GIVING IN AND GIVING UP 

I wish I was an optimist

I wish I could release my fist

I wish I wouldn’t always look down

I wish I would learn not to frown

I wish I wouldn’t stress

I wish I wasn’t a mess

I wish I got a break

I wish I was by day awake

I wish I could sleep at night

I wish I had that right

I wish I cared less about it all

I wish I wasn’t subject to the fall

I wish I wouldn’t in every subject fail

I wish I didn’t see it all so pale

I wish I found it far less hard

I wish I had that ace of spades card

I wish I wasn’t always caught in worry

I wish I wasn’t always caught in hurry

I wish I could see my fault

I wish I would have trials halt

I wish I had more to love

I wish I could release my dove

I wish I could just give up.

A CREEPING THOUGHT

The soreness of my throat

What difference do you have

From the barking in my heart?

The coughing of my mouth

What point do you make

From the sick in my soul?

The pain in my brain,

What line can I draw with

The ice in my mind?

A FAR OFF THOUGHT

As the train pulled away the man watched

For miles, and miles, and miles,
As his wife went into a withering image of white and of grey.

“I’m beginning to think,” said that man,

“That the greatest problem of humanity is

Distance--from family, from lovers, from God.”

For friends aren’t to be apart in holes,

But to be a part in a whole--puzzle formed from piece by piece,

Peace that Separate does not know,

No, not alone but welded and melded and held alone,

That part of the whole.

And “I’ve been told too, that two will come together,

Whether the weather of that week lends them the time,

Or the dime to make the flight on the wings of weak, fragile night,”

The man cried nigh on a thousand petals of overused trite. 

“Deep in the soul’s restart, won’t we always hold with

What we’ve been told, that the heart has it’s home

Of which reasons do not know?

And in dire haste, we lie in the these lies wondering,

Why our sole question from heaven and earth

Is met with a ladder of rungs, shaking our mirth?

“All my life I’ve heard: choose Him or choose her!

So I’ve gone with the latter and been lost as

A part of that hole.

“I’ve never been one to crunch the numbers,

Or count my steps and watch the compass rose,

As I drop with grave thoughts my life in a haze

Whilst her face fades into withering white and grey.”

Distraught we trot with this thought, that

‘What’s mine isn’t ivory and gold, not to stay nor to hold,’

When this definition is deaf in notion of the fact

That of great seas we’ll see that with clouds

We won’t part but we’ll hold, that

We are part of that whole.

SILVER LINING

The monster in my mouth, screams empty phrases out,

That my banal brain has heard, flocked amass by herds, 

Of the pop folklore, that we’ve read by chore!

“Life is of the great four always giving tours,

So even when yours, of cold ahead’s in store,

Know that all is well, not all’s as hot as hell!

Son, can’t you see, that valley’s suns still make green,

Just hold firm to the staff, or if none other you have,

To settle up the mountain, on top, son, lies a fountain.

You can climb it, the light ahead--you’ll find it!

Man, it’s all a journey, don’t go in hurry,

In exodus you’ll wander, of water you’ll ponder,

Because the desert’s dry, and His humor’s wry,

But, the sea’s ahead, so stop your steady dread!

We’ve all walked that street, sir, we’ve seen ends not meet,

And when we’re there, with each coin to spare,

We found our way out, out--mending walls with grout,

So that after all is through, you’ll chuckle saying ‘Who

Would have ever thought, wrought iron cannot rot!’

The train is coming fast, oh fast, but right white light,

Of summit height, children’ kite, ending fight,

No more spite, plight, fright, or fleeing flight--sir, it’s all to come.”

In books I’ve read, with heavy ink and lead,

That ‘Man’s not made for defeat”--well I not for deceit!

You see, my silver lining--‘Made in USA’ it’s crying--

Is for dark denying and public hiding. 

Alone it makes me wonder, “Will I come back from down under?

From wherever that I’ve been, ‘What, will these hands never be clean?’”

WORLDVIEW 

Do you understand this word, “complacent?”

It’s the anthem of apathetic aptitude, 

It’s the choice to take no chance,

It’s the ghost that gives me gravity,

It’s the life of love lost in loss.

I’M ALL YOURS

“I’m all yours,” was all I read.

No, it wasn’t what you meant, 

No, it’s not all that you said,

But it was still a ray of hope,

A butterfly in my stomach,

The bursting green shooting seed.

“I’m all yours,” rang loud in my head.

Maybe you wanted me to notice,

Maybe you wanted me to have read,

The might of your teasing test,

The bite of your chilling charm,

The beginning buds of rose.

“I’m all yours,” spoke more words than said.

Because it came in such levity,

Dipped in brevity and glazed so readily,

Of a promise as faint as 

A technicolored bow behind the sun, 

As the rose petal spreads its fragile wings.

“I’m all yours,” took me off my feet.

Yes, you knew what you wrote,

Yes, you knew what it’d do,

Dancing water pulling boats down slopes,

Dragon colored sheets and crafted ropes,

Two inch nails prickling flowered hopes.

“I’m all yours,” flashed lightning in my eyes.

Perhaps the echo of voices in a cave,

Perhaps the curl of lips and the flash of teeth,

That happen before our stories fall,

On more than one inked-up page, like

A blossomed rose cut from the stalk. 

“I’m all yours,” was dangerous talk,

Lest you saw the seed you sowed, 

Lest you want a weak and weary worry,

To water the thought and seek its fruit,

Until the gardener forgets to care,

And lets the roses, die by pair.

LAMENTATION

My God, how I’ve seen the pit,

How I live, this is it!

In the lion’s den I reside,

In the light of day I hide,

Because the love I find,

Is neither patient nor kind.

And if it is neither is winning,

Must I go back to Beginning? 

There I find it so much as true,

Of the shadow man dare ensue,

Just as I--the broken-hearted,

Lay empty as I started.

Where lies your hand in distress,

In my quizzical, broken mess?

Lord do you not see my raining eyes,

My asphyxiating self-despise,

They way I long for human touch,

But get only a dead branch crutch.

How can one in somber reconciliation,

Gather hope and fear in affiliation?

When Noah saw his dismal days,

You blessed with promising rays,

When Job his ruined estate,

You more lot to him create.

Yet for me as Abel, life is Cain,

Hacking and shooting my head pain!

It is the great pond that tears apart,

My vacant, now sorrowed heart,

Because the love I find,

Is neither patient nor kind.