Original Poems

You Go…

You go, and you explore the world,
You turn wherever you might choose,
For once you make time meaningless,
There's none to waste, and less to lose

Than now, when all is cost and worry.
Love, a dream of yesteryear --
You go, and you explore the world,
Before the unseen things all

Original Poems


 whisper where the wind blows west,
 murmur as your mind-paths meld
 into yellow yesterdays
 by the vanishing beheld --

 leaves are rustling, and soft
 grows a feeling, undefined:
 susurration, sounds that say,
 you need not leave everything


 He hears the 
 Words she whispered once
 She meant them
 And really loved him

 That one lost autumn

Original Poems

Algorithm & Blues

 Defining yourself
 By what you cannot do
 Is arbitrary in the extreme
 Since the number of such things
 Is infinite.

 In truth, we are
 The sum of all the things
 We do, or have done.

 Worrying about limitations
 Is like worrying about
 Not winning at the Olympics
 When you aren’t even entered.
 The best days we ever have
 Aren’t about how we feel,
 But how others feel, around us.
 If I was an Instagram model,
 And knew daily that
 Thirteen million people
 Saw pictures of my butt and thought,
 “Hey... I like that”
 I’m not quite sure what
 I’d think about anything else.
 Or that I ever would.
 Social media algorithms
 Think I care about odd things.
 Facebook thinks I want to see
 Cheesy morality tale videos.
 I do, but...
 How did they know?
 When I was a kid,
 I used to hear,
 “Never criticize someone
  Until you have walked a mile
  In their moccasins.”

 This was part of
 The popular wisdom of the time,
 Where empathy involved
 The appropriation of slippers.
 And culture, apparently.
Original Poems

Peace & Onions

 gallimaufry interlude
 sandwiches and funyuns
 love among the doodling
 signs of peace and onions

 afterburner overdrive
 sophistry regalia
 meme that reaches everywhere
 of the pax vidalia

 whimsy, doves, and flower-buds
 people freed from dungeons
 gallimaufry interlude
 love & peace & onions
 he was locked in a padded room,
 unsure how he got there, but
 pretty sure he had recently been
 in a taco bell, because
 he tried all five kinds 
 of hot sauce, while he
 scribbled and colored in a notebook
 visions of peace and onions and the like
 until, someone tapped him on 
 the shoulder, saying
 he needed to leave because

 because he needed to leave,
 all that tapping on his shoulder
 don't touch my notebook, don't
 mess with my peace & onions, and
 hey, those are my colors he said
 colors like hot sauce packets
 all five kinds, he'd tried them
 it was a taco bell, del taco doesn't
 have all that, he was pretty sure, but
 what was this place?

Original Poems

Four Futures – D

“Not enough youths fighting windmills. And the old are fearful, jaded or dead. Do not ask me what to do. I am just as cowardly as you. And do not tell me it is enough to speak the truth; that it is bravery enough. Every mountain leveled to the ground, every forest burned, every man, woman, and child who lost their shanties to arsonist fires were defended to the heavens—with words.”

 the years are full of words,
 yet many suffer;
 our pages full of tears,
 that change but few

 and we may wonder
 if a better future
 can ever come with
 so much left to do

 but change is local:
 it starts there within us,
 then slowly spreads to
 those who hold our words

 because they've come to trust
 that they'll have meaning
 beyond the type just made
 to guide the herds

 so find a way to learn,
 and do it humbly,
 hear tiny voices: mice,
 and birds, and shells --

 for truth to live, it must first
 live within us;
 for lies to end, we have to
 stop, ourselves

Original Poems

Four Futures – C

“When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.”

 there can be many different ways
 to come upon the path called truth,
 and even though we travel long
 the finding of it's no pursuit

 to set out on; for it finds us.
 the future gives no guarantees
 except that we will lose ourselves
 and find ourselves out here

 among the leaves
Original Poems

Four Futures – B

“You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.”

 beyond our understanding lies
 immensities we quantify
 with words, as though say it right
 adds anything like truth or light

 to what is ignorance, at best.
 the future is an unknown place
 as deep as any ocean, and
 as strange as farthest realms of space.

 we humans are an oddity:
 we speak of what we do not know,
 describing all the things we'll

 never see

Original Poems

Four Futures – A

“Do you know when the wild goats give birth? Have you watched as deer are born in the wild? Do you know how many months they carry their young? Are you aware of the time of their delivery? They crouch down to give birth to their young and deliver their offspring. Their young grow up in the open fields, then leave home and never return.”

 What do we know?

 There's much that goes
  that will not then return;
 For time moves one direction
  only, save within our minds.

 But we must reach --

 The future is uncertain, nay,
  the present is, as well.

 We even disagree about the past --

 But we still time flows,
  and we our fields must walk,
  our dangers face;
  life gives us little but
  some set of chances.

 So, today --

 Remember, something of the future
  can be made by you today, 
  if you would make it;
  and your frailty
  or mine
  does not mean 
  you do not have
  all the power you need.

Original Poems

A Bleak Perspective

 I love this aching emptiness,
 I need this wild ruin;
 A stage to highlight vanity
 And make my big debut in

 To get away from all the hype,
 The rancor, and invective --
 And realize how small I am:
 An exigent

 Some people see a scene like this, and say,
 "I could not live with all this solitude;
  This dreary sameness, each and every day.
  No variation -- snow and quietude."

 While others, see a city street, and muse,
 "Who wants the noise, pollution, and the stress?
  Give me some space and quiet to diffuse
  The chaos, so that I can decompress --"

 I'm not an urbanite, so I'm with those
 Who easily could be at home out here:
 I don't like crowds at all, and I suppose
 That what might give me hope, gives others fear --

  But people differ, what seems bleak to one
  Night seem to someone else a lot of fun
 the ancient
 lives in the footsteps

 across the wild lands
 bare and bleak
 that we call our hearts