Facebook, Twitter, and texts
have did thier best
to obliterate
the english language.
Gramer, spelin, capitels,
and all that sort
are goin the road
of dinasours

Can't we please
B Literate?

My hope for us is like
lightning bugs in a jar,
blinking every now and then
like a distant star.

Growing dimmer,
dying in the jar,
and gone forever
if I set them free to fly afar.

There is nothing
I would not do for you.
And, it seems, nothing
you would do for me.

Don’t blame life for passing you by,
just because you didn’t jump on
when the bus came along.

Your marriage will undoubtedly
and most assuredly fail
if you treat her
like she treats you.

You cannot criticize
the clothes she wears
the friends she chooses
the way she drives

You can’t complain
about her snoring
or tell her that
her family’s boring.

You can’t tell her she’s
had too much to drink
can’t dance at all and
that her singing stinks

When she comes in
two hours late,
don’t dare to ask her
where she’s been.

And with all certainty,
don’t ever bother
to tell her that
she’s just like her mother.

In six days, God created
earth and man,
and on the seventh day
He rested.

But on the eighth
He realized His work
was incomplete,
and He created
chocolate cake.

Slavery was abolished in the Civil War,
but for the last 4 decades,
Politicians have worked diligently
to create economic slavery,
not just for poor minorities,
but equally for everyone.

Tonight the Black Ink River flowed
like coffee from an old cold cup
poured slowly down the drain.

I woke up screaming, and
thinking you were gone,
I went running down the hall
calling out your name.

You stepped out from
the bathroom door, smiling,
and gently touched my hand
and made the night OK.

And then I awoke again.
and you were
gone.
And the Black Ink River flowed

I carry a little book
to write down some lines
from time to time

Tonight I started to
write a few about you
and they just kept
pouring out and
sentences kept running on
and words kept getting
all jumbled together and
thoughts were all rambling
and pretty soon
tears were falling and
nothing made sense.
Kind of like you leaving.

I have been in the arena
and heard the crowds roar
and been in solitude
and heard the silence more.

I have been the hero
and heard the ovations
and been the loser
and heard castigations

I’ve been famous
and heard adulation
and been forgotten
and heard denigration

I’ve been in love
and heard birds sing
and been out of love
and heard nothing.

I prefer the arena.
And hero.
And famous.
And especially love.

One day an old and worn-out train
will come along and call my name,
and I will know to climb inside.

There will be no need to run.
I’ll have no shadow in the sun
and know there is no need to hide.

And then the man I tried to be
will look out the glass and see
fields of dreams and azure skies.

And I will have no fears or tears,
and will not pray for one more day

The train runs swiftly on silent tracks
Allowing yesterdays to flash back,
thousands in the blink of an eye.

Wave to me, and do not cry
As the whistle blows and I pass by
On one last ride to see the sea.

And then the man I tried to be
will look out across that sea,
and see horizons of goodbye.

And I will have no fears or tears
and will not pray for one more day,

Sometimes, I just find a busy street
and walk around and smile at people.

Most of them
Look away
Look down
Look surprised
Look angry
Look back with that
“who the hell are you” look.

But once in a while
someone surprises me
and smiles back.

Why do people feel the need
to pull you back
when you want to fly?

To check off boxes
that define what you
must be and try?

To create a list of what you
cannot be and draw boundaries
that try to limit you more?

To tell you all the dangers
if you fail, instead of  
the glory if you soar?

The Silence
of a 3 AM walk alone,
and
The Silence
of blinking stars
and
The Silence
of a missing heartbeat

are not as quiet
as
The Silence
of nothing left to say
after goodbye.

Why do people pick out colors
in a box of M & M’s?
Are the colors that important –
is red prettier than green?

Isn’t that the way
we pick out lovers?
Is pretty more important
than the chocolate inside?

My wife always says
I never express my feelings.

So I started telling her
I feel hungry.
I feel thirsty.

When I said
I feel *****,
she just said
OK, enough.
Stop.

Sometimes,
you just can’t
please a woman.

Why do people always say
Tomorrow will be a better day?
This is a tomorrow, and
It isn’t better than yesterday.

This New York world is just too big;
the ***** grinder never seems to stop.
I need to get back to your touch.
Just one more project to get done.
I was almost on my way to you, but
you were already on your way away,
you were already on your way gone.

Denver is just too cold for me;
I need the beach and summer sun.
A few more snowfalls and my
writing here will soon be done.
I was almost on my way to you, but
you were already on your way away,
you were already on your way gone.

Folly Beach just sounded right:
the perfect place to hide and finish
what I never seem to get completed.
Not much longer, I’ll be home.
I was almost on my way to you, but
you were already on your way away,
you were already on your way gone.

I still reach for you
in the dark, dreaming
you'll be there.

When I close my eyes
I still feel your touch,
still taste your kisses.

I still look for you
every time
I walk in the door

All the tears with you
were never like
these tears without you.

I still see you
sitting with me
in every coffee shop,
every restaurant,
every movie,
every drive
along the coast.
And I still reach
for your hand.

I still open doors
to let you in,
like you’re still there.

Still tell the waiter
table for two,
still order
two glasses of wine,
I still
buy two coffees,
buy two donuts,
buy two
ice cream cones.

All the tears with you
were never like
these tears without you.

All the years with you
we’re not enough
All the days without you
are still too much.

I still reach for you.
Reach for your hand.

I still reach for you.

It’s you –
it’s always been you

Along the way
all the others
were just experiments
that failed
while I looked for you.

I wondered
if I would find you,
wondered if
and when.

And now –
it’s you.
Finally

I prefer
being alone
with you
more then
being alone
or
being together
with others

I always knew,
if I looked hard enough,
that you would find me.
One night,
you’d see me standing
on the platform, waiting
for the train.
And waiting
for you to find me..

I always knew
if I looked hard enough,
that you would find me.
One morning,
you’d be standing
In the coffee line, waiting
for your morning latte.
And I’d be there waiting
for you to find me..

I always knew
if I looked hard enough,
that you would find me.
One day
You’d bump into me,
on some city street,
or hotel lobby
or concert ticket line.

I have always known,
always believed,
that you were looking too,
and you would find me.
One morning, one day, one night.
you would find me,
waiting on a train or
in a coffee shop, or
on a city street,
waiting, praying,
for you to
take my hand and
find me, waiting.

You will smile,
ask my name,
and I will  know
that I am no longer waiting
for you to find me.

Otherwise there’d be no reason
for me to be

still standing here,

still waiting,

for you to find me.

Seems to me, if God
wanted us to be vegetarians,
he would have had Noah
build a smaller Arc
and just take 2 of every seed.

There is a right
time and place
to say
“I love you”

That time and place
is when you feel it
and know it
and need to share it.

The only other
time and place
might be never
or too late.

My life is a trip
through a candle shop,
lighting one for each
dream, where I stop.

So many have just
burned out, dropping
wax on the table, turning
cold and just stopping.

A few still flicker,
but all grow shorter
and dimmer as time
and dreams grows colder.

I light one more -
there still is a chance,
for at least enough light
for life’s last dance.

We are the homeless,
that’s what you call us,
our name is just Homeless,
not John or Jane, or even people.

We are the homeless,
that faceless blob in tent cities,
under bridges, on park benches,
in doorways, and the woods.

We are the homeless,
the ones without TV
to hear the lies about
for everyone and unity.

We don’t vote and
we don’t donate.
We don’t burn and riot.
So our voices are never heard.

We are the homeless,
that’s what you call us,
our name is just Homeless,
not John or Jane, or even people.

We are the homeless,
People, not just homeless
H  
P  
M  
2
Homeless People Matter Too.

We are the homeless,
that faceless blob in tent cities,
under bridges, on park benches,
in doorways, and the woods.

We are the homeless,
People, not just homeless
H  
P  
M  
2
Homeless People Matter Too.

I’ve fought the demons and dragons
far too long it seems.
Real ones and those in my dreams.

I wasted youth
chasing eagle-dreams.
Unable to catch High-flying winds.

And wasted manhood
Fighting dragons, just surviving.
I’m  tired of trying

I’m quittin’ today,
I’ve had enough.
This is the end.

I’m joining the whispers
you hear in the wind.

If trees gave off Wi-Fi
instead of just oxygen,
we probably wouldn’t
cut so many down
to make fields of
windmills and solar panels.

If there were some way,
If I could find it,
I would leave this body behind.

Undress completely
From my bones
And leave my flesh.

I would be silence,
Void of any thought,
Totally absent of me.

I would forget
my breath
and all my sounds.

I would walk on hands
In fear of footprints,
Tracks of a five-toed bird.

I would become an absence
Of words, thoughts, memories:
A five-toed bird taken to flight

And in a year
Of all dark days
I would be forgotten

Along the road I’ve learned
a few things about goodbye.

Sometimes, when it doesn’t hurt,
I realize it was probably simply
the right thing to do.

And sometimes, when I lay awake
for nights afterwards,
I know it was all wrong.

What I have not learned
is how to tell which is which
before goodbye.

The Fear Of Being Alone
is the root cause of
suffering by staying.

It clouds the judgement,
and distorts the vision.
of seeing the time to go.

Common sense on its own
cannot overcome
the Fear Of Being Alone.

I seem much better
at mapping plans
of what to say and do
after a failure
and losing,
then during the time
when opportunity
presents a chance
of winning.

We are the homeless,
that faceless blob in tent cities,
under bridges, on park benches,
in doorways and the woods.

We are the homeless,
the ones without TV
to hear the lies about
for every one and unity.

We are the homeless,
that’s what you call us,
our name is just Homeless,
not John or Jane, or even people.

We don’t vote and
we don’t donate.
We don’t burn and riot.
So our voices are never heard.

We are the homeless,
People, not just homeless.
Homeless People Matter Too.
HPM2

Cracked up.
Total breakdown.
Unexpected.
Just one day
I went out of your mind

She called and said,
Can I come and see you?
I need someone to talk to,
and you’re my only one
when I need like this.

Read me those poems again, she said,
the ones you wrote not long ago
about the guy who loved someone,
so much but never told her
how much he really cared.

Read me those poems again, she said,
about how she never knew
he dreamed of her,
imagined her touch,
and kisses from her soft lips.

Read me those poems again, she said,
make me believe there’s someone
somewhere out there, like that,
thinking about me.
A man who wants to love just me.

Reads me those poems again, she said.
about someone who loves like that.

I can’t believe, I said –
I can’t believe you never knew
these poems are all about you.

They’re all about you.

Lions belong in jungles.
Sharks belong in the ocean.
Eagles belong in the air.
Monkeys belong in trees.
Frogs belong in ponds
My Mind belongs in jails.

I’ve never been
much of a dancer –
my feet were clay,
made for running away.
But if I was gonna
learn to dance
with someone, with anyone,
I should have learned
to dance with you.

I should have put on music,
soft and low,
held you close,
danced every night,
spun you around
the heart’s dance floor,
instead of running
out the door,
leaving you dancing alone.

I should have played
“Have I Told You Lately”
on perpetual repeat,
singing “that I love you”
softly in your ear,
holding you so close and tight
you didn’t care
I couldn’t dance.

I was never good
at holding on,
dancing
‘til the band plays
the last slow song.
It’s never been
what I do.
But I should have
danced with you.

I should have danced
forever
with you.

When hope seems gone
And days seem dark
I drop to one knee
And think of 23.

Fifteen and me,
the untreatables,
agreed
to experimental surgery.

Sometimes I question why  
I was the one to survive
But mostly I thank God
I am one alive.

Love is just a poker game.
Everyone starts
with a stack of chips.

Red for heart.
Blue for trust.
White for hope.

The gamblers walk into the world,
pull out their chips,
and sit down at the table.

Show-down is the game.
Winner take all and
losers go home broken.

Sometimes the poet drops
poet-tears on paper
for those who cannot
write or cry.

I won’t care
if you
take my hand
and dance like you and me
were meant to be.

I won’t complain
if you
drive me crazy,
your hands and fingers
waltzing on my skin.

I won’t mind
if you
take me home, and
hold me in the dark.

I won’t mind
if you
whisper in my ear
tell me I’m the one.

No, I won’t complain
if you
dance like we were meant to be,
drive me crazy with your touch,
hold me in the dark,
tell me I’m the one.

And I will cry
someday somewhere
down on my knee,
if you just
say yes to me.

I know God has a reason
for every one he calls
to join Him
in His hallowed halls.

But I still miss you constantly,
fond memories still bring pain.
I use my mental braille at night
to feel your body once again.

I watched the moth flittering
around my light, frittering
time and life away.

And in the light of day,
below the light, he lay.
Dead and gone.

Like the words I meant to write
to say,
to make you stay.

She said, as she walked out
and slammed the door –
I don’t know why I wasted
all these years with you!

I guess she doesn’t realize
I wasted those years too.

I don’t understand why
people fear the darkness.
Do they not close their eyes
to give a loving kiss,
and trust the ultimate unknown?

I pull the blankets overhead,
wrapped around you,
surrounded by the darkness
where we see with only hands.

It was a beautiful hello
Eyes met
Hands touched
Heart dreams collided

It was a beautiful goodbye
To lonely and alone.

I am a painter,
not a poet.
Painting with an alphabet brush.

Colors only you can see –
red to you
is different to me.

A Mona Lisa smile
might be a frown,
when written down.

I do not write
to make you see
my world as I see it.

I paint with words
what you already know
but don’t know how to say it.

Everyone in your life
exists for a reason.
Some are there
to be your teacher
and some to be your student.

And some are there to test
your anger management skills.

I’ve lived here all my life –
At least that’s how it seems.
I always thought I’d spend these years
Living out my dreams.

But I’m not what I thought I’d be
When I started down this road
Thirty years of busted dreams
Is a real **** heavy load

I’m going home, find my favorite chair
I’m finished with this fight
My heart is tired, my soul is sore
Tonight might be the night

I must be a suicide lover –
every time I get killed  
losing at love,
I go out and try again.