I know you ca easily judge me,

And say my life doesn't make sense.

I know you can look at my choices

And be filled with wonderment.

But I'm getting to the point

That I can live with that.

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Sometimes I feel like a soul that's forever searching.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever find the light.

I get weary.  I grasp for hope.

Sometimes I wonder, am I getting accustomed

To stumbling around in the dark of night?

I know I'll never stop my searching.

Even if it cost me everything that I hold dear.

Just to find out that You are

And have always been... right here.

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A poet with an ego

Thinks he has something to say.

But in reality

He's just getting in the way.

A poet with an ego

Sees his words as powerful tools,

And thinks his name

Will be listed among who's who.

But a poet with a heart that is open

Gets out of the way

And lets the truth speak.

(Note - the use of "he" is generic for he/she/me).

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I sit here on this curb

I see the homeless

With their signs.

"Will work for food"

So smug.  I could do that.

If only...

I had some cardboard.

I sit here on this curb

I see the homeless

Sleeping in their cars.

I know I could build a home

If only...

I had a box.

So I sit here on this curb,

Watching...

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I have lived

A comfortable life.

I have taken a path

Of safety.

I have been comfortable

With unfinished business.

I have turned a blind eye

To other people's pain.

But I've been uneasy

With doing that which is easy.

And I find,

The problem with being

Comfortable

Is it leads to feeling...

Numb.

Aug 2024

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The place where I come from doesn't bekon me.

It's always just... there, like part of my DNA

That never really goes away.

My home town doesn't beckon.  It's just there.  It just waits.

The places where I spent time have all changed hands in time.

But if I went back, I'd find... nothing the same;

Except the name, which always reamains...unchanged.

It waits for my retu...

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Leaving Egypt behind to follow the God

Who set you free.   Humbling... frightening...

To those accustomed to the yoke of slavery;

Because in the comfort and misery of bondage

There is not much need for faith.

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I look through the glass in my window

And see the bending of the trees.

As the wind blows and the leaves fall...

I watch.

I look through the glass in my window

And see life perform its wonders.

As lovers love and children grow...

I watch.

I look through the glass in my window

That I carry with me when I go.

It seperates me from the whistling wind...

So I ...

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There is a reason for my life.

With each new season, I search for it...

It is not in what I may somehow achieve.

It is only that....  I believe.

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The world is a fickle friend.

Turning which ever way it will.

I call out to it...  I shriek back...

When it disapproves.

But its disapproval...

Is its only attribute

On which I can depend.

written 2012

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What is the meaning of life?

Why is it that I choose to write...

Poetry, of which no one may care?

Poetry, of which I may never share?

I guess the only thing that matters

In life is that I finally, at last

Get it right.  And Poetry...

Is just a means... of getting there.

2024

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There are those whose eys, unable to contain the pain, have turned to glass.

There are those defiled, for sport or gain, whose eyes are now portals,

from which pure evil peers.

But equally sad are those eyes, seeing evil they can not comprehend,

So they pretend... they see nothing at all.

written  2016/ illustration by Marla Joy

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Beware of things that seem easy.  Quick calls, easy installs

They're not what they seem to be.

They seem simple enough...  to let your guard down.

That's when you get got.

Salvation's easy.   No... not really.

Love's easy.    No... not really.

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My heart is not the same.

It is worn and torn,

But every now and then

I feel it beat...

And I know

That You're still there.

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An unknown journey

As I walk toward the New Year

With fear... hope... and joy!

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I know I'm not a hobo... on a train

But I feel like a vagabond... just the same.

My soul is like a wayfaring stranger,

Unable to settle down

Who's always just passing through

Going from town to town.

If I could just plant myself...

By a stream and let my roots grow...

I'd raise my branches toward the sun,

And bend when the wind does blow.

2009

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If you sell your soul

Can you ever get it back?

Have you ever felt something

Slipping slowly from your grasp?

When that something lost is so vast

Can you just go on?

When you're in the fight of your life

And loose, can you forgive yourself?

When life's parade passes you by

Do you bother to wave?

Can you keep asking the questions

With answers too hard to face?

Ca...

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My heart races when I think of you.

In your eyes, I see who I want you to be.

In your arms, I picture me there.

My heart sees what it wants to see.

Seeing you're not real, it pounds anyway.

Out of instinct, want and need.

I remind it that you don't care.

You only have love to take.

With nothing to give in return,

My heart doesn't care.

It just wants and want...

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Believe

What

is the

reason for

the season? Why

do we celebrate

the date a child was born?

Perhaps... as a reminder

We have a chance for redemption

If we open our hearts to believe.

[]

(Click Read/Comment to get Christmas tree effect)

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With my birdfeeder full

A bountiful supply

I think I'm giving nature a hand.

But as I watch nature unfold

It is she, that is helping me

By including me in her plan.

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How come that child is in the bramble,

Living in that bush of thorns?

I watch her, but I can't get her out.

I say to her, "Child, come up out of there,

Out from that thorny bush."

But she can't hear me now.

She grabs a thorn and says "Mommy,"

As the blood stains her little hand.

She has no desire to get out.

Another scratch now across the face,

To leave...

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Without you

I splatter.

I drip. I drop. I spill.

I am paint.

I conform to your will.

With you

I am bold, intense.

I shine.

Or I am quiet and reflective.

But I speak.

My life is a canvas

Ready to be filled.

I am paint...

I yield.

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You are older now.

You are not just a kid.

Are you regretting the things

You wish you did?

Are life's sweetest moments

The ones already passed away?

Or can you look around

And find joy in your day?

Right where you are at this moment

You may cherish when you are old.

Moments now taken for granted,

Could be the treasures you hold.

One day you may la...

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In my innocence I was brave...

And knew no fear,

No boundaries, no limits, no doubts,

Unable to imagine my spirit contained.

The sky was open...

Then came that ceiling,

That flattened the top of my head,

And crowded my dreams with fear.

The ceiling was clear...

You could see right through,

Unwaivering and unmovable it sat,

Intending to crush my dreams, so...

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The driftwood floats,

Down toward the rocky slopes,

Without a care in the world.

"I can't be bothered by those jagged rocks now,

In this cool water where I enjoy my ride,"

"Besides, there's still time to turn this around,

If I could just go against the tide."

"What a life this is being driftwood,

Where I go next is anybody's guess."

So I smile like nothing's the matter,

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Why do poets ponder

The birds of the air...

For their beauty, their freedom, their song?

Why do they find peace in asking

Questions that begin with why?

Why are they so willing to share

The inner most part of their soul,

Hidden in symbolic mazes

With hedges high?

I guess what I'm really asking

Is why do I?

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Ladybug, ladybug on my wall

It was there all summer, but now it's fall.

It was there all season, but never found reason

To stand and fight, or take off in flight.

It just clung there helpless.... on my wall.

Afraid to stand, afraid to fall.

Not really sure about its gender,

Just watched it miss out on life's spendor.

Was it waiting there for a man?

Or for someone el...

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While most other birds sing a duet,

Or with a chorus hidden up in a tree,

There's a little bird that sings loud and proud, 

Alone, but in harmony.  

This little bird sings outside my window,

While the rest of the birds are asleep. 

This little bird sings with depth and conviction,

While others can only dream.

Where does it find the courage 

To stand alone and sing?

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