The Tragic Ones- Christmas Day 2008

I see the profound sadness
Reflected in the eyes
On a daily basis
The nervous woman paces impatiently
And I wonder
Is she meeting someone or running away
The shopworn women with too many children in tow
Whose lives have spun out of control
Who live day to day with no future
Who will never be seen
By the wall st. types
Who line their pockets
With derivative profits
While the eggshell homes
The train passes
Crumble at their foundations
Till life is one intense blur of insecurity

The well educated titans of finance
Have learned well to feel no guilt
Their cousins, the cockroaches
Scatter at the first sign of light
But the Ivy League and evolution
Have taught this new breed to stand tall
Or sit up straight
Stare at the cameras
And blame those who weren’t watching
In the first place

Is it any wonder that the passengers
Sit staring with a tunnel vision
Any self respecting earthworm would be proud of
Even on Christmas day
They are insulated
In their infected cocoons
Where no change occurs
Except for slow decay

And I sit here and observe
Like time itself
Slowly passing into oblivion
A part of the sadness
I once flew above
Depending on others for a happiness
I know will never come
Till the day I embrace my loved ones
I fear that day as much as I crave it
As each day passes it grows
Both closer and further away
Because time forgives no one with a conscience
Any mistake
If tragedy is the stuff of life
Then I have had a rich experience
My spirit now resides in the collective consciousness
Of those whose eyes I feel for
But despise my pity.

The Sea in Autumn 10/08

The boardwalk is empty
The beach is closed
Yet the sea only knows
That it is colder
It takes a daily count
Of the souls it has swallowed
And I stand between the carousel
And the ticket booth
Alone
While the wind infiltrates
The holes in my flimsy jacket

I think of where I could be
At my age
Raking leaves
While a twelve year old golden retriever
Runs around messing up the piles
Mindlessly sipping Coors light in a recliner
Enjoying a state of utter complacency
Then the whistle of the wind
Brings me back
And I contemplate my solitude
While the termites in my soul
Gorge themselves
Then commit suicide
By jumping into the sea
Inside of me

Is loneliness self imposed?
Or is there a well orchestrated plan
To mold me into a more complete man?
The cold sea is the sandpaper
And my tears the lubricant
In a perpetual process of refinement

I cling to a fragile thread of hope
And know God intends
Something better for me than this
He helps me cope
He keeps me warm
Against the wind
Waiting for the unexpected
Soul renewing kiss

My Prayer 11/05

Oh dear God
Once I burned inside
But this feeling wasn’t pride
Or even lust
It was worthlessness
From a life unfulfilled
Of dreams dashed
On the brink of paradise
Of blood spilled
Of scars and wounds
That fester without waver
The weight of uncertainty
The falling out of favor
The wretched result
Of the pursuit
Of immediate gratification
That haunts my generation

Even with that said
I do not pretend
To absolve myself by ubiquity
I do not contend
That I was unwilling
To partner with iniquity
I had free will
And I abused it until
There was nothing to be done
Nowhere I could run
So I decided in my head
That being in jail
Was better than being dead

You have comforted my grief
You have cured my disbelief
It is only now I know
That path that I should follow
My past sins
You ignored
Through your grace
I am restored
The only earthly way
That I could ever repay
The kindness you have shown
Is to confirm
How much I’ve grown
By lighting the path to truth
For confused misguided youth

So dear God
I thank you
For this chance
For this change
In circumstance
For whatever
I may attain
For whatever
Days remain

Watching A Wedding

Written on the occasion of my cousin Bill's wedding
to Jen
August, 22, 2009
Written during the ceremony


All I want for the world is peace
But how can a man like me
Make hatred cease?
I can see how we are torn apart
Through conflicts of God
And those of the heart
Those battles rage within my soul
I am not whole
I am incomplete
But yet I can never retreat
From the fight
I must do what is right
For myself, for all

I sit today in a church pew
And all I can do
Is hold back tears
This declaration of love
In front of people
And God above
Is pure
It is the one day
When you can be sure
That everything is right
The oncoming night
Is anticipated
The new couple’s love is celebrated
And that is good
That is how it should be
Worldwide
That is why these feelings inside me
Reflect the conflict all around
And the realization comes
That the only sound
I want to hear
Is the heartbeat of the one I love
Beside me everywhere

This is where peace begins
When two people love, everyone wins
Through hearts, through hands, through looks
Across miles and continents
This feeling is transmitted
If the world could be committed
To this constant propagation
We could end alienation
Hatred
War
What else is worth fighting for?
Tell me something more important
And I will give it all my dedication

A Little Down 8/15/09

The part of me that has died
Smolders like a sleeping dragon inside
I put forward the brave face
But my soul is torn
Like a running shirt
Caught on a thorn
The fluid it oozes is clear
Drained of all color by naked fear
The TV screen
Sends a searing image to my brain
Of a lonely child crying in pain
All I can do is wonder
If that child is mine
My brave face will tell you I’m fine
But that face is a lie
I always feel one step ahead of tears
I’ve had this feeling for so many years
That it becomes a constant mood
My sense of balance comes undone
My soul has bloody roots
So I cannot run
I can squirm but I still feel tied
My bonds tightened
By the tears I’ve cried.

The Man Upstairs 10/07

He is not a wizened old man
With a three meter beard
Sitting in the lotus position
In a constant state of peace and contemplation

He is all knowing
And all good
But equally frustrated
He paces back and forth
Trying to reconcile reason and faith
He has seen the bonds of love
Mutate into mutual disrespect
Sensuality transformed into selfish perversion

He sees diversity as a strength
But divisiveness as a weakness
And every time He dips into
His infinite pool of wisdom
Searching for a solution
He is nearly knocked of his feet
By undercurrents of indecision

He wears earplugs
To diminish the wails of anguish
That resonate off the gates of paradise
He does not wish to ignore
The pleas and supplications
From the products of His creation
But He must by necessity
Separate quality from quantity
In order to relieve the burden
Betrayed by the everlasting lines
On his sanctified face

He doesn’t consider mankind a mistake
But he sometimes questions
His course of passivity
He knows that we have now reached
The point where intervention
Would do more harm than good
He is sad because He knows
That for mankind to mature as a race
We must settle matters amongst ourselves
And He realizes the bloody price it will entail

Still, even while he surveys
This rock of unhappiness
A smile of satisfaction
Creases the ancient lines
As a father who knows
That his promise
Of eternal redemption
Will eventually be enough
To resolve the turbulence and disruption
He takes further quiet consolation
From his decision to leave
Immortality as an unattainable condition

Contrast 8/08

Joy is best expressed in a state of full frontal nudity
No concealment, no disguises
Just the baring of a momentarily unblemished soul
The little girl ecstatic at the sight of her grandmother
The little boy whose box contains the top item on his wish list
The tear rending moment
When a parent sees a child achieve a new level of maturity
Its fatal flaw is its lack of staying power
The moments are simple, few and fleet

Sadness is a stalker
In dark clothes with eyes hidden
A charlatan, playing games
With the fears of the desperate and depressed
An indiscriminate malaise
Eliminating previous traces of progress

Sadness can wash over you like a tidal wave
Establishing permanent residence like a stagnant pool
Rotting away any semblance of sobriety
I sometimes feel myself emitting sadness
Like radiation with a perpetual half life
I check my aura in the mirror
I’m shocked to find a glowing reddish-orange
Like the burning bush on Mt. Sinai

It becomes a nagging addiction
With false promises and increased tolerance
Eating away at all positive impulses
Till you feel your only purpose
Is an endless trek
Further away from your true self

Awake 12/07

This article was inspired by an article in The Sun magazine about a Zen Buddhist monk and his principles for living.


When I am fully awake
And the constraints of reality
Become more than I can take
My mind implodes
And as liquidity flows out
My ego erodes
I become one with all things
I enjoy the peace
This feeling brings
I can hear
The earth herself speak
I no longer seek
To know the mind of God
Because it is fully revealed
As the capsule of my destiny
Becomes unsealed
I soar with the eagle
I share his sight
I understand why the flower
Attracts the bee
Because they are both me
When the sun recedes
We are plunged into night
I feel the crush
Of the nocturnal hunter’s
Deadly bite
In my enlightened soul
I am satisfied with my role
To be a speck
Floating before the Creator’s eye
I am not afraid to die
Because I know I have
An inevitable date
What I hope to achieve
Before my dying day
Is the perpetuation
Of this peaceful state
And teach my children
To turn this glorious key
And share in the oneness
Of inverted beauty

Dad 10/08

Two very different poems tonight. One celebrating the reconciliation of alienation, the other celebrating universal harmony.




My father was a difficult man
A stern persona, the product
Of a childhood low on childishness
There were no lessons needed
In emotional repression
A house of ten children
Leaves little room for growth

When the temper erupted
The punishment was swift
The pain eternal
If he suddenly became sullen
The fault was ours
For lack of appreciation

Hard work was his therapy
Intimacy was his deficiency
Reproach was not part of his makeup
When I assailed him for damage
He screamed that I wasn’t his confessor

He took out loans
To pay for my schooling
So I could average
A thousand bong hits a semester
And further contemplate
My lack of direction

He went to his grave a sage
He always said
I would have a hard life
I wouldn’t be surprised
If he developed
Post-mortem schizophrenia
Tears of disappointment
Laughter at my failure

His eulogy was a cold consideration
And his grandchildren barely knew him
Because he ensconced himself
In a warm tomb
With an alien woman
And a selective memory
After he polished my mom off early

In spite of these terrible sentiments
I remember him warmly
He did his best
I grant him penance
For his emotional absence
I owe him my ironic reverence
He made me a moral man
He ignited the spark of curiosity
That has become the passion of my life

If he was here today
After the crying
He would gladly say
If you need my help
I will smooth the way

Caricature? 4/09

The senior senator
Stood from his oaken chair
Tamped down his remaining hair
And pointed an accusing finger
At the assembly
What’s all this hoopla lately about morality?
Why I remember back in the day
No one would dare ask me about my nanny
Whether I flew on corporate jets
Or why my campaign contributors
Paid my personal debts
No one would ever have bothered
To ask me whether I have fathered
An illegitimate son
By the bitch of a former slave
I would have taken these secrets
To my grave
But this newfangled media
And their squawking about accountability
They’ve got the nerve
To ask these questions of me
So I must withdraw
From this venerable floor
And when I leave
I’ll spit on the chamber door
I’m a rich American
And that’s all I ever
Wanted to achieve
I’m sick and tired
Of having to pretend
I care about the poor
Then I think I’ll go
Get myself a whore
And slap her around a little when I’m done
Hell, how’s a soulless bastard
Supposed to have any fun
Then I’ll ignore Larry King and MSNBC
And go talk to my buddy Bill O’Reilly
And we’ll sit in recliners and smoke fat cigars
And laugh about how we didn’t pay sales tax
On our new cars
Then I’ll retire to my sprawling estate
And remember what’s it like
To be infatuated with pure hate
So I’ll take my leave
And say goodbye
If I get the chance
I’ll bleed this institution dry

John Brown's Farm 9/07

Another eccentric day
A veritable festival of feelings
At John Brown's farm

The ranch hands don't direct
Their wolf whistles at human females
They save their crude comments and catcalls
For the beautiful, painted mare
Due to give birth
To the spring foal

The greatest fear of the blind rooster
Who crows at midday
Isn't the sound of the axe
Smashing into the chopping block
It's the inexplicable howling
Of the border collies
When the moon ascends the night sky

The cows pass the time
While passively attached to milking machines
Scoffing at the size of each other's udders
And making off hand remarks
About the repellent features
Of the short legged, stout, woolen creatures

The sheep return the favor
By sneering at the ugly behemoths
Who block their paths
As they determinedly make their way
To the shack with the bright knives
And the blackened windows

Meanwhile, back at the main house
The liberal opinion of the commentator on television
Is enough to make the senile grandfather
Pee on himself in front of the fireplace

While the proud proprietor sounds off
In opposition to the creation
Of the agricultural arm of the university
What will they think of next?
He shouts to nobody
A tractor repair school
For city slickers
Who have never ridden one?

Five minutes after he turns in
The field mice gather
On the kitchen counter
To feast on cheese and corn meal
And listen to heavy metal
On WSOU until an hour before dawn
At which time they scatter
Back into their comfortable abodes
And sleep the day away
Underneath their official flannel
Black Sabbath fan club blankets

The mentally unbalanced housecat
Is so confused by this chain of events
That he slinks his way into John Brown's bedroom
And curls up into a ball of furry anxiety
In his homemade kitty bed
Next to the heating vent
And fervently prays for rain