You discerningly lean, turn out the light
as your scenery slips into the night
your thoughts fill up, a whirlwind of dreams
pictures brought forth by unnatural means
like manifestations they come and they go
but their relevancy you do not know
and you wake with the thought that your dreams got away
before you had caught what your dreams had to say
We seek it from the day we're born
And feel it from our bed so warm
To find out what it's all about
To always know yet always doubt
We search for it in our spare time
And miss it when it's left behind
It contradicts our simple lives
Invigorates us when it thrives
It brings us joy it brings us rage
It makes us seldom show our age
We fight and fight to keep it straight
You are my love - You are my mate
It's more complex than you'd surmise
Too complex to realize
Though on the surface it's absurd
Love is the other four-letter word
Love inspires the good and bad
Love invokes both happy and sad
There's one way in and one way out
And love is what it's all about
While flowing through life adrift on the tide
We met on a cruise I mistook for a ride
Struck out for adventure, or to grab at the chance
Or perhaps with some luck just a short sweet romance
But caught in her beauty my life took a break
As senses were stirred which began to awake
A moment in time that too soon would pass
Then all I could think was I want this to last
But ships they do pass, as the saying does go
And too many lonely old hearts lie below
While feelings emerged that rose up above
We set a new course, together in love
Since living is not just "along for the ride"
I thus asked this beauty if she'd be my bride
Here I am in my peaceful dimly lit room
with the sound of music, drifting, through my mind
a passing thought, and another, about my present life
The room is a plastic fantasy, such as life and adventure
a British flag in the corner, glowing,
from the red and black lights beyond.
So distinct, so precise,
like the memories from a past vacation
Outside it is black and white, cold and dark
early spring, Chicago, another night
The song is over, a white light is on
only the rattling of the heater,
the wind outside and the occasional sound of a car,
or maybe an airplane, traveling to the world, somewhere.
A feeling of awareness enters the room
the heater starts again
and then these too, fade away
I never knew that when it rains
all the water goes down the drains
through the pipes and to the ocean
where it stays in constant motion
evaporation makes it rise
and now the rain's back in the skies
I never knew that when it rains
all the water came from the drains
As I lye awake at night,
the stillness doesn't feel right
what creature lurks beyond my door?
I'll hide in my sheets forevermore
Then suddenly I know it's dawn
the birds are singing, all creatures are gone
I wanted to write a poem
About everything there was
That every poet writes about
And say it all because
The loneliness, futility, depression and decay
With so much loss and entropy, death needs a holiday
But autumn, clouds and dreaming
The flowers and the trees
Are happier to write about
The truth is in the seeds
Yet all these topics are too vague
To state a point or fact
That poetry is just my way
Of veering off the track
Glaring glasses blinding views
dreaming of the slot machines
some may win but most will lose
as all will seek the American dream.
Painted pictures plastic pearls
passing by their vacant smiles
leaning back I view the murals
dashing through the dreamy miles.
Empty pictures of people without any feeling
upon the occasion of which they are meeting
are kept in my closet inside an old box
for to empty the keepsakes of past times forgot
never knowing these times would be gone from my mind
never feeling disturbed by the decadent crime
I sit here and view them now knowing that I
am beyond all those moments I captured in time
We're caught in recursion
we learn a new version
of killing ourselves each day
when learning to dance
we all take a chance
of dancing the night away
and everything borders on mary
and everything borders on jane
and everything borders on drinks that we order
to keep us from going insane
and all of them drive us to drinking
they all make us feel this way
it helps us to drink, which helps us to think
again and again and again
It's 12:45 and I feel quite alive
I feel at home, the silence and me alone
I can feel my breathing and my energy perceiving
And I can feel my soul, the past and present getting cold
Then I feel it die, as the night passes by
Dark room, dirty air, empty pitchers, drinking beer,
no money left, nobody cares.
What on earth am I doing here?
Everyone's waiting, bartenders pouring,
the feelings are growing, the feeling of scoring,
the game begins, but the bar gets boring,
What am I still doing here?
The reason I don't see straight anymore
is due to the rapid change in my views
since stopping to look has become such a bore
then where is the joy, I haven't a clue
the feeling from watching the trees blow around
the pleasure of lending a helping hand
a snowflakes timeless journey to the ground
just won't fit in with my desperate plans
and my plans too are hurried, on and on
without any freedom nor time to play
am I losing my path? What's going on?
I must clear my schedule for more time each day
the time that I need to empty my mind
and treasure what happiness I may just find
Life without shadows is a life without sun
And a life without pain hurts no one
Life without practice is a life unfulfilled
While a life without trying is a life without will
Life without fun means nothing to do
And a life that is closed is all up to you
Life without memories is never recalled
But a life without you is no life at all
Road construction ahead
I-5 north at the freeway entrance
A red romeo on the side of the road
unwilling to change its status
One bank says 89, another 92
as the sun moves slowly
leaving shadows only under the eyes
A lone old man waiting, patiently
on the corner of Silver Lake Drive
where the red light still stands
and the drowsiness can be felton an August day
Tis growing the feelings we're righting wrongs
Says public opinion "the war was good"
They're singing those dated old marching songs
Blind blatant witnesses misunderstood
Creating deductions, “the old are wise”
Publishing findings so easily sold
Pictures discerning, such innocent eyes
Collecting money from streets paved of gold
Yet empty images we acquire
Wanton and laden our misconceived means
Foreign resources, who wouldn't aspire
While lawful tailors keep so’ing what seems
So grows the feelings we have no concern
So goes the meanings we don't seem to learn
They travel long distances well aware
of where they are going and what they'll find there
in ancient wagons arriving unseen
they greet us with smiles but question our dreams
while ritual practice presumes our degree
of pleasure whether or not we agree
we tie up the bird as we do our thoughts
all dressed for the dinner the turkey is brought
giving thanks for the season there isn't a trace
feelings long past mask our prepossessed face
and too seldom does someone ask or say please
too stubborn to separate from their own means
while purpose prevails upon the whole scene
and turkey is gobbled up in between
I'm leaving some home on a curious night
my friend stays behind, says it doesn't feel right
I picture you grown, then a ghost high in flight
and I wake with unbearable fright.
Now I'm up writing poems, alone in the cold
while my dream stands beside me and my heart pounds below
and I wonder if ever I'll know when I go
what becomes of the rest of the show.
As home is a place where we hide from all sight
and sleeping's a haunting side show,
And dying is something that comes once in your life
twice if you enter your soul.
it's night time was now is to be
transposing philosophically
On this page
I now shall write
poems
I may recite
to help reveal my deepest feelings
with subtle thoughts and hidden meanings
to dazzle you and be unique
and symmetry to make you think
I'll start you with a subtle clue
a poem's a feeling - from me to you
