I could not pull the trigger
I could not cut the cards
I could not swing the bat
don’t know why it’s so hard
pretty good at watching leaves
turn from green to brown
and December breezes
send them to the ground

The motions I keep going through
don’t take me anywhere
except further from the time
I was inclined to dare
now I hear a bird sing
just outside the window
when he flies away
I wish that I could go


Do Over

The setting sun thumbs
its nose at the darkness
with a final burst of
color and light smugly
shouting, “top that, night!”

The night is cool
it calls and raises
a few thousand stars
and a calming moon
boasting its stolen light

On the fence between
passion and peace
the witness waffles
can we do it over tomorrow?


My mind lay fallow
waiting for the wind
to blow the seed
of a new idea in
but these sprouts
look familiar and it’s
no wonder

you don’t look
for strawberries
in an onion patch
but it gets confusing
trying to match
what pops up
from under

all these dead leaves
with the reasons I thought
I had to laugh or to grieve
striving for beauty
or usefulness
but just a babbling
fool, I guess

I’m not all that
just a little of this
when it’s all over
very few will miss
why we do what we do
is a mystery
just recording an
obscure history


Outside the dirty window
the courtyard lamp defeats the darkness
about the same way
the refrigerator and air
conditioner keep silence at bay
not too well
there is little defense against
memories and thoughts
lurking beyond the circle of light
like hyenas desirous
of rending my flesh

There is a beam in my eye
there is a thorn in my side
I am weary and heavy laden
so if you seek a prophecy
remember, this is only me
the blind leading the blind
seeking that I might find
asking that I may receive
turning the page
that I may believe
a seed fallen on rocky soil
too stubborn to surrender

I Miss My Forest Sometimes

I don’t know what happened
but I miss my forest sometimes
a breeze rustling my leaves
birds nesting and singing
I miss my bark

Don’t know where
they all went
leaving me here alone

It’s a good place
to stand, much to see
and contemplate, but
I miss my forest sometimes
I guess it’s my nature

To stick out like a sore
thumb was not my intention
I did nothing
but hold my ground
I miss my bark, and birds,
leaves and even insects.
I miss my forest

Sometimes, but here
I am, dammit, and here
I’ll stay until a higher power
blows me away

Old Clay

Weary of the rain
tired of the chill
an old clay flower pot
sitting on the window sill
soil depleted by last year’s bloom
the stillness of a darkened room

soil can be refreshed
one can open the blinds
do everything you can think to do
or retreat into your mind
go ahead, see what you can find
there’s nothing much to lose
except a galloping case
of the morning after blues

Hard Climbs

Where your path leads
no one can say
nor who you may meet
along the way
there will be pain
there will be healing
there will be peaceful
easy feelings
hard climbs and
beautiful places to rest
just stick to your path
and do your best