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Scared and Alone

You hold your head down,
Unsure how you feel,
A week ago this didn't
seem real.

But it is, it's here,
A part of your life,
Not here to get you
into strife.

Maybe a chance,
New path, new beginning,
I know your head is
probably spinning.

A change of path,
Detour at most,
Allow and opportunity,
A form of growth.

Options are out there,
To help those like you,
Whatever you choose,
I am here for you.

love letter at the gate

you have me bewildered
as if a bird with a crippled wing
when i left
fall had become colors
turning cold against
the flush of cheeks

you missed your ride home
came back to say my name


i liked your poems
when i couldn't see myself in them
or you and
what we had

i find myself
wanting more of them
the songs too
before this summer turns
to stone

i don't want to wonder
'if only'

you already do that

a cabbie's wisdom

I started the day with shit attitude,
watching sunlight
through sheets hung
like curtains,
feeling as if I had this would be life –

and I knew how things changed
time moved forward,
just as I knew
that I wanted to believe
I was the only one
covered in denim
and faded under a summer’s sky

but I listened
with half-cocked ears
hearing only every other word
from cabbie’s mouth


A good while back I bought some land
which consisted of a rural hollow
forested by mixed hardwood stand
surrounded by two fields grown fallow.

This hollow housed a clear strong spring
years ago used as a water source
evidenced by a collapsed cistern's ring
which began the branch's course.

And here I built a modest home
on an adjacent overlooking hill
where children would have room to roam
far off the road where woods were still.

Lemonade Breeze

Evening sighs
seducing my warm latte summer skin
fragrant dreams dance
floating ribbons through pink grapefruit sky.
Honey hued eyes gleam
in the moonglow
my strawberry lips surrender
sweet nectar that drips off your tongue.
Waves of delight melt into steaming sand
as cotton candy foam
I drink in your laughter
light as a sparkling lemonade breeze.

Don't Bulbs Burn Out?

Bad luck decorates her branches
flashing on and off like
strings of lights on a christmas tree.

Misfortune glows
as if fueled by noonday sun
under cloudless sky.

Each day she longs
for someone who might notice,
turn some switch,
dim the lights, pull a plug, and
diminish her pain. No hero
lurks nearby on prancing steed.

Don’t filaments fray,
bulbs burn out
and fail to ignite
one more time?

Lexicon (Complete Revision of Colloquial)

Contortion of a warped treain of thought,
vocabulary articulated with diction,
colloquial argot.

Lexicon of the abstract and abstruse,
conception of an illusion.
Manipulating consciousness.

Vociferous articulating of intense emotion,
or inaudible machinations of a warped mind.
Halcyon conversation.

Language is my passion

Never Mind

I've barked at the moon before
when it likely weren't my time,

I've supped with the likes of fools
and felt completely sublime;

I wish that I could write, right now
something that'd inspire, awe;

or cause my reader to be left
nearly standing on his own jaw.

Today, my focus is "dribble"
it's such a daunting task,

I think I covered this before
someone really aught to ask.

In the in-between-time
at the risk of sounding, dense;

Silver Lining

I love the man who
angrily cut out my tongue.
Blessed is this silence.

page of wind

sitting watching
valley veil
the warmth
on me
the cool
the shade

I keep these moments
like pages
outlined with my thoughts

I stare in depth
and distance

all the pretty pain
folded like a worn knife
I take in rain
patterned dark

how In love
at arms length
you mean

my shadow fills


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