A Person from Porlock

September 30, 2011

A man from Porlock
Came to talk
His dribble drabble
Seemed to mock
In all he said there was no shock
From the end
Back to his knock.
My poppy stalk
Smoke filled dream
I can’t unlock
This unholy rock.
The man he came
Off the dock
Ending my sleep with a knock
Causing the worst
Writer’s block!


September 29, 2011

So many threads
Creating reason;
Creating rhyme.
So many running
In parallel
Creating heaven;
Creating hell.
So many minds
Thinking away
Creating white;
Creating grey.
So many worlds
Creating coherence;
Creating respect.
So many problems
Can arise
Creating anger;
Creating demise.

Going Nowhere

September 28, 2011

When you find
The stairs that lead
To the eternal kingdom
Abruptly end
At the water side.
When you realize
That the path
You took
Throughout your life
Lead you here.
When you see
That the great, holy steps
Are just concrete
Eroding away
At the water’s edge.
Maybe you will see
That life on Earth
Should have been used
More productively
‘Cause these stairs
Are going nowhere.


September 27, 2011

Buzzing around
From air to ground
Treacherous bugs
Smashed into rugs
Stupid flies
Letting out cries
Right before
They fall to the floor
Swatted to death
Not a single breath
As the wings stop
Their bodies drop
And I can sleep
Without counting sheep.

Losing Touch

September 26, 2011

Weeks go by without a word
Not hearing from you
It is absurd.
Silence is here
And now the air is empty
It has all become so clear.
Like a still winter’s night
The light shines through
Uninterrupted path
From me to you
Why won’t you follow
The line is straight
I just want to lead
You from your hate
Pain and agony come
As you turn your back
Foot after foot
You set yourself off track
Moving away
From this clear cut path
Losing focus on what we had
Moving further
Re-framing the bad.
I wish it were different
I wish it wasn’t true
But in the end
We just have a different view
Nothing can change
What you’ve set in stone
Those heartless footsteps
Chill to the bone.

Trapped below

September 25, 2011

They preach to us
To reach for the stars
But up above
There are gold bars
Put in place
To hold us all back
Only the rich
Can stay on track
They yell at us
To work as hard as we can
But really this is
Their master plan
Force us to work
So they get paid
Seems to me
The blue collar is getting played
Completely set up
By those with the means.

A Saturday Night

September 24, 2011

The small bicycle
Crashing smashing thinking hard
Foriegners walk by