Henry Fool

Colorado Springs, CO

green lights

with hints of blue

flashback and a brother

still knowing and respecting

he feels the same

after all this time

really didn’t think it so

now as news of the arrival

green light

with hints of blue

thoughts intoxicating

philosophy joins the conversation

of now never knew

under some influence

altitude adjustment

such a change and thoughts

will be different because of Henry Fool…

on another porch

on another porch

staring at the moon

watching translucent clouds

float over the mountains

tonight the moon won’t be dimmed

smile strong from the east

maybe its luck caught this beauty tonight

room full of artists

none could create what the sky did tonight

something in his eyes as he watched the moon

being in that moment in his mind

being in comfort and compassion

everything else becomes the clouds

swiftly moving over and around

sitting out on another porch…

eight o'clock sky

Colorado Springs, CO

wanted to keep

some thoughts

from this place

foothills of the Rockies

didn’t want you to go

when you went

would have kept

you from the beautiful

place this is

garden of the gods

no need to apologize

had to see it for myself

knowing now you

are in the right place

only took this long

and a look out over

the red rocks

into the eight o’clock sky…

silence of a night

Colorado Springs, CO

on the floor of a porch

only one floor up

no need for chairs

plenty of room

back to the railing

two maybe three

glasses of wine

one maybe two

irie eyes

catching some light

reflecting of the moon

reaching but a hand in the way

silence of the night

created on the floor

now retreating to the couch

at home somehow

once a stranger’s home

back to the couch now

eyes flicker and fade

still drinking in the night

stands to look in through

the window wonder

if he was even there

maybe the silence of a night

can produce such a wonderful dream…

will pictures suffice

Colorado Springs, CO

the garden speaks to him as he sits

wondering if the trip is over

mountains and rocks

painting postcards

sent can’t be received the same

as all these emotions welled up

waiting for a release into

something so pure and undisturbed

despite tourists ‘snap snap’ with the camera

how many ‘snap’ with the mind instead

locking the pictures

engraved into the memory

only hours have passed

what though when hours swing

to days months from now

will pictures alone suffice

will he need the return to the garden

telling him this is where he belongs

new ink covering old scars

always there on his mind

looking forward to the return

as he did the departure out west…

come looking for it

Colorado

new endeavors

new thoughts looking forward

time and space

Bob Marley in the air

much more than merely sound

even wine tastes better

out west up higher

being inspired by sights alone

climbing in between

enormous stones

might never find what

it might be that I am looking for

but I will come looking anyway…

thoughts hillside

horns playing background

ceiling fan spinning

cycle after cycle

the breeze blowing all the smoke

elsewhere now becomes the only time

thought stricken the silence

only sound is pen on the page

birds sound happier here

up higher words giving

voice to emotions

wasted in the passed

sun sets behind mountains

and clouds sitting where the rain fell

dry by now or at least hoping

sitting looking at two lotus flower

maybe they have always been there

just took some time to uncover

one by one counting the moments

tranquility and silence

missing my solitude

and a muse…

now as sleep creeps

Colorado Springs, CO

empty room many stones

art everywhere

on the floor walls

in the air

rasta hitting hard with music

empty room filled

unlimited in its fullness

doesn’t make sense like letters

from a captain who died

long ago empty mind now

as sleep creeps quick

sliding the eyes open

shut open moving resting

open or shut

resting dwelling

the peace of now

renewed somehow

able to move enough

to get ready for

what tomorrow may bring

welcoming it all

into this empty room…

far from home

Colorado Springs, CO

far from home

and right at home

at the same time

stands still and passes

just as fast

without a care

in the world

constant duality

and no struggle

everything seeming to fit

at last or first glimpse

of what it means to see

beauty sitting

in the garden of the gods

a day

Colorado Springs, CO

about four hours now

letting it all sink in

soon travelling to the garden

where the gods are said to dwell

and the way he lies on the floor

head elevated enough

beard still touching the floor

very few here right now

nothing exists except

my brother, the moment and I

appreciated and nothing

simultaneously constantly changing

how far will it go circle perfected

small rug on the floor breathing

out across the street

majestic mountains

behind which the sun calls it a day…

totality

the card said upon arrival

an embrace tight connection

a heart renewed recently

full circle imperfect

looking at happiness

straight ahead silver bullet style

right out of misery

rode the wave of positive out west

visiting my brother a teacher

mountain landscape out the front window

bringing only the sunrise from the east

totality

needed to find it here

wherever no matter now

even if never reached

totality

can be appreciated for the goal

on the horizon

alone again on the other side

with new thoughts

for an inspired return

to me…

shades of green

sun shining still
only hours now since
can’t think about it too long
was she that frustrated with
the length of time taken
yellow light flashing
and now dreaming in
shades of green
lying still on the couch
trying to sleep and failing
smell of wine and the night
stuck to the pillow
head on the floor now
thinking on my way out west…

travelling onward

travelling onward

moving into space

unrecognizable somehow

noticing problems as they arrive

overcome with deliberation

conversation draws closer

reality from completely random meeting

different paths

different lives

somehow side by side

sharing this common ground…

probably not

wonder if

probably not

can’t get a grip

on the day to day

fruit and vegetable man

wish to be a different man

wonder what she wants

he might never know

he might lose out

being the fruit and vegetable man

even if he sees her

everyday…

until morning

desperately moving

fast to cover the face

no one will recognize

a stupid assumption

someone bound to see passed

into familiar eyes

even if they never were

content to be alone

still lonely

no one knows how to solve that puzzle

desperately seeking solitude

disaster every time trusting too many

his ideas seem so foreign to others

the afternoon begins its departure

looking through thoughts

like a flip book hoping for one

to carry him until morning…

inhale thoughts in the dark

he remembers sitting on the beach

staring at the Atlantic blue

sun at his back

an insignificance never matched

a realization that time

and time again

he is letting his passive attitude

ruin his adventurous

imagination remembers the chest high

brick wall elbows perched like

some sort of bird

blowing smoke

turning and seeing the muse relaxed

he remembers doubting himself

unable to understand

how his thought brought

this one passed his sunken eyes

through a screen and glass

his reality suddenly becomes the beauty

of the moment wanting to hold it longer

too soon taking a left at the train tracks

he remembers a journey home

in driving rain where the mind wouldn’t stop

wouldn’t let him sleep

the tower view has become the back of a hand

not as interesting as he inhales

more thoughts in the dark at two a.m.…

in circles

the fan rattles early

forcing him to wake
can’t motivate him to stack ‘em
today in piles for consumers
the fan rattles again
in the hot of the afternoon
he passes out in the gentle breeze
sweet sounds in ears wake this time
wishing for courage
and having patience
unsure of the path to choose
walking in circles unfamiliar place
the fan rattles and the dream ends
the day won’t stop
one thing occupies his mind
and he shuts off the fan…

a year later is too late

everything is different don’t know

if they notice or if they care

he doesn’t either so it is okay

music fills the air all around

circles close in one year

later and he stops it before it gets too close

a year later is too late

decision made they fled the scene

ugly as he sat in the fire…

where i go

driving almost an hour

with one on the mind
so many questions
no answers found in the sand
alone the water is cold
ready to give so hesitant to take
what may not be for the taking
the mind won’t shut down for sleep
sitting so long not many words to find
trying to stand vision blurred to blind
falling but no one will see
started on the head but down one knee
not praying for rain or even sunset
still driving in circles and now I forget
why I came here to look at the skies
give me the choice rather look into those eyes
what can be said isn’t already known
on the mind as I drive all around this town…

suicide king

found a suicide

king of hearts no less

in Mexico City Blues

borrowed and never returned

over twice in sleep

found myself trapped

between desolation

and angels wearing black stompers

this is all very serious

forgetting the writing thing

for now it is useless

the bird above is singing a song

and it mixes well with the traffic

below and the Hendrix machine gun riffs

moving him nowhere fast…

didn't know

confused again

smoke out pouring

and they will say it is bad

what about

the false hopes

self-esteem lost  

at the starting gate

didn’t know…

to all a good night

how many conversations

does he have going on

upstairs his attic needs a good cleaning

this is probably common knowledge

by now

anger and rage directly connected

to already spent emotion

that doesn’t matter anymore

finally got the nerve

and no longer welcome mat to all

those around a middle finger to all

and to all a good night

there has got to be a reason for the madness

footprints cover his back like

the color of his shirt and insanity

fits him like a glove

finally taken too much from who he knows he is

emotions ruling his every waking hour

cleared the room with his thoughts

so negative at times positively hating

every minute entering with some plan

in mind the business being handed

to him he hands it back

with a middle finger for all

and to all a good night…

waking at last

not enough time

on the ride home

to explore

and absorb

the previous

twenty-four hours

how could he possibly forget

waking in the light

of a beautiful sunrise…

waiting patiently

waiting on another shipment

his thoughts packaged nicely

guessing not as messy

as when he gets the scribbles

or whatever he chooses

to call it now

waiting as the tide

still rises no ebb

can change his mind

he is moving

out of the water’s murky grip

and onto dry land

an island with a beautiful mind

have to be patient

can’t create the moment

it will arrive at the right time…

break in the clouds

break in the clouds

literally speaking

a little higher each day

the ground it seems to matter

less with every evening passing

had he gone away

he would have missed

all the chances

and other breaks in clouds

with smiles

like birds singing

despite the cloudy day

they don’t care

so why should he…

will he ever know

possibly still unsure

a moment

might never know

chance taking

still unknowing

might lose

possibly the thought

on the other side too

painting might do better

to do beauty justice

in any sort of description

no brushes or paint or talent

like that only thought

possibly the same one

at work until five

only the time

reading possibly more to it

untangled blues

day by day

a little help

and everyone disappears…

looking around the room

three balloons

poking their heads

above a fake wooden wall

ceiling tiles stained

and ready to fall

how many times

do I take the time

to notice all the imperfections

of this place hanging lonely

with the pictures on the walls

and they aren’t even good ones

don’t know if the track lighting

can be trusted got a feeling

don’t know where the words went

behind three dirty booths

one occupied the furthest

from the back of my head

some sort of green table

only the cushion is my companion now

and it’s really not that friendly

one cup of coffee

just looking around

nothing to see here…

number the pages

nobody knows why

the pages are numbered

they will someday start to yellow

and a thought might turn

a bad situation wondrous

days don’t offer enough time

to change his mind again left alone

for now but he will stop at nothing

can bring him from his cloud mind

made up to completely confuse

slick kind words it’s all right

he understands what he can

given the tools he found

long ago it seems maybe

it was yesterday unforgettable

a smile he has never seen…

pinball king got caught

sometimes no thought

and then it won’t stop

thinking about different

people leading somewhat similar

lives but they wouldn’t know

never would have thought it

classroom buzzing

teenage conversation saturates

the air all around

and he remembers

maybe not as obvious as

the pinball king who got caught

front of the class

then gone

always wondered

then wondering stopped

at the blackthorne

couple nights back

headstands on the floor

like some yogi clown

caught up in the tower alone

but looking down from the porch

everything looks calm…

stuck between cummings and dante

right between ee cummings and dante

what he would give to be sitting there

confessing selfish maybe

even if he doesn’t fit alphabetically

confessing only desire to be there

to be closer to her and words unseen

in the car as time flies

having fun time to go too soon

the clouds now paint the sky gray

his skies are still clear

the days mail delivered unexpectedly

welcomed like sunrise with windows

all around warming the chill

down a spine embraced the moment

not long enough

but the smile tattooed his mind…

lighting his darkened mind

the things he notices are not

the most obvious

if she was to catch him staring

it would be a rare occurrence

he notices everything

and will not be caught staring

how hard it will be when he

notices the smile lighting

his darkened mind

how long since

who cares

enjoying every moment

not thinking about the next

not staring into all of life’s what ifs

rising then falling back like low tide

exposing stones and sand

admiring the beauty of a new ocean

amazement crazy enough

uttered some words

didn’t even understand what was said

sounded like where did you come from

and it was his thought exactly

was it only his thought

or vice versa not wanting to let go

of the hand as she walks away…

silence and the storm

combined mind
how is it so
confusing to know
what another might think
they could they don't
only silence and the storm
who will remain
once it passes
he hopes it will rain
all night with
out the cold air blowing
ideas from one side to the other
mind combined finishing sentences
and conversation goes on for days...

pin drop

he always runs back to the statement
words do not do thoughts justice
as soon as words written thoughts changed'
doing the best he can anyway
putting thoughts down 
with no practical purpose
what would the poets think
would they pass him by
or stop to read a little
both tonight as rain pounds the window
knowing he will sleep well
he stays awake and scribbles
until the mind goes blank 
he is still going as if 
he still sits under the painting
laughter filling the room
like air once so thick with confusion
now it's calm no sound
hear a pin drop as they say
it's silent what else can he say...

chipping paint

that would be nice
breeze blowing smoke back into eyes
staring directly into sunset on the porch
the neighbors are all inside
no one has to say anything
to say that would be an understatement
to say something when there is some on the mind
and it won't come off
like chipping paint
under where he sits
doesn't matter who would notice the changes
as they happen
to catch a finger in the door
shuts the light with a strong wind
blowing idea into lungs
like a shotgun blast
or into the mast of this tall ship
sailing out of view
until the bottle is turned around
nothing blocking an exit or entrance
into another thought would have heard
by now everyone is gone
back to where they think they need
to be somewhere else
might look better but what's inside
what needs to change how strange
thoughts get printed
and sometimes there is a mistake
or too many words cluttering
up one mind left unopened
a can of confusion
simple not plain
the story never ends...