Monday, November 25, 2013


Your gut is the harbingers twin
Slowly roasting feelings, incubating parasites
Like rock candy on crisp twists of twine
Clear and sweet tumors of intuition

Your father had a feeling, face reading becomes art
And the bricks tumbled and not into place
Rather in a pile that obscured big picture revelation
Three pall bearers when you needed six
Some burdens take a toll on a man's spine
And the hunch makes walking uphill easier
Than stopping to breathe, love is responsibility

Monday, November 18, 2013



It happens with explosions mostly, deathly bright, pulsing
But infancy is the universes new skin, soft corners
The ultimate chance at connection rarely seized with glory
The guts of the machine don’t stop for emotional content


Being born still, resets life through a depressed veil
That pinpoint spot of energy waiting in an infinite cue
When the number is called, unfathomable potential grinds to life
And the possibility of miracles sparkles in the maker’s left eye

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Despair is a Bridge

A poem for the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Sunday challenge using Mike Worrall's painting "Bridge of Folly" for inspiration.  Please visit the Toads site for a great walk through some of his work, it is inspiring.

Despair is a Bridge

If it was really a bridge, it would work both ways, to and fro
But this crossing was built from petulant souls and greedy whore mongers
In first light, the far side was bright with heavens light and slick with pastry frosting
As afternoon leaked dusks promises, the slim women came out to dance
With breasts like tea cups and cold concrete where lust intersected the tops of thighs
You would whirl and drink of animal craving, your release a devils oasis
When darkness steals the show, black hearts will play with your eyes, look at me

     “Excuse me kind lady, could you direct me to the bridge back to my sanity?”
     “My good man, whatever for?” She lifted her dress exposing a brass doorknocker between her legs.
     “Knock twice dear lad, its hard to hear when reality comes calling.”

One night, one life, crossing to the dim side
I would stay with the thought of only visiting for eternity but, visiting nonetheless
Sliding out now would be like calling the men in white coats
And playing games of chance with men like that is futile when there are no rules
Home is always the other side, I hope you, my love, started from the right.