Time Wasted

This write is a lesson

intended for me

a reminder of sorts

of the way I should be

No target intended

it's not about you

unless that you find

this is something you do

My time being wasted

I return to spend more

with this one little wish

to even the score

To force you

into wasting your time

in a childish argument

by crossing the line

One with no last word

no truce to be found

repeating the same comments

till they're run into the ground

We move on to insulting

and give it our best

when the revenge of choice

should have been to give it a rest

I should be spending my time

going on with my life

than to fill every moment

riddled with strife

This not about you

it's all about me

not looking for payback

it's the way I should be

Poetry in the Outback

I've been told there is a canon

a set of rules you say

but in this year of 2015

so many have gone away

Forget about the meter

to hell with punctuation

for in this land of poetry

there is a brand new nation

There are those who don't want this to change

and for purity they do strive

please go on stick to canon

and keep your craft alive

But no two people are the same

we all have different tastes

and when a reader hates all one writes

it's his own time he wastes

Not everyone is out there

looking for that classic write

you see today it's like the outback

there are no rules, just right

No Better Gift

Home for Christmas

I don't remember the last time

he's been away so long

sure he's been home for visits

they've been great

but seldom around the holidays

he's so much more of a man

than 22 years ago

seems we have to get to know each other

I can't imagine a better gift

than to have my son home

Forward into the Vortex

Forward

yet without direction

empty of purpose

empty of life

the spirit has left

my heart aches for love

does anyone care

it doesn't show

but how can I know for sure

if I don't look back

there is this feeling

that their eyes follow

do they watch as I pass

are they looking at me

or beyond to a destination of their own

are we all on the same path

has everything I have known

we've known

become a pit filled with nothingness

a complete void

that swallows any who dare desire

I long for a companion

one to pull me back from this vortex

maybe then this trek might seem tolerable

maybe then this darkness will abate

maybe then I can once again live

There Is No Balance

They speak

never listen

their world

crumbling

understanding

nonexistant

their minds

closed

it must be

their way

without waver

They speak

never heard

their world

crumbling

their needs

ignored

their hearts

distressed

their way

no longer

represented

Presumption

Judgment enslaves

living for that approval of others

denying our individuality

we put our self on the shelf

going out of our way

to escape their frown

we live in stress rather than comfort

the means to the end of their desires

becomes burdensome

why trample over my own desires

am I not worthy

of a life of joy

to be happy

should not my filling come first

how can I lift the spirit of another

when my own spirit

has become buried

beneath the judgment I am a slave to

please be not presumptuous to judge

not all are intended to walk your path

we must all find our own way

That Christmas

There once was a Christmas at home

as kids we four spent it alone

see my mom broke her nose

as she tripped over her toes

and the truth of old Santa made known

The Song No Longer Rings True

The sky still blue and spacious

our fields grow golden grains

snow capped mountains

are still viewed in placid reflecting pools

fruits and nuts are upon our trees

but as for brotherhood between the seas

the good has become harder to find

our light has dimmed

They came seeking relief from religious oppression

only to convert and pervert what they found

their freedom meant

the abolishment of the ways of

the new world they had come to

with violence and death

taking more land

there was no self control

no liberty

no real law other than

might made right

for the new people did not honor their god

and were deserving of death

These were not heroes

they did not liberate the peoples of this new land

they showed no mercy

there was nothing noble or divine in their treatment

not of the peoples

nor of the lands that they found

They had a dream

of great alabaster cities

built them

but today

these are filled with empty dilapidated buildings

the homeless

and the violence that built them

tears run down the cheeks

of mothers and fathers losing their sons and daughters

tears are shed by the victims

of the religious extremism that was seeded in those early times

How can we continue to sing America The Beautiful?