
at the store they recognize him
even with a different hat on
greeted by the same smile
might be the brightness
on a cloudy day
he meets how many smiles
but how many would sit and try
to decipher the thoughts
in this strangers mind
how many write down what
pages might stand out
from beginning to end
or flip it does it sound the same
as all the rest that might
actually waste his time
or could a new smile hold the answers
to questions he hasn't thought of yet
he will probably need something
soon enough to see another smile
when words praise his thoughts
he might squint at the shining light
being a complete stranger with a truckload
of thoughts packed in tight
they can be hard to understand
what do they find
those few minds that take the time
to look passed the complete stranger
appearance whatever eyes might see
changes when swimming in the thoughts
without even knowing most of the time
outside the sky constructs
a fiery painting his words cannot compare
there is no color only his mind
and his emotion pen page and strangers
eyes absorb his thoughts and
appreciate his randomness...

up until 2

up until two they all said
and now he is the only one
with eyes wide open and not worried
but a slight bit concerned
that he might fall asleep
forgetting something important
up until one thought someone
would at least be here now
but everyone is tired
the wine did go great with the company
might as well been hand selected
perfect mix
up until twelve
thought for sure
the trees would still be rolling
but quietly instead
everyone files to bed
by this time
and he is left up
until two alone...

vigil

he will keep the vigil
if he has to every night
it became illuminated
again when the guru
stepped back into the scene
solid footsteps on shaky ground
below might give way
under too much weight
it will change everything
like the weather in New England...

until they are all tired

proceeding making plans

to overcome the obstacles

a stagnating mind

puts in his way

back machine turned ahead

in time never late

but he’ll wait

until they are all tired

of their schedules

the rat race they run

into the ground seems

like everyone is digging

or killing for oil

isn’t going to keep the hungry belly full

more money for millionaires

‘who wants to be one’

they mock us all on

tell lie vision operation mind warp

spin of the day

distracting from the diabolical deeds

devastated and the popular ignorance

is obviously the plan

put in action before he picked up the pen

like an axe to chop through doors

closed to the people proceeding

making plans to make the best

out of life is our choice how it is lived

up to him what he writes

as the stagnating mind has kicked it

into rapid white waters

cooling the day’s heat

burning new ideas

with old hands…

it's amazing unquestioned

it's amazing how events

shape the days ahead

even when the reason seems

flawed facts flashed

in news bites

giving all what

they deem important

but leaving out the more disturbing

facts public outcry for

true justice seems to always

get smothered somehow

it's amazing the ignorance

is bliss meter rises to the top

everyone keeps on

like nothing matters

no one is trying hard enough

to find news from other available

means to escape the propaganda

machine spinning what we all need

to hear next following directions

out of fear and it amazes me that

so many believe all the hype

put the facts together on your own

make up your own mind

everyone is given the choice

follow the herds

or blaze your own trail

it's amazing all these voices

can be silenced

and this silencing can go

unnoticed...

thinking back

thinking back to when

will any of this make sense

out of all the scribblings

on the wall

crumbling as weight starts

to crush the mind

wonders where

you came from

where you went

when you hung up

the phone never rings

for him as he

stands self-contained

without a lock of thought

and you found the key

for those willing

to find it here

the thoughts

when they sound

the bell that really never rings...

cloud smothered stars

slowly everything starts
to take a different shape
who knew
people I wish would stick around
keep leaving and reappearing
every so often whatever that means
them and I still frequent
some of the same old places
the day becomes filled with new faces
ready for the new book
will they laugh at an attempt at success
by the regular guy with regular thoughts
regularly written so much so
my hand hurts as the mind pushes it along
these smooth pages never really
knowing what’ll come out next
in line for that wish upon stars
they are there even though the rain
kept their light blurry visionary
seeing into the future
but details run down the window
until tomorrow actually arrives…

into a dream

the book page is warm

been in the car all day

unusual heat

record breaking

got to move

the hand fast

don’t need to be burned

in the process

best conversation this month

striving to find the balance

between solitude

and good company

the clock shows sudden

an am twelve

and shortly after

a morning

one might be expected

to say the right thing

and talked enough

never worried

never knowing what to expect

no questions asked

winging it full force head on

no hand to write itself

even if wrong man syndrome

follows someday

never worried

never knowing what another thinking

hard enough to figure out

waking in laughter

from a peaceful slumber

short term memory transformation

into a dream…

wooden fish out of water

sitting beside wooden fish
out of water in the desert
my feet burn the walk too long
they all say be patient
the rain will arrive
feel like Noah waiting for the flood
days pass and the sky will tease
as if I were a cat can’t catch the string
someone is pulling quickly
along the floor successfully executed
nearly everyone every night
reorganize the music selection
every day I pour water into the earth…

see through effect

this thin paper

allows for a see through effect

don’t quite know

what to think about that

as someone in the room

burps out loud

it’s day to day really

like a patient dying in bed

one day the pen can’t be stopped

the next day brings empty pages thoughts

caught in the blinds

up behind the best seat in the house

a painting of the patient man waiting

until he has some confidence

before he attempts to climb down

from his perch high above

as if height mattered

it never has

this short man has a story to tell…

thought expands

right in the middle

too much to expect sun

rob the rich of thought

put yesterday back

what now as thought expands

relaxing with emptiness

or hours not speaking

in because he put himself there

who yawns when they are not tired

what now when thought expands

only wish to capture with pen

all that the eyes might miss

all the detail overlooked

now under the influence

of inspiration

what moveable object will go

untouched

what Rimbaud never shared lost

found in recesses of the imagination

found in a thought given

standing tall now as the short man

swears he has been improperly judged

indecently exposed and he has been

in good company reaching into

the empty heart too full to comprehend

and he will stumble now

yet to be determined

what now as thought expands

Rimbaud whispers in the dark

moving this pen

vision he no longer has to imagine

only open eyes

what now when thought expands…

whatever comes next

he’s got an idea

and so he dives down

and swims to the bottom of the mug

holding his breath

hiding-almost

but he does want to be noticed

this time around the edge

watching her dance

suddenly remembers he doesn’t swim

he now sits at the bottom

waiting for salvation or death

surprise or whatever comes next...

subtle hopeful shimmer

subtle hopeful shimmer

in the ash tray

catching some extra sunshine

the day before to get

him through another cloudy day

the weather no longer seems

to govern his mood

rises above that of any ‘normal’

or recognizable place he has been

sitting still enough to be a painting

too long and it’s time to move

where his heart might be appreciated

and no one really knows

as he often finds out

searching so hard can reveal

that what is being search for

lies quietly beneath his fingers…

boat load of nothing

the sky is a black and white
photograph changing every
time he blinks his eyes
the tears are from the cold
he is convinced it will make sense
when he puts it all together
then again he never really knows
constantly doubting what is real
and what are games his mind plays
while he is distracted just long enough
to forget what he was doing
again craving the taste
under moonlight shadows
sneaking around but no one to catch him
doing a whole boat load of nothing…

nothing concluded 116

it's the universal deceit

that leads truth tellers

into revolutionary roles

then there actions are silenced

by clandestine forces

powers that be hiding

deep within the folds

of governmental origami

some might ask

how patriotism fits

and is called into play

the song for freedom

fly the flag and tattoo the Constitution

on the red stripes symbolizing

the blood shed for freedom

not being conditional

but guaranteed as a god-given

right no matter how

or if you worship god

you can call god any name

it's universal deceit

that turns truth tellers into

revolutionaries protected by

and protecting their Constitution

and the rights that it guarantees

truth lies in the hearts

of all real patriots

who will pick up arms

to force the tyranny

somewhere else

in the guise of national security

the patriots rights start to fade

lies cover each other

until the truth is so fragmented

and scattered

it takes a true patriot to put it

all together and then that thought process

itself is nearly outlawed

freedom of speech

subject to what's being said...

ya snooze ya lose

would it matter if the dreams haunted the night

again and would anyone but him care

to roam deeper maybe it's impossible

to have friendship that has endured so much

some might say that something has got to give

back to his feet and someone else shouts

ya snooze ya lose

how that statement cuts deep

like the trust he has never earned

points when he could have used a little more time

but he has wasted so much already

why should he be given any extension

a cord trips him his feet got too tangled

and only now that blue is real

and he supposes this is how he is supposed to feel

the sting like alcohol on the face after a close shave

off all the mistakes and all he has are beautiful memories

the connection he has never shared with anyone

and with another wish although he shouldn't get one

he would give that wish away he owes it to someone

so much swimming beneath thick ice he may never breathe the same

suffocating in his own solitude his hermitage

has created the monster he battles nightly

now he scrambles because he knows the silence

soon may be eternal like the peace he strives for a way to force

himself through so he might breathe again

back to the beginning beauty standing eye to eye

hardwood floor reaching out the middle

two years worth of letters brought him to this spot

trapped under that ice

he used it to slide across all the turbulence

the ship has always survived the toughest storms

and now he has what he deserves

an under frozen water cell...

nothing concluded 115

under the fade of the days light

he constantly wonders what

surprises tomorrow might bring

what faces he will encounter

knowing he is still and unmoved

darkness creeps

like a cat

sneaking up on it's owner

hoping to play when there is nothing

to distract the mind momentarily

no matter how much thought

he has had today

money he has spent

or made this week

nothing can be concluded...

nothing concluded 114

the clock says four twenty

and he knows what that means

to some who might wait

until April but he started

at eight this morning

herbal asana

then yoga then shower

and the start of his day

the clock now says

his time is up

most would cower

having not moved far

outwardly on a beautiful day

his thoughts take advantage

of his time daily

if he minded he would

not allow it to go on

any longer but he does

answer your own question

don't ask him to explain

the perception

of who he might be

in narrow minded eyes

put on your glasses

(or take them off)

look at what your misjudgment

might have missed most might

think this rant is aimed at someone

and he won't deny it in a cold

empty restaurant alone...