Dark Heaven

Earth becoming the planet of the disoriented,
Words without life,
Opinions, full of criticism and spite,
Regurgitated from the pit of your sour belly,
With the depth as deep as you choose to roam,
Your personal sea of unvented decay,
Or lackluster expression,
In an endless sea of melancholy and void,
And supressed in the background
The silent desperate quiver of yesterday’s fears,
Guarding it’s throne in the fragile story of your life,
Coveting the untold piles of unchartered beauty,
Pages and pages of shining stars hidden between the rancid ones,
Something of a ‘Jonnie or Janie be good’ trying to sell reprimands,
Displaying a show  of exchange,
Shame for wisdom you offer,
Cloaking the truth,
Concealed behind a plastic reality,
Only ever seen by you,
Fluffy and soft through this deception,
We are all the same in this way,
So may hours and days we withered,
In a rigorous frenzy towards our own invention of truth,
As we battle each other to remove the blindfolds
That thwart the ingenuous nature of each of our existences.
We can choose to stop any time we want,
And find our Church within.



Children Of The Earth

Squandered without consideration,
A heartless act of bitter vengeance at the world,
Feeling rejected, ejected from familiarity,
Contemptuous and scorned younglings,
Unarmed and void of forbearance,
Becoming a vacuum for anguish without release,
And a mirror of community neglect,
Reflection of parental confusion and malevolence,
Rancid energy bouncing out and back again,
Like a lifelong game of handball with societal ills,
Defective skills, knowing no better,
Seeking no end, with peace undefined,
Due to taking root in a life unkind,
What will grow in this wasteland?
Putrid soil of chemical waste,
Splintered shreads of nothingness,

Spitefully believed to be gods,
Dreams, falling to ash like rotted flesh,
The shells of what once sustained hope,
Lying in the cocoon of human ignorance,
And no returns of virtues past,
For the sake of reaping a fool’s gold.

(c) 2013

Children of the earth

Children of the earth


First day of spring,

A day early this year,

It’s the first day of spring,

We should get out spring gear.

Cover the flowerbeds,

With fresh new manure,

Water the seedlings,

And then plant some more.

Clean out the tool shed,

And dust off the slate

Bring out the lawn chairs,

And stargaze til eight.

Before you know it,

Summer is here,

So enjoy all of spring,

And then do it next year.

(c) 2013

First I Wrote My Name

Once I bounced a ball,

The paper was my wall,

It bounced around my head a while,

That ball and me , we shared a smile,


Then I drew a house,

With windows for a mouse,

With curtains, blue and yellow lace,

I told myself, “I like this place”,


Then I go to schools,

There they taught me rules,

The first the rule was to “write your name”,

I recognized a different game,


Junior High breezed through,

The years passed by, they flew,

The days were filled with sitting still,

My parents worked to pay the bill,

I gained a lot of nothing missed,

Always writing, my hand a fist,


And now that years have passed,

I’m on my own at last,

When memory of that ball comes back,

I reminisce, I see the lack,

That ball is bouncing back to me,

It tells me learning should be free.


(c) 2013

Babies Breath

On a blistery hot day,

After the wash is done,

After the floors are scrubbed,

And the beds all have fresh, clean linen,

The plants are watered,

Dinner is on the stove,

The garage has been swept and hosed down,

And cats all have clean litter boxes,

Weeds are pulled,

And diaper pails emptied,

The car has been washed,

And all garden tools neatly arranged and in their place,

You shuffle down the steps,

And hold him close,

His face against yours,

After a his long nap,

And the sweetest thing,

You have ever felt in your life,

His tiny little hand,

“Pat-a-patting” your tired shoulder,

Same way yours has done him.

The sweetest thing,

Baby’s breath,

The sweetest thing.

(c) 2013

Wretched Scalawags

People can be like maggots,

Crawling all over you,

Eating the remnants

Of whatever you produce,

To try and make you something

They feel you should be,

Critical of every move,

Jealous of every accomplishment,

Exhausted from their lack,

Wanting to be a friend,

Lusting to be a lover,

Eroding your energy field,

And filling you with empty praise,

To satisfy their gluttonous,

Insatiable desire

For something more,

And what is more?

More than what?

Less than who?

And why is it important?

I don’t get life right now,

I just don’t get some people,

I think it must be age.

Child Hood

Tremulous, walking in obscurity,

With shadowy conviction,

Living in a constantly approaching vertex,

Every person a pinnacle of dread,

Every encounter a crime on her being,

Hearing as if deaf, and identity robbed,

An empty shell now adorned in an imaginary,

Opalescent cloak of protection,

In a fantasy of barren survival,

Hiding in the crevices of her mind,

And yet grappling for some sliver of her identity,

The defenses crippled,

Concealed for the sake of conceived unworthiness,

Coveted beneath layers and weeks of schemes,

Lost and forgotten the tender and soothing

Consolation of childish dreams,

Submitting to nakedness,

Yet held at gunpoint by drooling and hungry wolves

For the flesh of a child,

Stripped of all that was once sacred and undefiled,

With such utter rejection and scoff,

Scoundrels from hell feasting upon young supple breasts,

Blindfolded child,

Acquiescence to excecation,

And praying for the end,

Listening to the sound of the shutter on the camera,

As each one takes a turn,

While the other secures the barrel tighty to her temple,

Wondering, running away into the darkness of her mind,

Hoping to live through it,

Trying to make sense of their thrill,

Wondering, why she’s not crying,

Yes, trying to make sense of their thrill.

Later in the week,

Urinated on for twenty dollars.

Copyright March 10, 2013 at 8:55 pm (c)



I Have A Dream

I have a dream that I might forget what I have learned

In so that I might remember the silence from where I came,


I have a dream that I might touch the heavens, the same,


I have a dream that in calloused hands,

I hold the stars that caress the blackened skies,


And wipe the tears from every eye,


To mend the shattered bits of efforts past,

Fallen fast, on deafened ears,


I have a dream, it lurks, it leers,


In blackened hearts the stakes are thrust,

The loathsome plunge is cast, the taste is sweet to devil’s tongues,


I have dream, that soars above these devilish rungs,


That hold the secretness and fears,

And cry the reticence of joy’s return beyond the gloom,


I have a dream,

I have a dream.