The Dry Spell

The dry spell may reveal
some forgotten truth
some suppressed memory
of your youth
it may show an error
in the way
that you live your life today

Too many voices
whisper in your ear
for anything they say
to be very clear
confusion about what’s lost
and what’s left to gain
their dependence on
the chances for rain

When Life creeps back in
to the abandoned space
we get a renewed sense
of the underlying grace
insisting that there can
be no surrender here
no matter the odds
no matter the fear
our job is to try
to persevere



Each teapot knows its own tempest
the salt shaker is unaware
the frying pan has its own sizzle to handle
and doesn’t really care
they suppose that it is just
whistlin’ a happy tune
but someone turning off the heat
cannot come too soon

it seems sometimes our function
is to be permanently in distress
and our main goal is to act
unaffected, more or less
so many shiny teapots
boiling secretly
keep moving along, folks
there’s nothing here to see


The giver perceives a loaf
the receiver perceives crumbs
the giver sees a torrent
the getter sees a trickle
the many miles given
are scorned as merely inches

the views of the journey
are refracted through
the lens of need
is it fair to measure love
by a willingness to bleed
with one leg in a cast
a marathon run is not expected
damages to heart and soul
are not so easily detected

the past must be understood
before it can be left behind
a well gone dry may refill
if given enough time
no healing without forgiveness
without forgiveness, no love
angry desperation
soon turns a heart to stone
and so much is lost
so much is lost


Perhaps no maps
to guide us anymore
no way to know
what may be in store
any time we go out the door

Traditions and rituals
lay abandoned by the road
maintenance is hard
when you carry the load
of too many farewells
too many resting in peace
that first instinct
is to seek release

Survival mode makes demands
that we don’t even understand
underground, under water
hold your breath and pray
 that path through the wilderness
brings you to the light of day


I thought about painting a wall
so I could watch it dry
but it would probably fall down
I’m that kind of guy
I have a hard time making plans
that do not go awry
quit bothering years ago
trying to figure why

Sometimes for a change of pace
I plan multiple events
then watch them fall like dominoes
from the hideout’s window

A Good Chance

The clouds were missing
a good chance to rain
thunder made empty threats
the wind could not be explained
darkness descended
we lost our focus
there were those in the shadows
wanting to choke us
to keep us from learning
what we needed to know
to put up a fight
to make a good show

They had facts and figures
supporting their claim
that the victims needed
to shoulder the blame
we had nothing
but a will to live
and a notion of what
we were willing to give
when the clouds missed
a good chance to rain
how we escaped
I cannot explain
divine intervention
is a possibility
and a stubborn refusal
to be less than free

When we slipped through
the dragnet, the clouds finally let go
washing our tracks away
so evil could not follow


Scramble up the last of the eggs
wash them down with ice water
got through the week without having to beg
as rare as winning the lottery

Broke on the day before payday
a tradition that just won’t go away
sitting and waiting is all you can do
with the Where’s My Direct Deposit Blues

Was it too many bills
not enough overtime
too much riotous living
were you the victim of a crime
if financial husbandry
is beyond your ken
there will be many
weeks when

You’re broke on the day before payday
a tradition that just won’t go away
sitting and waiting is all you can do
with the Where’s My Direct Deposit Blues