Poem: Things

gathering dust
behind glass doors
sparkling trinkets
made from memories
I can’t let go

Poem: Terror Ala Wooden Spoon

she was fully conceived
when the world clearly defined
for rigid ill or static good
who cared for whom
these ones spoke
those ones listened

slow simmering tinpot dictator
the kitchen was her empire
she cooked to feed armies
of farm workers and children
now these ones fed on demand
and those ones to be silent

she ruled by arms reach
and persistent wooden spoons
maple and beech always in hand
waiting to deliver judgement
here more spice and salt
there less sass and talk

lightening quick and precise
domestic empress every watchful
nothing escaped her
ah mother I do miss your justice
for you an extra serving
and for you an extra kiss.

Poem: Happenstance and Circumstance

I took a chance
asked you to dance
rising music beating time
broken staccato of my heart
you smiled politely
pirouetted away
slow motion

I danced on my own
solo dancer in the throng
co-mingled rhapsody
hormonal body sweat
swaying and rising
disco flare

I walked home
cold moonlight sliding
black leather footfalls
clacking on cracked sidewalks
up creaking wooden stairs
to lay naked on satin
in the neon darkness

Poem: Sandman Stole My Sanity

tiny voices in my head
louder when I’m here in bed
keeping me full wide awake
remembering each mistake

please just make them go away
same old garbage every day
constantly just mocking me
please oh please just let it be

I shouldn’t have to explain
gnawing ache inside my brain
anguish growing by the hour
every bit of pride devoured

tiny voices driving me
one choice left that I can see
carbon powered piece of lead
self-injected to the head

oh what joy in full release
oblivion and relief
sitting rocking on this chair
smell of oil – do I dare?

cold feels good against my skull
nightmare waiting for the cull
sandman stole my sanity
see him laughing there with glee


not today you sick old fuck
go elsewhere to try your luck
I’m not ready yet to die
its cliche – I’ve got to try.

I’m a loser – you’re not wrong
I am also still quite strong

oh sweet bliss
the voices have gone to sleep
and so too must I slip off
and perchance to dream:
aye, there’s the rub,
for in that sleep
what dreams may come…