Poems

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels The pain of death is excruciating, encircling, dam-bursting, maniacalCry Havoc! and let slip the dogs of vengeanceUpon deathNo pain at allBut what pieces fall to the living. I weepNot for youBut for myself, without you.For a life that walks no longer into the light.Walks to the top of nothing. A life more empty […]

Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels “You look like a million bucksIn a wicker basketAll green and wrinkled.” I knew a man onceA writer of his own ilkAn unknown ilkWho stopped talking to me long agoWishing to be 50. “I can’t possibly be what I’ve been and be 50.It would be as though donkey’s years were awashIn warm

Photo by sergio souza from Pexels K T told me: “If you hear a bell ringing to tell you something is missingMove out to seek for what you feel right”Ko Takamine, Cosmopolitan Ask not for whom the bell rings.It’s for you.Your opportunity.Answer it. Can you find yourself in the city above?Or me? “It is easier to perceive error

Photo by John Nail from Pexels Truth is a friendYou can show a rock you found.Or a tooth.Or the meaning of life in the morning lightYou’re amazed by. People seek confirmation.Because truth is like a strange stoneFrom the groundThat tells a storyTo only strange stone readers. Your most valuable friend is not power. Or money.Or success and status.Or

Photo by Brett Sayles via Pexels I’m a metaphor, not a street person.Metaphors are best found, rather than written.Like me.When you’re a metaphorOr a street person, I suppose,You come and go when you feel like it.Like rain.Like the unchanneled tenderness of rain.Sometimes I go days not getting wet.Then, sometimes, three days in a row. Street