The Lonely Night

The lonely night is never done;
It stretches on, in endless wake –
And closes in with memories
And dreams, beneath a constant ache

To walk upon the haunted earth,
To lie upon a sleepless bed,
To hope for nothing but the dark,
And pray that slumber’s just ahead –

But restless, rising up to go,
To walk out towards the waxing light –
These barren trees, they know the dark,
They’ve wrestled with the lonely night

The day will come – it always has –
But eyes will not be there to see:
The night will claim its prize at last,
The pride in you
The hope in me

(no title)

. an empty house .

this house has never said my name before
a name now ringing clearly in the air
i guess the haunting starts now that you’re gone
you took my heart, my soul, my life,
my beer

so i sit down to write my life away
gaslighted like poor ingrid in that film
the king of solipsism on his throne
an empty kitchen cupboard for
a realm

How Will I Hide Today?

How will I hide today?
If I could jettison this heart,
I think that just might be a start:
The callous live and walk and breathe
And seem so oft to be at ease —
I want to feel the more a little less
I must confess.

Make sure that no one knows…
This is the art I’ve mastered now,
As I explore the subtle how,
And glide through every harmless scene
With my innocuous, dull mien,
Presenting someone here who isn’t there,
Or anywhere.

So I will skate this ice.
The day is pale, the sky is gray,
And I was meant to be this way:
The summer turns inside to cold,
And what’s ‘experienced’ but old?
How will I hide myself today?

And who cares


{ … the empty silence … }

the empty silence swallows us
when we tune out the noise;
the politics of hatred in
a world of equipoise –

the hollowness of everything,
the shadows in our eyes —
the camera that shows the soul
behind all our disguise —

we give in to the hatred, and
the calumny, the violence:
but come to reckoning at last
within the empty silence.

the empty silence swallows us
and chokes our last confession:
we saviors who would fix the earth,
but die within

Beautiful, Sad

i see it as i wander by…

the world is beautiful and sad,

i see it as i wander by;

the good things that we want – so bad –

our reason – just an alibi –


the aching heart will know no peace;

the tired soul will find no rest —

the world is beautiful, but sad:

our worst is so mixed up in

all our best

I’m So Uncertain

I’m so uncertain, friends, I just don’t know.
My life has spun, perhaps, out of control:
I do not know if I should stay or go,
I seem to have no function, place or role

But every day, I read among these words
Such certainties as I have never had:
From those who see sharp lines where I see blurreds;
Who know what’s right, what’s wrong, what’s good or bad

I think in iambs now, in groups of four;
My organized confusion here in verse,
I write to try to think, then write some more:
The bad gets analyzed, and comes out worse.

In sonnets of uncertainty, I dwell;
My mind so wracked, I neither ask
Nor tell


(“I’m So Uncertain” – 6-11-2015)

Battling with my Heart

As long as I’ve had memories, I’ve battled with my heart;
It doesn’t want what’s best for me, I know —
Each day that I awake, the fighting once again will start;
It happens now, wherever I may go

Like rings inside of rings, as though I was made out of Saturns:
I try to run, but there’s no place to hide —
They say that it’s my mind, the weaving of genetic patterns;
To me though, it’s just who I am