Poetry

Peace at Any Hour

Never took the time
to go out at night,
to look at the stars,
the shooting stars,
to listen to nature’s song
of the birds, the bugs, the coyotes.
Was told that bad things
happen at those hours
but it seems that bad things
happen at all hours.
Why not find beauty
in the late and early hour
if it can be found
in the waking ones too?

Poetry

Fast Food

Weight of the world sounds pleasant

when all the griefs to bear

crush the soul and body both.

Can’t be strong, can’t be weak,

can’t be weak enough to admit

that I’m stuck

nor strong enough to admit

that I’m weak.

I guess you are what eats you

when you go about

setting your own table.

Poetry

Gray Area

You stay strangely vacant
from the grey matter these days.
Why, it was a traveler–a vagrant–
who saw you
so that they could relay
it to the rest of us.
Eyes, so to speak, who composed
music of the loveliest girl
in the world.
Translated it too. Translated it
for all the senses, for all the muscles,
the blood, the bones.
Why did they look to you
when they can just get by?
I could get you off my mind
but the vacancy
seldom lasts.

Poetry

Bureaucratic Showdown

The bell would chime.

Ding.

Ding.

That was the time.

Ding.

Ding.

“High noon,” he’d said.

Ding.

Ding.

“I’ll shoot ya’ dead!”

Ding.

Ding.

And to the street . . .

Ding.

Ding.

The two did meet.

Ding.

. . .

The silent bell

. . .

an anxious hell.

. . .

They would find soon

. . .

it wasn’t noon

. . .

a narrow escape

. . .

thanks to red-tape

. . .

Poetry

Half of the Time

My heart’s only in it half of the time,

the other half fast fades away

but then for a bit, a moment sublime,

it goes along with the charade.

A bittersweet vision dancing in light,

a vision undoubtedly you,

but fast does it fade and try as I might

my world fades to a shade of blue.

Poetry

Selective Memory

I forgot that rain
could come down
by the bucket full
upon my head
just like I forgot about
the extreme heat
of a summer day
or the piercing cold
of a winter one.
For a moment I forgot
I was growing older
and forgot the many
memories I had
before this point in time.
I forgot to remember ,
I forgot to forget.
For a moment I forgot
about the lack of perfection
in this brief lifetime
and I had a perfect
day with you.

Poetry

Origin Story

I know you

I walked with you

once upon a dream

or so I thought anyway–

it all grows confusing

when I stop to think about it.

So I try not to stop and think about it

but I do

every now and then.

I’ll take a detour

on a road, a path,

an avenue

of questionable memories

in my brain.

Disorientation takes hold

and it all grows confusing again.

I know you

but it isn’t fate

and it wasn’t the past

and my mind never could have

come up with a dream

like you.