Tag Archives: ponderous

I’m a radio clown

On the air and at sea–

A lecherous leper

Who’s grasping at teeth.

I’m an integrity salesman

Who’s clipping his wings,

And we’re all just beggars

Wanting shiny things.

We’d talk of religion

If it made any sense,

Sell our souls if we had them

For liquor and rent.

Know it’s not God that binds us,

Rather sorrow and shame

And a love which we strive for

To better our names.

So put it behind you.

I’ll try to forget,

And deceive the spirits

That spin in our heads.

We’ll quell the anger

Together as one

And bury the bodies

Killed in view of the sun.

No more talk of religion,

Or souls of lost men.

We’ll reason the world

With glass beakers and gin.

No ethereal emperor,

Just flesh and bone,

And the craziest world

That we know as our home.


The View

Life falls quickly before slowing to a stop. It turns and flies on wings of hope. It rises high and will drop just as low. It is a series of hopes and dreams, excitement and disappointment, broken aspirations, only to return once more to hope. It will be perfect in love, and nothing again in heart-break. Accomplishment is followed on at times, yet regretted at other times. Moments can mean the difference between all things–between a broken heart and a mended one, between a fallen star and a rising one. To cherish every moment is wisdom and is pertinent to using each wisely. After all, life can only be lived one moment at a time–one moment always leading to hope.

The River and the Stone

The rock is sharp and rugged.

The water? Not the same.

She sneaks up to the bouldered shore,

Leaving him wondering from whence she came.


She asks to pass through the way,

And he, a gentleman, yields.

A break in his constitution

As she flows through and to the fields.


He notices the touches

As she move past and over;

The smooth caress against his edge,

The new arrays of greens and clover.


But somehow in the wind,

The torrid ebb and motion,

He seems to be oblivious

To the constant, quiet erosion.


And so the time, it passes,

Wearing down what was rugged.

He welcomes all the constant current

The warm, the cool, and shaken shudders.


The moment, not forever,

The water soon begins to dry

Until the rock is left alone,

Now he’s still and smoothed on every side.


And sitting there inside

This bed she must have made,

He stares into the far distant sky

And wonders if it will return his gaze.


Perhaps that’s what it was

When the strangest hand did take

Him up into the crisp, cool night air,

And toss him skipping into the lake. 

Its Priv’lage is Perfection

I envy the moon.
As I sit upon the shore
I watch the tide roll in and out
As if trading convalescent nature,
A pendulum status quo.

I cherish low tide
And I walk along the sand,
Edified by life once hidden
By heavily salted opaque waters,
Blocking the light between us.

But the moon decides,
Moving the ocean at whim
To find fulfillment while lonely.
Crouching beneath the far too distant stars,
It smiles at us and rotates.

Its splendor is strength.
Its priv’lage is perfection
And oh how I wish I were he,
The man in the moon who moves the oceans
And changes the tide at will.


Picture a graveyard,

Vacant, cold, dark.

The grass is damp.

The trees creek.

A casket is open,

Empty, dirty.

The wood is new.

You step down.

You have fallen in,

Tripped, sat, laid down.

The lid will close.

The hinge creaks.

Picture a casket,

Closed, sinking, black.

Inside is lonely.

Inside is cool.

Your eyes are open,

Blink, blink, staring.

You feel quite calm.

You’re cozy.

Your mind is still,

Unbothered, peace.

No one hears you.

No one sees.

Now walk out.