smoke watch dream

smoke watching swirl round

wet wood turns it black

as night or dad's coffee

but he's drinking it

on the other side of the equator

at the moment

envious only of a simplified life

not much but having

the beach at my feet

only a dream

at the moment

the rest of my life

would be the same

swirling smoke around a fire

my beautiful girl by my side

would not even mind working

if life was simplified

less worries less bills less stress

the beach at my feet

smoke watching dream

taking a walk on that beach

cins hand in mine

walking until we wake up

then walk some more

smoke watch dream...

mt pad

moving the pen all day

makes me feel productive

as I know I am

every day brings a new challenge

this mind to a think off

alone as often

when it gets dark again…

day off search

staring into the fire

blinded by smoke

trying to find balance

wherever it might be

somewhere deep within

the coals of this fire

started with one spark

burns for hours

the sun goes away for the day

staring into the fire

blinded by brightness

the flame stares back

can't find that balance

even though sun shined down

without cloud interruption

staring into the fire

searching for something

on my day off...

or clutter it up

the sun warms me as I think

of things maybe yesterday too

many thoughts to try to focus on

one day it will be worth the mental struggle

and physical strength it takes

to be here pen in hand

sweating because the sun shines

down from directly above

helicopters hover and fly away

just as quick as thoughts fly

in and out of the mind

made up of all the things I have done

too many to keep track

but I try to focus on every thought

it has a purpose

to point out

thoughts serve to organize the mind

or clutter it up

side is a lot of books

filled with words

whirling with wind whipping

wisdom why not…

Saturday sitting

515/2010 945am

Saturday off sitting in the sun

the bright light warming

arms head neck aiming down

to the page a year older

then when last Saturday off sitting

breathing enjoying thoughts and sun

ideas on why the hand shakes

when writing thinking breathing

living for a living again

even though it won’t pay the bills

won’t stop when you pay one

another one is due to be paid

the price for mistakes made

not long ago but long enough

how many even remember

how long it took to get there

then here falling back into produce

everyone needs to eat

no matter who or where you are

you have been here before

it’s a circle and it just keeps coming back

to a Saturday off sitting smiling at the sun…

arms across

want to explore

the stars seen when I close

my eyes

looking deeper

then deeper still until

an understanding is reached

arms across the table

where another sits

patiently waiting for me

to understand myself…

no idea why, shape before eyes

no idea why the mud

surrounds these feet

kept standing though

still moving in the mind

this writing becomes

a waste of time

success is the only option

no matter how long still standing

in that mud feet will eventually

break free giving some movement to words

written yesterday now or twelve years ago

smoke out the nose like a dragon

fire breathed ends on the page

without reason or rhymes at times

no sense at all

found only moments after

when listening

to the thoughts roar

take shape before eyes...

being unheard

far from where I once sat

so much higher in the chair

brought it from where I was

to where I am not satisfied

being unheard as I am happy

with decisions made

and where I have ended up

just as high up at times

lower than ever lack of vitamin D

lack of serotonin on three pills

to make me feel better

about being unheard

as I am walking no one looks

as I pass on the right

or the left it doesn’t really matter

where I have been only where

I am going to be heard and then

all the doubters will line up to apologize

or congratulate whichever comes to mind

all the words spoken to these

silent books revealed at once

could result in an overload of sorts

not something I can’t handle

and I am sure I will appreciate

as I do the sun each morning

when it rises as I higher today

with positive thought

pounding out a path under foot

soldier for the thinking mind

ready to explode when given the chance

to expand I will stand higher

and for longer waiting with every breath

patient as always the patient

they want to study why I feel

the way I feel fine

line between doing okay and being crazy

to think that someday

this voice will be heard…

traffic in the distance

trying to see the light

the tunnel is too long

to look from end to end

should have made a friend

or two

trying to hear something

that sounds more pleasant

to the ears than traffic

in the distance

trying to make something

of myself

after all the time…

before light arrives

the birds start before light arrives

and sing all day long notes and short ones

high pitched and whistles close by

and as far as an ear can hear

sitting enjoying the setting sun

as it starts to move behind the pines

the only one here but not

the only one to hear the birds

everyday all day and they start

before the light comes on

you would think they would be tired by now

but even more join the nightly chorus

until there are so many I lose count

but I wasn’t counting

if I was I would have lost count

and no one is here to tell me otherwise

but what do I know…

just another

the numbers don’t matter really

though they keep piling up

like leaves below trees in four months

summer will be all over

my head there are no clouds

scattered in the sky

answers to all my questions

with a clank stare

into these eyes at night

wishing for morning to come back again

with new and brighter sunshine

blinding even when it isn’t warm out

when it should be by now

maybe these thoughts are psychotic

an episode seen many times

standing still

just another day

a reminder that none of us

get any younger…

to the face

got two blank books going at once
again not that I can keep up
fast pace writing that I used to do
willing to try to find a better way
to bring it home maybe someday
it will be easier for now a struggle
to connect two ends untied on
the floor comes rushing to the face
do not want to end up there again
all is never lost all is just really confusing
at times I am on top of my world
others I am so far below
don't know how to move a piece
for fear of getting taken
for a ride down not up the hill
to fall up the hill to stay and find
a balance no matter where I stand...

dry afternoon

afternoon dryer
then the morning
brought more questions
then answers
wasn't looking for anything
just trying to wake up at four am
twelve hours ago
tripped over feet
kept my balance rest of the day
until now fell down to rest
wonder why can't rest
don't want to close eyes
while sun shines on
these arms get tired too
and it must be the purpose
of arm rests on this chair
never used though
always moving this pen
might be a different color
but you'd never know because
you read the typed version
thoughts trapped randomly
organized on the page to make
some sense...

headache at 2am

small bursts of light

on the insides of eyelids

thunder clap pound

pulsing through the head

no matter which way turned

inside out

frustration at the spike

that won't dissipate

like clouds when sun is strong

drenched in hot water 2 am

trying to force the pain away

from the center of relaxation

heat the final piece relieving

the tense area

more little bursts of light

on the eyelids at 2 am

tossing and turning...

observation deck

outside as the day comes close to an end

observation made from the deck outback

who is going to see him here

the words he writes and the sound

the pen makes as it squeaks over the page

under his fist tight wrapped around a thought

and then tomorrow predictably doing it again

he never minds just wishes

the walk was a leisurely one

instead of a rat race scramble to get more

cheese or something that will pay the bills

outside unlike years passed on an enclosed porch

where others sit now no idea how many nights

that was his cabin out of the way of everyone

so much so he had to go

luckily found himself here but his cabin

is a convertible this time

and if he had hair it would be blowing

in the cool breeze...

something will change

seven days away

with thoughts of disappearance

the light on tells me someone is home

no one lets me in

the door is always locked

have had a key since

before I laid my head to rest

seven days from now something will change

nothing can stop the swing

under the clock

back and forth all day and night

seven days is a week to most

might be another year

before I truly understand

what my purpose is

way back to when I was sitting

on a different porch

similar ideas but they were

so much younger then

older than that now

that I am older I should understand

a little better but I have a dollar

and a hole in my shirt

who notices this shit ‘cept me…

not an item you buy

happiness isn’t something

you can buy or a place you

can drive to it’s a state of mind

attained when all sadness

is left behind

moving from then until now

how long can you go on unhappy

searching for that destination

called happiness when it does not exist

only the mind can bring the sadness

to the end at the edge

where you might be just as crazy

if you continue to search for happiness

when it’s with you all along

wherever you go and for as

long as you are gone…

two hours without

not quite seven

the fire is burning out

two more days of work

before two days of rest

spent thinking about a search

for more work?

it’s not desired

only desire is in the eyes

look deep into daily

hope they always stay

focused here with me

two hours without

seems longer than

the rest of the day…

destination invisible

a lot can happen in two hours’ time

that proven fact is eye just worry

about the worst case scenario

back on my own with nowhere to go

no destination unless invisible one

in the mind freeze of a cold drink of juice

to offset all the coffee consumed daily

and at times consumed by worry

trying hard to make each day count

backwards until one is reached

far out on words written years ago

rewarding response rewarding in the mind

not in the pocket as of yet unsuccessful there

but here in the mind eye stay positive

and real eyes it only takes time

and time is all eye really have

if you think about it long enough it becomes

a meditation to humbly bring about success...

comes on fast

backwards speeding towards something

slippery beneath the feet

won’t stop moving

even when the mind

says stop

in the middle of a thought

something would make sense by now

the feet are tired

keeps the night short

and the morning comes on fast…

won't be beat

won’t forget words spoken

in anger or not

doesn’t matter only proves

disrespect runs really deep

no one has forced a change

supposing that job falls to me

bottom line twelve year old

will not run the house

not a man

and certainly not ‘the man’

he thinks he is talking

to his friends while talking to me

only difference is

if he said half the shit to them

that he does to me

he would catch a fist in the face

no one notices the disrespect

because it doesn’t hit them

right in the face daily

but I will not be beat…

day goes quick

work day passes fast

early morning turns to noon fast

working in the fast paced market

get it done for eight

sit for thirty minutes

back at it for the second half

noon comes fast

work day over back porch thinker

sitting on the steps

neighbor mows the lawn

family off at a movie

maybe a nap

and then do it again tomorrow

as the day goes quick…

broke down

still glad I went two days without

proof that I can

disappointment in not continuing

couldn’t be so miserable

to those all around

still glad to be outside in Hanson

even though the weather can’t decide

what it wants to do

under the sun bright and blue sky

then the clouds darken the whole area

earlier the rain got cold

and froze for a few as it pounded the car

still glad I am not anywhere else

with anyone else helping me

glad I broke down right where I am…

nothing to light

forced to go it alone

again and what am I

supposed to say

don’t feel good myself

waiting for another hour to pass

call it almost forty-eight hours

still don’t know what to do

sitting at the kitchen table alone

nothing of my own

‘cept a pocket full of change

a lighter and nothing to light…

twisted

nothing to say right now

to others at the moment

can’t think of anything else

the mind on constant repeat

thought won’t go away

won’t stray or even pray

nothing to say

to anyone right now

dealing with an itch

I cannot reach deep within

the confines of this disturbed

mind twisted…

four hours

four hours of heat

came from a burning paper bag

and a bunch of sticks

coals glow as wood burns

into and through the night

love to stare

into the center of the fire

the hottest spot

a thought

before it arrives

on time or late

into the night

with no one around…

watching fire

the fire is the only light to write by tonight
sitting under half starry sky
half cloud ridden and scattered
can barely see the words written
and the unwritten words stay
stuck up in the mind
watching the flame ruins
the night vision eyes just
adjusted then look to the flame
again and ruin the sight all over again
watching as the fire tears in the log
and eats it up to ash and dust
the flame wraps around the logs
fire reaches to the sky
as if it's got to get there quick
watching the fire twist in the wind...

sun on the tree

the table is glass

looking into it reflects

like water on a windy day

sounds heard all around despite

the hood and low flying plane above

most would rather let someone else

tell it on TV most would rather

be entertained guess that makes it

a do it yourself attitude

for those who hear

their own voice in their head

all day long already took a walk

today I sit under my hood

thinking about everything possible

and sometimes nothing at all

don’t need to be entertained

can handle the thoughts

my voice and my hand racing

as if I have some deadline

I didn’t create myself

happy looking through

the glass sliding door

through the house

and out the front window

to the sun on the tree

in the front yard…

same old

hearing the wind

in the trees

childhood comes to mind

how to bring

all this thought

into something coherent

or not

the same old reflection

in the table distorted

with the sound of running water

joins the wind

and the birds

and the man moving the pen…

the day at hand

more eyes need to see
the thoughts
understand the hours
spent above the page
hovering with enough
to fill the entire page
or book depending
on how much time you have
to see anytime to think
today could be the day
that propels me to tomorrow
by now knowing
he will be there pushing the pen
on another thought
same mind changed only
by the day at hand...

down in a hole

been in this hole seems like forever

dealing with attitudes that change like the weather

can’t escape the pit under the cloud where I am at

everyone is so full of shit I throw on a hood or a hat

does it really matter what is said or done

doesn’t matter how fast I am someone else already won

the battle the argument or even the war

want to see all the scars I will give you the tour

where I have been but about where I won’t go

some are talking too fast and I am walking too slow

for anyone to see that I need respect

but that’s one thing I will not expect

it’s impossible I am not the one wanted here

someone with more money or power he’d love or fear

knows I won’t leave because we are so tight

but he thinks he’s a man and he thinks he is right

I am stuck in the middle of this thought where I sit

he can say what he wants and I won’t give a shit…

another cup of coffee

another glass table to look through

as I move the pen

hoping someday to move the mountain

frustration out of my way

another afternoon with nothing to do

think and study the way of the ancients

how many before me sat

just like this running out of thoughts

another cup of coffee

to wash it all down

and make it all right

as the rain falls three days straight…

bird just wants to fly

what's the purpose here where he sits
is he trusted yet under round light
and no clouds with a chill in the air
a sweatshirt becomes necessary
as darkness approaches
he is miles from where he thought he'd be
by now finding some answers
maybe one that would clear
the clouded mind might make
different decisions if the mind cleared
like all the fields ready for spring
to bring forth something new
maybe fifth time around another corner
hiding from himself behind the pen
the page the mind keeping him caged
like a bird that sings but really
just wants to fly...