Broken Record

Each morning I wake up;

I wake up and die anew.

Each night I lie awake,

Awake thinking of you.

Each day I try too hard,

Too hard to forget

What cannot be forgotten 

When thinking is done yet.

Each breath I breathe, I ponder;

I ponder what went wrong.

Wrongly I consider

Our sad, our sad, sad song.

The record's broke you see;

See how it skips for you!

My heart, my heart, a radio,

Is stuck, is stuck like glue. 

You never learned the melody,

Our melody, our sin.

So now I'll sing it back to you

Again, again, again!

As Man, As Ship, As Dust (January 31)

Chilled by windy silence,

Dark paths are paved with thought,

Creeping ambiguity

Of what perception’s not. 

Wide spaces cultivate

The spawning mind’s crusade

Of precious, pre-thought notions,

Pre-shrunk and tailor-made.

Such centrifuge of self

Will surely spell regret,

For what in introspection 

Have seekers to forget?

From ash again to ash,

Why test the cycle’s proof?

Dirty are the hearts of those

Who hold their wits aloof.

Breath by breath, icy truth

Pervades the humble soul;
Step by step the road reveals

The hole within the whole. 

Without my grainy spec

This shore would still remain,

Churning, as it has and will,

With others’ loss and gain. 

I, a passing fancy

Upon this present sea,

Will seek what was sought before:

To live, to love, to be.

My Prayer For Us

Silhouetted by the sky,

She stands behind the gate,

Peering down a wider way

She knows is not her fate.

A hollow wind of promises

Whispers in her ears

Spinning tales of might-have-beens

That cry with bitter tears.

Her empty hands beside her,

She stands content,  though scared,

Praying for a traveller,

Whose life she briefly shared. 

For though those fingers tremble,

And though those cheeks are wet,

She knows that she has made friend

She never will forget.

Though guilt runs deep in footsteps left

And, sadly, scars remain,

She sees behind a path well-learned

Ahead, a greater gain.

With loving strength she reaches out,

To bid farewell, at last.

And with that final falling glance

She shuts that gate called "past."

Turning, still with swollen eyes,

She looks up to the day,

But finds instead of tear-streaked skies

A bright and shining Way.

Though her road is narrow,

And her friend, she follows not,

Neither one is lonely,

Neither one, forgot.

Within each palm, though bare before

A larger hand is found;

Beside that set of pretty feet,

Two big ones tread the ground.

"Lead me, God," she whispers now,

"Your will, I seek to find."

"Lead me, God," another voice

Echoes from behind.

Poet In Me Speaks

My muse, amused, spins wildly 

With unbound hair astray 

Across the meadows of my mind 

Leading me away. 

Unruly, this sweet thought is caught 

Between logic, love, and ryhme, 

Between a rythm and a step 

To which I can't keep time. 

She beckons coyly from the green 

To traipse though turf untrod 

To be the Lewis and the Clark 

Upon my own mind's sod. 

A paradox of melodies, 

Her song's a maze of mystery 

That leads me to conclusions 

That began our mortal history. 

This wild Eve of wisdom 

It dawns on me is doomed 

By spaded suits of players cursed 

Who have our notes assumed. 

Little do they know the game 

Is far from table-laid 

As yet the joker's prancing 'round 

And still has to be played. 

But then again, the King is, too, 

Both ominous, poised, and free 

To avenge his shuffled, scattered deck 

Of thoughtless tyranny. 

Our Jericho of jealous faults, 

This fragile paper wall 

Will be the Berlin of our death 

As heart by club we fall. 

Just as briefly as she came, 

Just as swiftly does she leave, 

Echoing unmarked questions now 

Whose answers I must grieve. 

This muse is fickle, just as I, 

Though enchanting when she comes 

And waltzes, tangos, sways, and swings 

To my palpitating drums. 

For in her frenzied fantasies 

I seem to often find 

A diamond in the rubble 

Of my blithely simple mind. 

When that occurs, that instant gem, 

When my muse that knowledge seeks, 

I find that is the moment best 

When the poet in me speaks.

Little Silver Cup

Page by page the letters fall,

Are crumpled, smashed, and thrown,

Unto this shrine, the altar call, 

This platinum-plated throne.

Smoking musky words abroad,

Into the evening air,

These embers flay the fuming fraud

Whose hope was cause to err.

Consumed by fire, words ignite

The sacrifice is happ'ly made

As tear stained pages fill the night,

Rending hearts, a broken maid.

The price of follies, paid at last,

Each glowing coal grows dim

As page by page, the coins are cast

Into a grave for him.

Together, Alone

Love, it kisses sweetly,

And fingers blend too well.

Hearts melt, as waxing moons

Will ever wane to swell.

Entwining souls compound

Like vinegar and oil.

Seasons change, as earth's spice

Love' s constant churning soil.

The universe is hung,

Our pedulum is turned

Not by dim predictions,

But what our hearts have learned:

Each passion draws the point

Like lines on grainy sand,

Which waves, by moon, erase,

Our mother's wiser hand.

Connect the dots, you see,

They all, the stars, have shone.

Without constellation

Each must burn alone.

This flimsy figament,

The lonely human heart,

Creates the paradox

Of unity apart.

Alone we all are born,

Alone we all must die,

But in love we are together,

Together, you and I.

A Book Abandoned

The difference lies in days unmarked,

In rhythm, not in rhyme

The pages turn, are counted well,

But plot reads not the time.

For each bold text is marked unique

Oblivi'us to the book,

As times collide, both word and soul,

Both dreams and law are shook.

Some place between reality

And heaven's aura'd glow

There lies a shore where day's adrift,

Laden with mem'ries, go.

Upon this bank, a share of hope,

No clock will e'er embark,

Nor solemn, binded, scripted scrap

With hist'ries much too stark.

The difference lies between the lines

Beside the book laid by,

When, paused, the world forgets its script,

And heaven heaves a sigh.

Tango Sweet

I stand bare before your gaze,

A scrutiny of laws,

And laugh at your deception

And my naively cherished flaws.

We both played well, the universe,

A game of tricks and treats,

But now you've won, I've stripped the tease

And count my sore defeats.

Each bruise is sweeter, bluer still,

Though stashed from every eye-

Except the one who sees the heart

That always falls to cry.

For in those stabs you revel.

In those scars I dream

Of what we could have made of life

Had life not been our theme.

And yet you chant the motto

Of this sickly human song,

And I, the broken baby,

Pretend to play along.

You laugh at my desires,

And, laughing, I let go,

Wishing in this conformation

Some truth will dare to show.

But nakedness is cruel, not sweet,

And honesty blushes yet

As time and again you hit me

I learn to not forget.

Sweet world, cruel earth, I've learned too well

That goodness holds no glory

Theft and deception rule our lust. 

You mold me to that story.

The one you taught so long ago,

To Eve, a selfish maid,

And I, her daughter, also fight

The price that she had paid.

Bare and broken, shining token,

Dulled by time's offenses,

I smile coyly through the mask

And pull up my defenses.

You won this round, you got your thrill

And, yes, I played along,

But trust me this, the tables turn,

And by me you did wrong.

Mocking, you caress me,

As my gleaming eyes appraise

Your subtleties and weaknesses 

From beneath that blinded gaze.

It takes two, you always said,

And I took those words to heart,

Along with other strategies

That helped me play the part.

As the music strikes again,

I dance the patterned score,

Waiting for the turning point,

My battle cry, "No more!"