I build my castles
my word castles
in the sand
I scoop the words
from the endless beach
wet
with sea water
tears
and spit
I pack them
word on word
carve them
with wit and wisdom
shovels and trowels
I build them
and they stand
glittering
in the sun
beneath a clear blue sky
shit on by gulls
and yet
they shine
in the heat
that dries and burns
the skin
on the nose and shoulders and soul
they are looked upon
by passers by
admired and scorned
and for an hour
a day
a season
as the passers by
pass by
the words
that stood
and stuck
and shone
silently get washed away
in the waves
of time
reality
into the miles and miles
of solitary sand words
on the beach
of anonymity
later to be
picked up
spit together
again and again
by the sandcastle builders
day by day
the hiss of time
poetry
Hurt
does it take the hurt away
when you push out everyone
who is trying to help
who is trying to show you
your worth
does it take the hurt away
when you shut down your emotions
and are determined
to show everyone
because *()# you that’s why
does it take the hurt away
to show everyone that you know best
that the love that they have for you
is so much dust to be
swept away
Does it take the hurt away
when you forsake all of your dreams
all of the joy I used to see
for the empty promises
and lies
Does it take the hurt away
to know, somewhere in the fear of success
that hides the reality from your heart
to know that no matter what
I will always be here
Catchpenny
her whole world
washed out and gray
lacking all luster
to make it through the day
nothing she did
helped her heart shine
she wore no smile
I tried to give her mine
superficial beauty
kissed every feature
her heart was frightened
a lonely creature
yet in the quiet darkness
beneath the shine of the stars
she came to understand
her dreams matter as much as ours
Little Boy Blues
Memories of
childhoods lost
hauntingly happy
brilliantly etched
forever new
snapshots stolen
from moments dear
preciously hoarded
guarded
as queen’s coffers
Walking through the memories
lives captured
fear of the forgotten world
there you are
there
and there
and in the passing
who will remember
that which
can never be erased.
The Moment
I cry
for
that which is in the moment
is but for a moment
and the moment
is gone
I cry
because
the tears I shed
were never shed
when they should have been
and not because
in the shedding
comes the understanding
I cry
in
the passing
of the seasons
from one’s season
to the next
and I fear
that in the passing
the passing too will be gone
I cry
with
all of those
who have cried before me
for all of the reasons
Here now I cry
and wrap around me
all of the tears
that all of humanity
has ever left unshed.
November
hear the shivers
in the birches
the hiss of the fallen
watch the dance of the nearly naked
in the hustle rustle
of the morning music
Even the modesty of the oaks
has given up her tattered brown dress
to the siren call of the wind song
the return
of long lost friends
as they remember the feeders and the corn.
The frost on their feet but a trifle
they huddle together and eat
squeeze the last
of the mild
from the mornings
and in the chill of an early fall
wrap warmly around the coming season
the quiet morning
avian company
and tea
Hiding in Plain Sight
I wrap myself
in the warm silence
of anonymity
I walk among you
one of you
yet not quite of you
You see me
you step around me on the sidewalk
you avert your gaze
so I know you see me
or you would never even bother
into this life of fiction
I crawl
hiding in plain sight
of anyone
who might care to see
but no one sees
no one cares
no one bothers
to even try to understand
1… a Tanka
queen Anne’s lace asphalt
ragged robbins thrive vacant lots
summer color commute
weeds grow wild despite their strife
so my spirit clings and blooms
Sing
Do you sing?
I hear the quiet click
of feet
as you land
almost silent by my side
do you sing
when your heart
is full of sorrow
full of joy
full of song
do you sing
Do you lift your voice
to the heaves
despite
tone deaf raucous elation
and allow your voice
to reach to the heaves
to soar to the stars
to part the gray skies
and take flight
do you sing
for despite whether or not
you sound like a nightingale
or you sound like a crow
the answer to
do you sing
should always be
of course
for every bird has their song
and every song
needs to be sung.
Morning Matters
Silence that’s almost
but not quite
that wraps the heart
in calm surrender
to the coming day
Solitude of the rush
and tumble of the commute
coffee cold, but not quite
overnight in the garage in the truck
tepid
coffee is coffee
dawn reflects badly
in the tar and asphalt
of the inner city morning
join the fray
become the flotsam and jetsam
that is the work-a-day world
and through it all
keep with you
the solitude and silence
that reminds you
that
morning matters
Clandestine Writing... 