a nightingale sings

i have many friends. some have left this life. many are distant. but all touch me every day. i feel the sway of all. so sad when people feel alone. i feel for them. there are songs for everyone. just listen for them.

the way
squirrels bury acorns
memories of absent friends

to wisdom

some days i dont know where i am headed. complexity is a salvation. too many voices and it is easy to go to the silence. just be where you are. right now my mind is choosing colors from a baskin robbins rainbow. licking the past to find the future.

skin tight
is there any other way
to die happy

you got your god and i have mine

i have a spiritual life. but not one attached to any other path. this one is mine but i will happily share it with you. a least until you wander off on your own.

eightfold path
shorebirds scatter
with the waves

invitation to the blues

lauren bacall always fascinated me. a calm sexiness combined with a smile that never seemed to entirely fade. if i was a fifties sugar daddy i would have wasted a fortune on her.

old movies–
but still sidney greenstreet
never gets the girl

i didnt mean to treat you so bad

a long time before indians ran casinos. that long ago. time changed my mind about everything. i want to be hip but still like bow ties so that tells you all you need to know about me. or does it. my confusion predates the indians and the invention of bow ties.

confessions
to all the clouds in all the skies
your selfish suicide

famous too long ago

one day i will get my fifteen minutes. i just hope i am not so high that all i do is babble about how it used to be. you know. back when i walked fifty miles through rain sleet and snow to get to wherever i was going. apples were sixty bucks apiece. and the aliens built temples to me when i was napoleon. pitiful is the base state of poets and i hate being trite (but what the hell).

dust mites in sunlight
living my future
in a flashback

wookiees have all the good lines

poetry is about writing the best lines. but the best poetry leaves the best parts to the reader.

no ink
in the quill
just impressions

faint as a will of the wisp

you sing to the moon if you want. me i just stare quietly. i live with the oaks and pines. so very often my view is broken by leaves and needles and just as quickly there it is again. if we had many moons like saturn would it be better or would we just get bored with all those choices. as it is our lonely moon often matches our moods. the light grows and fades and grows again. in the changeless verity of it all the moon unites us. i imagine all the lonely others looking up with me.

as i reach
the end of the path
my mind wanders

id rather not give you my name i am in politics

leaving both parties was easy. what to do next is the issue. thinking about it the only solution is to ‘write in’ johnny depp for every office in every election. i believe it is the only way to win in the game of elections. oh and every yard sign should be red white and blue.

prime minister
of another country
nothing but
questions

rubberband man

there is no credit limit on cash. if you have it you have it. and if you dont you dont. a wad of cash on the dresser and a diamond ring on my hand. it says what it says doesnt it.

judgment day
finding out
if it was worth the wait