Horror Fuel

What keeps us going

What move us

If not positive

The negative motion

Mother of fear

We React

Instead of proact

The horror fuel pumps

The blood in our veins

But hope for light

Can do the same

Ain’t that the Truth

Kids and a grand daughter

In the greatest of way

We talk

We laugh

Ain’t that the truth

I reply

As we slide through the history

We make friends

In these moments

All through life

Refund the Reception

Refund the reception

On a rainy day

Let the money go back

To the ones to play

In moments we hold

Uncounted bars told

When the people leave the room

The reception

Will end soon

Small Master

Small master

Of few things

What more do you need

In spite of feelings

Growing up into a great


Letting up

Loosing face

Hold the buffet until the

Line is down

Small master

All around

Salisbury Steak

Certain meanings

Tucked in certain places

Certain feelings

Away in foolishness sameness

Salisbury steak on a Tuesday

Makes for a weird wire of digestion

As Wednesday approaches

Regret in tempting the only remnants

Of a Salisbury steak

Ruby Fields

Ruby fields

When the sun sets deep

In the western skies

Near the art of water

In summertime

Longing grains of wheat

Holding hands to the sky


In the evening moonlight

Turmeric Eyes

Yellow eyes

As the sun sets over the mountains

Before the pink of evening

And past the day

There is a place

Where the yellow burns

Bright in an evening way

Over the fields of Nebraska

And short of the western edge

There is a silken sound

Whisked away

In the evening air

In the eve of today