Sunday, August 21, 2016

From the Pumpkin - my first attempt at surrealistic poetry

I stepped from the pumpkin,
found the sky to be littered.
There were bright shiny stars,
they surrounded the sun.
It was a moon shadow following me
as I walked above the clouds.

I watched the airplanes,
funny how they flew backwards.
I wondered which way the people were seated.
Do they realize that they are going
where they came from.

To ask would be so impolite
and an admission
of my weak understanding
of this new day.

Life is play!

Then I thought of
Little Big Man.
Oh how he could ride.

The people in the plane
smiled at me,
all at once.
It was as if on cue.

I checked my fly.

Wanting to return inside the pumpkin
I made an about face
and in its place
I saw a whale leap down
from the surface of the sea above me.
He beckoned for me to enter
and then promised,
I would find what I was searching for within.

There was a tree
with a small stream running beside it.
I sat with my back against it,
fell asleep
and dreamed of a world at peace.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

The Men in Black

Dressed in all black
with their masks and dark shades
SWAT's looking like ISIS
when making their raids

While officer friedly
that man we should trust
has followed SWATs lead
and hardened their crust

I hate that black costume
that militant look
and that crime's got so bad
that they've changed the play book

Yes I long for the days
when they were men in blue
with the job of protection
of both me and you

But those days are now gone
with little chance of return
what a shame, it's like war
while it's for peace that I yearn

Perfect Clarity

Perfect clarity, demanded!
A picture so detailed
that only one interpretation
can be presented.
Only one viewpoint seen.

The mind has no work to do.

The eyes and ears receive art
as if into a mossy pond.
A deadpool that has no ability
to process and apply its purpose
to a personal need.

The stagnant mind grows lazy.

Perfect clarity
is for instructions.
For men to grow,
for them to appreciate life,
they must be inspired to think.

Inspiration does not come from stagnation!


not tomorrow
is what we've been given
what we do with it will matter
as it's the only life we'll be livin'
I wish to enjoy each new day
my purpose at this point
I will live for


to kick against pricks
wounds the soul
reduces a man
to less than whole

he knows not his folley
when anger and rage
come to the surface
and take center stage

to argue and bicker
while emotions run wild
this loss of control
is the sign of a child

Where's That Better Tomorrow

The evening upon me
so tired
beat to a frazzle
the days toil has taken its toll

We've all been there
at times barely surviving
our minds unable to focus
it becomes time to retire
will there ever be a better tomorrow

Wednesday, July 27, 2016


His mind was closed,
he would not see.
The hours we spent arguing.
they never made a difference.
Finally I walked away.
I went to have a heart to heart with myself.
It was then that I found
that I was he
and he was me.