Photo
I saw a photo once, large,
Front page
Bodies strewn across the ground
Paper cups at their sides
King Jim put a bullet
In his head
I saw a photo once, pocket-sized,
Brightly colored,
Soldiers in caskets coming home
From war
The president saluting
Families
I saw a photo once, grand,
A compound in flames
Mothers and fathers and children
Burning alive
King David at the helm
I saw a photo once,
Back page
“Another war begins—American soldiers die”
I saw a photo once
House Cat
The cat of the house
Is a paper box,
Tall and blue,
An Easter craft.
A loss suffered
Over thirty years.
She keeps the cat
To remember.
Truth
The truth, a rare bird in a rare wood
Honor and dignity lost
A world of disingenuous men and women
Clamoring for the top rung on
A ladder they cannot see
One husband’s transgressions go
Untold, lest he lose his life
His wife paints on smiles
To hide the pain of loneliness
But the sun’s rays shed light on
The largest of faults
The smallest of blemishes
Truth eventually comes,
Just as the rare bird surely
Will be snared
The Bough
These woods are dark and deep, inviting and patient
They wait for me and I enter, willingly
I have constructed a shadow of myself
Something to take the brunt of this life
As darkness grows deeper, I see
The one bough that will become my home
Climbing up, I say goodbye
To all the rest I leave behind
Around my neck the ring tightens
And I swing beneath the night sky
Relive
Like hundreds of tiny cockroaches
skittering across your brain
This one moment, now
reminds you that you're insane
The breath you breathe is drawn
from decades of dust and rot
The past has become present
You left behind and forgot
mistakes you made, lives you destroyed
Relive, relive, relive
until nothing remains
Just fragments, shards—
original self
Forget Not Our Great Sins
Tragic consequences for our actions
Earth’s body disintegrates
Waters overflow with our waste and
The grounds bear thin fruit
Women and children perish
at the hands of megalomaniacs
As leaders wrestle for power
bringing misery across nations
Forget not our great sins
lest we end before we begin
This is time for change—Explode
barriers that prevent humanity’s ascension
Heed the warnings of The Mother
In an effort to save our lives
We mustn’t hesitate longer
Blood stains the hands—the power hungry
Before our eyes, our world dissolves to dust
Heed the warnings of The Mother
Forget not our great sins
lest we end before we begin
Love Lost
Another time, some other place
You and I
We could have been great
Here’s a lesson we’ve learned
Played with fire
And we both got burned.
But the reality is what it is
That’s what you always said
So, why can’t I stop thinking of you?
What’s it gonna take to get you off my mind?
I’ve got that feeling again and I’m
Falling faster than I ever have
Losing ground
Falling farther than I knew possible
In love with you
I can see your face in the sky
And hear your voice in the birds’ song
Wake me not from this dream
Coming back awake could kill me
My realization snaps me free
Burial
Death Visits
The Journey Out
My hands shake more frequently now
As I sink deeper into this gloom
The pills barely work anymore
And my depression foretells my doom
To die by my own hand seems the only way
Struggling to reach out, I find none, nothing
I bristle with anger and crawl with fear
It's a long, hard road out of this hell
I am not ready for such a journey
But I truly see no other way
This cage in which I have locked myself
Grows infinitely darker and stronger
My choices are few; I must let
Blood flow freely now and believe that
This cage will rust away to allow the sun
Or see my light eternally extinguished
Saying Good-bye
Don't leave without
saying good-bye
For who knows when
we'll meet again
I miss you deeply
But I mustn't let it show
Jealousy cripples me blind
Spasms of guilt
You wonder always why
I feel as I do
But I have nothing
adequate to say
The tears in your eyes
say it all
So let us part ways
leave this love
Let it dissolve to dust
Catch the wind
But don't leave without
saying good-bye
Play On
These guitar strings are all I have
Energy flows through my fingers
Blood stains the fingerboard
As the next great solo approaches
I can feel it coming
Playing faster, my mind strangles creativity
And I am lost
Regaining the creative is not easy
Struggles abound and life moves quickly
Time is a commodity for everyone
We need release
I need release
To play on, the most arduous chore
But I will
We all will
Until our blood stops pumping
And our minds disintegrate to dust
We will play on
Whipping Man
Painted horses bent in spasms
Screaming
Whipping Man takes his stance
Grinning
More time to kill, he thinks
Behind him, the bull winds up
Taking aim
Head down, horns pointed,
He charges his target
Whipping Man swings back his arm
Just one more shot
The beast quickly approaches,
Making known his presence
Whipping Man, still clutching his torture weapon,
Takes flight
Broken and bruised, he rises from the dirt
Painted horses put him down
A crushing blow to the head
Whipping Man’s blood paints red
The earth
Take My Eyes
Take my eyes
They have witnessed
Tragedies that just can't be
Take my voice
It's spoken evil
Hatred that lives inside of me
Where have I gone
What have I become
Just another shadow on the street
Blind to the light that's beside me
I let go and feel the cold sting
Of your tongue shedding lies
Hatred takes control when love dies
So take my eyes
Take me away from you
Let the hate grow
That's all we've got when love dies
The Child
She walks slowly, carrying the weight of her life as she goes.
We sit, with eyes averted, stumbling through conversation.
“He’s yours,” she says.
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Innocence
The wind carries to me the sound of children’s laughter.
Standing in the cold, February afternoon, smoking a Marlboro,
Regretfully, I tame the longing to run with them into worlds unknown.
These Are The Good Days
I watched a red-haired woman give birth in the road,
while my son row, row, rowed
a dump truck across the yard.
Merrily.
These are the good days.
A bride stands forlorn, weeping, beneath the alter,
her husband not to be, eyes glazed,
stands at her side, staring.
Stoically.
These are the good days.
An old woman’s bones creak as she sits
in the rocking chair, velvet red seat,
he bought for her birthday.
Happily.
These are the good days.
The lioness, striking swiftly, nabs her prey;
her young await the feast of gods
and sit salivating at the sight.
Hungrily.
These are the good days.
My brain rots away, circling this moment,
and my libido shrinks beyond
recognizable; she walks
slowly away, grinning out the door.
Eagerly.
These are the good days.
