The hills

Way above the city

Where the dense fog lay

Is a town

Sleepy and slow

With shadows over the town

Trees and roads

Wind carelessly

Through hills and valleys

We rest upon these hills

And regain



How Friendships Change

Friend and moments

Time and history

What changes ahead and lies behind

Can be one great mystery

From meeting to realizing

From analyzing to growing

Friendships have a way of outlasting

While the mind keeps going

But at some point distance can be too great

Challenges and differences to obtuse

That is when some friends just have

To cut loose

But friendships change as do all living creatures

If history be true

This surely it will teach us

Fast Impact

Fast impact

With little for sustain

Sustenance or compounded frame

How can we be so quick

To change

Change judgement


Rearrange meanings and then

Come back to the same

What is it that can revolve

A door then disappear in moments

How can this happen overnight

Into the bright light

No one has it right

No one has it right


Waning Moments of the Night

In the waning moments of the night

As the eve relinquishes to a morning call

That is when we must give our all

Not when the path is clear and certain

Certainly when it is most uncertain

When the stage is not yet set

Sleeping behind a pulled curtain

My hope is to rise in those moments

Tested and true

Both of us together

Me and You


I cry cowardly over my leather shoes

The moan of hateful speech

Beacons a new wrath

The exotic clover has grown

Dried up and shriveled


For the next generation

A sensational generation

My hope and dream

So I do my part in planting hope and optimism

Even in this world of ever deep division

Our hopes and dreams

Bequeathed from our fathers and mothers

Have been squandered away

On cheap things





How to Win the Donald Trump Thanksgiving Argument: I Did and You Can Too!

“I just think he wears too much makeup…”

I responded soft and dejected. This to me was the Trojan Horse of all arguments. No one at the table expected this response from a college educated caucasian male age 30 with slightly graying hair. Immediately, it put me in an extremely shallow and “disdained” position as viewed by the others at the table. Exactly where I wanted to be. CHECK…

As the first responses quickly and fervently trickled in – “What!?” – “That is so shallow!” –  “You are mean!” and “How can you say that?CHECKMATE…

I think you know where I am headed. NOTE: for the rest of this conversation also refer to DONALD TRUMP = DON – this will add to the confusion at some point, guaranteed. I respond, “Don himself preaches that it is all about looks, right? I mean he himself has promoted this idea of looks first RIGHT!?” This perfectly misguided conversation is headed in the perfect direction. To which there are very few responses – this is after all the words and actions of the man himself which now they will be required to defend. The truth is this response is the ONLY response that your family members and friends have not prepared for this Thanksgiving. While they were spending all of their precious time preparing for the “intellectuals” so worked up over all of the REAL reasons that we oppose Don, just slip in with an argument that Don would actually make himself! This leads to what I call the “Feedback Loop” argument where the discussion must directly move in a circular manner back to the initial statement of disdain – in a direction which is very perfectly fitting and apropos. All you have to do is keep returning to this initial argument ad nauseam – without skipping a beat – until the entire table is vomiting their Thanksgiving Turkey and dressing from confusion and disorientation. “Don… Makeup… He said… Don… Makeup… He said… Don… Makeup… He said…” Drive it home and see the amazing results for yourself! Fun!

This idea that such shallow arguments, which Don himself made a cornerstone of his rise, have no such place at a table where we are trying to have a real discussion. Viola! Take the argument from here folks, you can thank me later!

Fuck it! 



What a Rush

It’s that determined feeling

The sweet ambition

The fantastic touch

The plausible idea

Warm to talk to

Improving the rush

To the fingers



The rush of the moment

The Rally Cry of the Tired

The rally cry of the tired

A worthy cause flamed out with vigor

Passing floating rolling

I have tried

To do good

Good to be undone

So much has to rely on a rally cry

When your tired

And lonely

Not alone

You feel sad

Disconnected from the world

How did it work out not the way it was

All planned

A plane in flight unmanned

The plane now is in the final descent

It will land



But through all of this



Have grown

Grown up

So here we come

Carnival of Waste

Nothing disappointed me in music this year more than the claim or title that somehow Kayne West was the new Dylan. I needed to vent on this one.

It’s all about the hoes and the clothes

Songs about what others drove

Sipping crystal and shitting gold

That is what the new preacher told

My generation defined by such vanity

This new rhyme and rhythm

Isn’t what it used to be

Everyone singing about the “me”

How to satisfy oneself

Whether it be blatant

Or stealth

If Kayne is the new Dylan

Rolling up in a Bentley of Crimson

I will disown my own soul

If this is the price that must be tolled

For such vanity and glutton cannot be forgiven

Every single talent that is given

Should be taken away

Rather than wasted

Dylan sang for a generation

Calling awareness and action

Now all I hear is bullshit

Shooting gun

Pleasure the only “one”

To the ultimate satisfaction

I have no time for this carnival of waste

This recycled culture

Of copy and paste

I have no allegiance to this self-serving leader

Kayne no Jesus

And me no Peter

He defines no time

He is prolific poet

Not a single humble feature


It is to waste with such vigor

With chains of gold

Top down in the middle of winter

My frustration with my own generation

Giving golden crowns to those

With self views of inflation

I will not adhere to any of your calls

Forget your pitiful attempts to write your name

On history’s walls

I am not your follower and others say too

What you say does not reflect

In the things you do

No wishes for a brighter future

All the brightness taken

With your own scalpel and suture

So I willfully deny you of this title

Makes me sick if I just stayed idle

Kayne is no Dylan

That I know today

I will not change anything with words

But I said

What I needed to say

Constricted Constrained and Confused

Constricted constrained and confused

The moment lies in being used

Or to entertain

I am now bemused

To join these two thought

To create a soothing fluid

Of constant reminders

Of what happened in the past

In the moments viewed

Through the glass

Making my eyes see the world

Around me

That is the confining thought

I cannot see without them

In the summers brought

New ideas and constraints

The glasses around me

My new mind contains