Tuesday, March 21, 2017


I have been up and down 
sideways and roundabout 
in and out, lost and found
I’m barely hanging around
hardened like a boiled egg
I’ve been lead to descend 
into a silence only you can 
see me through... or………
…………….. silence my eyes.


The grotesque visions of a life's discarded reverie
Alienated from the cultural roots, wanting to be free
Holding on to the body, eyes wide open, yet can't see
The soul has taken to ether, but the mind won't let it be
Transient entity grudgingly holding on to genetic memory 
Psyche yearning to leave but the mind clinging stubbornly
A spirit longing for eternity yet unable to leave permanently 
Entity need shed density, lighten up and rise past periphery.


Acting like spoiled child
with a mocking muddle
Strict denial of ripening
to avoid the silly shame.
As years clumping past
in this agony of waiting
traces of fading bloom
found in eyes of gloom.
Sour is the pending truth
not a path can lead back
to worn garden of youth.


Fire burning 
Without flames 
Fumes barely 
Playing games
Ashes turning
Into dust 
Invisible dreams 
Under the crust
Birds are singing 
So we must 
Hear the whispers 
Of the past
Life’s changing 
changing fast
Faith has cast 
One last chance
In whom did we 
Trust just once
Before we rolled 
Over in trance.


When the past, the present and the future
walked into a casino, the scene was tense
they wanted to deny each other’s presence
however there wasn’t room left for pretense 
to no avail, truth was spread upon the table
they had to deal with the facts of the matter
the present figured the past thus went bust
what the future inherited was recycled dust.


Doodling has been one of my oldest habits 
for well over half a century I have scribbled
drawing on the sand, scratching the ground 
wood, paper, the steam on various surfaces.
my hands move without conscious direction 
unintentional, spontaneous fast finger draw.
We all doodle, a dot, line, a square or a circle 
while the mind is being occupied elsewhere
in between daydreaming and lucid dreaming 
as an automatic habit activated by tendencies
unconscious gestures and natural inclinations
like picking one’s nose or chewing fingernails. 
I consider scribbling to be a benevolent habit
highly therapeutic, a casual form of meditation
not to mention the numerous creative aspects
as faces within faces emerge from deep places.


I ask myself what is my intention
why do I bother to post another
reminder of man made disaster
will it gag the established order.
Truth is relative to the watcher
adept don’t listen to preacher
my intent is not to be teacher
simply a self abiding creature.
A weary passer by, sharing surmise
seeking surety, taking satisfaction thus
here now, gone tomorrow, not a surprise
can I change the World after my demise?.