His convoluted posture reflected the struggle of a man who attempted to solidify an impossible thought – frozen in place atop that disfigured piece of rock.
Our souls are like raindrops
One is infinitesimal
But as they gather together in their journey through life
They become a torrent.
the horizon is tied up in knots
some are from previous wars
well worn and battered
there is nothing to do
but to swallow them
We hope for a future
but only see the past.
A past that is so lost in lies and manipulations
that it is almost ethereal, like it never really existed..
Praise and Prizes are not the goal of Poetry.
Finding the Truth and the meat between the
bones of human speech and showing that truth
to others is the purpose.
wiping sleepy tears from my eyes
the sense of loss still on my tongue
a deep dark yearning
making me look over my shoulder
to search for mr right, not mr right now
I wonder how much of the sun has already been used?
maintained by a pinhead lobby
of invisible deities
they are busy being happily wounded together
how did you …
the azure world in heavy dreams
a world of halo air and cloud
a feather singing on distant summits
a silence to deafen the shore
a wave to crest on breaking ground
the dream behind her eyes
had become a dull brown
and the walls of her life
dirty shades of grey.
He sits in the
Gutter of his
Flew him so
High lay bedraggled on the
Crown of his
Head now nothing more than an
We are all judged by our bank account,
our homes, our automobiles,
our physical appearance our social status.
I am on the bottom of all those lists.
stringing words together
like daisy chains
to make sense of
and what didn’t
To dim eyes
beauty shines bright
too hot to handle
in everyday humdrum
fear skin like glass
over real skin
and it cuts so deep
It is a rainy morning, pre-dawn as usual with these bothered nights, where the heavy jacket is out and I dart from getting water to drink to keyboard and over to watch the charger and my dying camera…
a heart doesn’t break easily
but carelessness will do it
have you heard the sound it makes
it’s not pleasant but at least it’s quiet
sex charms make object(ive)s fly
Suntan Road ride my teddy bear over the river
raining bats out of low toffee colored clouds
the storks scatter gossip about bad weather
balling at the top of their lungs