Build a fort, hunker down the battle
Lines are drawn around and off in Fredericksburg
The little boys lie down

Angels swirl around the fire, defending night
And dreams from darkness’ ire and then as dawn wakes up again,
the boys stand up

Two thousand strong they take the field
Armed with steel and strength of mind
To take a victory march

Afraid but yet committed to the banner as it flew
Moving south to face the unknown, dismal fate
To die for freedom soon

To die with so much zeal is not uncommon
Or unreal—what would it take to muster
That in boys or men or anyone?

For you, I would take the battlefield
And risk a wound or two, and if I die before I wake—
I love you, too.

Imagine tomorrow rising
Twice as bright as it did today
A million little sunbeams
Reaching out to light the way

A cheesy little poem sings
Happy progress begun today–
But cannot convince the masses
That goodness deserves to reign

And don’t get caught comparing
What rings “good” to you. The truth
remains eternal despite
opposing views.

But is that a fallacy? Has truth
changed from blue to gray?
What was right to him this morning
Simply turned upside down today?

No, truth’s mast stands forever upright
And weathers every storm
The ship may take on water
But not be lost  lest we conform.

I don’t have time to think on this
The hour passes fast
Four hundred horseman trot
Forward
And each one knows my past.
I jump aboard and slap the reign
To hurry on my way
When in my haste I fail to see
Her waiting there for me.

I am too busy; it’s just a fact
Priorities must change—my heart
Breaks every night for her, my
Beautiful cuddly Bre-
She patiently works the hours through
Awaiting time with me.

If I had a million dollars, I would stop all that I do
For just a few more moments with my
Little angel-You.

Then gallop on you nasty steed and take
My heartache, too
Another day has come and gone,
and night draws all its armor on,
as I sit typing endlessly to ease the guilty,
sobbing plea
of life distracted,
missing thee.

Creeping over her, warm maroon tints
Ooze absolute life down her neck
Shading her limbs as, sure enough, she falls
One hundred percent for the man she’ll
Never have.

And he, noble, even righteous to a tee
Falls, to—Like Adam, but without the fruit
or an Eve, curious but content to wander
a few more years until finally, progress
must be made and what could one bite
hurt anyway?

So he blushes, too. But yawns because
He does that when he’s nervous
And she looks away, afraid to catch his eye
Tormented yet forever silent
Because love must be controlled for
The sake of heaven.

“I’m not dead yet” he screams within
Arguing for the Fates to finally free him
And as she watches, he moves unaware; life
Forces his wicked head into her
Thinking, charging lunacy for
Ever dreaming.

Walk down the maze of halls
With laughing children round
And happy families need them when
The serpent comes to town.
So,
she turned him
down.

He climbed the hill in his Saturn
sedan
Not far from the Peach farm then
And felt the heavens part
A bit, and several eyes peered in–
The battlefield shone green today
As soldiers lay within
But Teddy tourist felt the
loss of the dying, gaping men
Long ago in lands unknown the warriors
fought for good
And unbeknownst to Ted that day
Their sacrifice still stood.

There probably isn’t anything I could
Say to make you get this—
The burden belongs to me because
I know that people listen—good
Or bad, they really don’t want to have to say
Anything themselves.
So I talk. And talk. And talk—trying
To figure out what it is they really
Want said—so that I say it, just the way
They want it said.

Rubbish. Tell me I’m so full of myself
I can stop worrying. It’s all a façade.
They’ll all do whatever they want anyway—
I have no power; nor, do I want it.
Except, of course, you do.
Surely you want that, too?
I would love for you to say, “I do.”
I had you figured differently–until
Yesterday…And then I knew…
You’re just as sick as I am, fool.

Power mongering—the great façade
Stopped by today at lunch
Three ugly witches from
Tawdry Town gathered for tea, and—
quite on cue flew down

Disguised as “volunteers” of late
But growing in ambition’s lap
They raised their glasses and hailed
The chief—then secretly, they laughed.
What they wanted was nothing more
than an audience with God—
Convinced that even He would grant
Whatever they’d applaud—

But as in every fairy tale,
Or altered Roman myth
Shameless lust for power
Always ends up costing this—
An ounce of shame, a pint of doubt
An acre of despair—
Ask anyone that’s fallen once
The good life can’t be found until
That Appetite’s been quenched.

Or the witches shrivel.

I can’t recall whether it was you or I who
crashed into us first. Perhaps
the swallow, darting nervously past your
dark hair made us think we had both
been the first…

But secretly, I know it was me.
As sure as I know you liked it when
I smiled at you–
Or when you were tired and I said
I understood because
there’s so much to do
and not to do.

Do you think anyone else knows?
I’d be amazed.

And don’t think you can hide behind
that goodness. Those puppydog eyes
and that eager nudge have convinced
even uninterested bystanders
to talk to you–

There was no hope for me
or Penny.

You two-timing son of a bitch.

Dream fantastical, superb, sublime
Climb a mountain for all mankind—
Build a rocket, travel light
No time now for wimpy fright!

Cross the desert on camel back
Swim the channel, set the tack
Find a cure for the next great plague–
Defy the laws of science

Wait…hold on just one minute there
no one expects so much; I dare–
The truth, each soul’s worth requires less
Then the constant drive to impress

A gentle word, a warm embrace
The smallest moment of loving grace
Will certainly suffice for now
As we go marching –listen how

The smallest gesture ripples out–

Impact the world from the inside out.

He waited long delays of time
pressing hard to stop the ache
sleeping rather than thinking
spinning rather than stillness.
Wander this way, will you
please. No chance or hope
he could go to her as every
code denied him.

Why suffer now the lack of will?
Whose judge will mark him sober?
Can one good life be lost for good–
Is the service finally over?

Do not cry; his life is spared
His dignity in order
And happiness crept in again
Despite succumbing in the end–
’twas worth the draw and quarter?

I don’t know what I’m doing–
I guess I never did–
“But there is no harm in trying,”
quipped the ego to the id.

Her vanity got in the way—she’d
Tried to stop the dying
And once the truth set in at last
There was no point in lying—

“I have no clue of what to do; it’s
pointless here in Waterloo
I have no doubt the drought will end
And calm heads will return again

“Don’t question what has come your
way; the universe has had its day
and life will move from day to day
without an expert….

Never force a rhyme.

He cried when Milburn
looked to die–
“Snake bit,” he hollered
with fist to sky.
“You cain’t kill a doktor–
It jus tain’t right.”
And Festus wept
Throughout the night.

Do old reruns confuse our simple minds
Harkening back to gentler times
“What in tarnation have you gone and dun?”
Killed a generation without a gun–
All it took was an episode or few–
Al Bundy or that Half a man and two.

Of course, it’s not that simple–or perhaps it really is
Laugh just once and down they come–
Goodness doomed
In the name of fun.

Where’s John Proctor when you need him?

She sent an email yesterday
Then thought again about it
And sent another in its stead
Requesting he throw the first away

As luck would have it
The second one slipped
Into spam limbo land
And the first was opened unaware
That she’d changed her mind
About meeting him there.

So off he went to gather the things
That lovers bring like flowers and rings
And she went on with her daily life
Glad she’d cancelled the pending flight

And he arrived at half past three
While she sat drinking herbal tea
And he got down on bended knee
To rehearse the line, “Marry me..”

Had she known that was his plan
She would have surely boarded
Yet unaware, she sat calmly there
Until, with quiet, silent stares
He gave up what he’d longed-for, courted.

Worst of all was that she knew.
Poor boy, he had not a single clue
That she still loved him anyway
Despite not being there that day.
Because the message had not gone through
And she’d sent another message, too
But spam and filters do not mix
And by the time the clock struck six
The boy had plotted something greatly

Read Romeo and Juliet lately?

I wanted to go to sleep tonight
But something caught my eye;

Was it the Laker game? No,

I think not.  Perhaps the homemade

apple pie.

It must have been that little

bug that flit around the light.

With all the world abuzz with plights

And a universe to scan

Those little noseeums found their way inside

my house ;

I turned my eyes on them.

So, life is life and on they fly

directly toward the flame–

then sizzle, crackle, burnt to dust

I wonder why they came.

I wonder if the greater God looks on us that way.

What impression have we made when

life gives us away?

Just struck me strange
that zebra rampage
through downtown streets
with hoodlum gangs.

“Don’t hit that hors…
striped, zoo suit
zebra running scared
with metro squads
in pursuit

Corner the beast
and tie him up,
cover his eyes,
hurry, round him up

And round he goes
and frets the rope
without knowing what
the captors hope:

Return the creature
to freedom plains–
Give him a chance
Release the reins

The zebra bolted toward
the door
And never looked back
nor wanted more.

Let me loose–the road calls

me, too.  A Wildebeest with

wonderlust can’t function in a zoo.

Tell me what you find so
ridiculous
Is it the cost of cigarettes?
Or the war?

Staying up until 2 a.m.
to see meteors burn up in the atmosphere
is ridiculous
to miss.

Oh, and what about the
freeway traffic? Pretty
downright ridiculous
driving on the 405.

Then there’s blogging
which is really just public
journaling, and English
teachers should be thrilled
because now it’s hip
to script. But I guess that’s
not that ridiculous–

So tell me, is it ridiculous
to post on Facebook
that you’re tired or bored
or you’re going to bed?
Or that you’d rather kiss

a Komodo Dragon than

spend a dinner party

with a know-it-all

‘crat-‘can?

I’d have to say

sure.

Absolutely.

Have you seen one of those things?

When I learn, I learn also that I know less—

Mountains rise only on ascent,
And the wake of every boat
Lifts minnows to floating white pelicans
Until none exist.

When I was 23, I thought I knew almost
Everything necessary. Geology, history,
Religion, a few foreign words, the lines
To The Portuguese Number 43—
Really. I thought that ample.

So today knocks me clean out of my
Dungarees.

First, I’ve forgotten the 31st President—
The Capitols of New Hampshire, Kentucky,
Indiana, Connecticut, North Dakota, and
Nebraska—
And how to solve the quadratic equation—
Did I really need to know that?

Secondly, no one writes in cursive any more—
Nor reads a dial clock—why
Would they, hey Dad?

Thirdly, at Disney’s California Adventure
One soars over the state seeing, hearing, and smelling
Oranges or redwoods. They need not really go there—why
Would they when they can fly?

And someone killed doctors who helped their people
And that’s what we know about war.

At this age, I understand less than I did when I was 23.
If I did not feel the world, I would be smarter.

Yes, that is it. Stop feeling and you’ll get in
To the college of your choice.

I went to turn the water off
And a wee frog went climbing up the hose—
It startled me, mostly because it was dark
I didn’t expect it

Nor did I expect that hole in the ground
Would look so spectacular,
The chipmunk would crawl right up
My leg,
A month without email would
Be so freeing—and no one even died—at least
Not anyone I knew.

I wondered many times,
How did we get this way?

The frog could have cared less
That I was camping in an RV—it probably
Thought I was a bear—it sat still until
I moved the lantern. I thought I heard it
Giggle as it reached forward with its tiny toes.

Then, I realized that the volcano’s
Millennial sense of time
Made my email frenzied life
Laughable.

So, I thanked the frog, enjoyed the stunning blue view, then
Squished her perfectly browned
Marshmallow between two graham crackers—

And tomorrow, I’ll send you an email,
relax.

“Are bathing suits ‘soapable’?”

Asked after swimming
while washing her hair.

“Do ducks eat rice?”

She asked as Dad pulled rice
stuffing from the roast
Duck’s you-know-where.

“Does that dog like me?”
She smiled as it slurped her chin.

“Is Dad as old as Jesus?”

Impossible to call that sin.

“Why does the train take so long to stop?”

A physics question, indeed.

“And who said grown ups know better?
—It certainly wasn’t
Woody, Buzz, Jessie or Little Bo-peep.

It wouldn’t do to think of you
Only today because you’re here
With big brown eyes and twinkling
Smile that lights the night sky even when there
Are no fireworks.

And Paul Revere rode with his other
Messenger buddies to let the neighbors
Know that a party was on the way
But poor old what’s his name
Got caught right there in Kings Chapel
And oops! Lady Liberty forgot he came.

And weekend warriors and party goers
Drink it up in the name of fun
And then wonder what they did that made life
Better—
And the founding fathers would wonder
If this was worth the trouble—
Until, of course, they saw the
Swimming pool and the kids
Holding sparklers
Thinking this was the best day of their lives—
And they didn’t even get a present—
Or so they think.

This land is your land…
God bless the white, red, and blue.

Whitman walked the battle lines
Nursed, amputated galore;
Dickinson lived her lonely life
Observing flowers, pondering Death’s
Peculiar driving habits;
Faulkner wrote disturbing tales
About roses, angry noises
Stop the lousy, bitter, vile verbiage
And do something with yourself.

Knowing means nothing
Unless you act on it
Because thinking only
Causes trouble
For stinkin’ hypocrites.

Ball yourself up
And dribble down the hill
To little Grandma’s house
And put that cannon
On the grill.

Tell yourself—you can possibly know
Better than that woman
Over there, or that man
Whose arm outstretched
Longs for that girl with the daisy
In her hair.

Be careful not to tell anyone
That you heard it here—
They all think that life is
Far more philosophical
Far less practical–
That deep means smart
That smart means right
That right means good
That good means entitled
That entitled means better
That better means perfect
That there is something more than
Perfect.

Buy them a dictionary.

Off they go to future lives
Without a single care
Not one small thought
That we will grieve their loss,
Our cost of working there.

Congratulation Graduate,
Don’t stumbled down the stair
Not because your shoes
Don’t fit –It’s sometimes
Rough out there.

We’ll think of you in fondest ways
And smile when your name appears
Your parents may feel about the same
But they’ll see you once again
For us the end creeps near.

So in your life, try Gatsby’s love,
Ma and Rosasharon’s, too.
And act like Hamlet should have done–
No matter what you do.
Remember, kid, O’Brien told the truth.

Young people, listen:

When you reach the canyon—
That gaping mouth of a billion year old
Worn away sedimentary rock
Hole,
You do not have to jump.

You see, people have
Hiked down one side and up again,
built bridges, invented hot air balloons,
helicopters, amazingly fast
and efficient means
to help
cross over.

Do not take it into your own hands.
That is unnecessary, unwarranted,
Unhealthy. No matter what you think,
Bravery plays no part here.

Hitch a ride with someone you trust.

That massive hole, by the way,
Can be avoided by turning around
Or walking parallel,
Or stopping for a picnic until
The donkey arrives.

And if you board a burro of dependable
Stubbornness
Think about how closely man resembles
Beast.

And once you cross, heading east, no doubt
Look back only once to see
That the giant cavern
On whose brink you perched
No longer exists–

Ride quietly into
Tomorrow.

Dogs bark to warn or greet
And people, too, with stinking feet
Power hungry
growling, too
They make you feel like worms.

Tiny men in warring gear
spit their words while
near your ear
And then they toddle off
the field
Little Fraquad’s with puny shields.

Gruff and growling
bearing teeth, toothless,
really, when powers meet.

Folks without power will find a way
To wield whatever you’ll let them say
Thank goodness for those who need not be
More than others, ego free.

The canine few are sad to see
Please, shut up. You’re bothering me.

Someone feed the dog.

We’re out of soul

And other things, too

When the most important thing

We carry

Is BBQ sauce, a TV remote,

Tickets to a Giants game.

On Memorial Day, who complains

Because the meat’s too done

Or the traffic slows

Or the store lacks his favorite

Such or so?

When what

Is lost is so much more

Than a troop or two

Or a thousand souls.

Families last when memories

Do,

So will soldiers live

Anew.

When people adopt

The attitude

Of humble kindness

And selfless gratitude,

Let’s honor truly, eh?

Palms, tar pits, freeway traffic,
walk of fame and cement stardom
harbors, harlots, and Highland stores
greet the children wanting more

Climb the mountain, search the hills
build a fortress of righteous quills
Guard the choices with thoughtful care
Call an angel with humble prayer

What is beauty in plasticville? Where Emerson’s,

“Things are in the saddle” still “riding mankind”

And hundred foot billboards,

Jimmy Choo shoes,

and shot glasses

determine worth.

Thank goodness for the light,

the blue sky on the breezy day,

the goodness of children

and you.

It shouldn’t happen–
tweaked emotion, sullen,
sinking, and completely
unrepentant.
Deliberate turn aways
from eyes that would know
the difference–the absolute
demeanor shift, the real

reason for the conversation.

The cat nuzzles neatly up

behind the legs leaving calico hair, and motorized vocals

lingering warmly-

Don’t worry, it’s all in check.

Tomorrow’s mask will hide it all again.

Have you seen it lately, that longing?

For crying out loud, this
is a poetry page
Which you normally wouldn’t be caught
alive or dead viewing
but the title got you
Ugh.
Sorry.
It’s the oldest trick on the web
But there won’t be a virus–
real or cyber,
and there won’t be
a request for money
or an interminably long
ad about how great poetry is
or how much poetry
can save your life
or help you lose weight
or help you find
the perfect partner

But it’s still a ruse to
draw you in…
and that is something
that bloggers do
so, be careful when you
see those words
because the next phrase
is
Gotcha.

It’s the brown on yellow
and crazy angled backs
that make the giraffe
stand out–despite his neck

And the beaver’s
dam and family life and big wide tail
make his teeth seem
quite trivial.

Porpoise’s silly squeals and
Arching jumps amid leaping
pods disguise her genius,
girly grin

Brown saucer eyes under  black

shaggy mane, torn pocket plaids

and beat up sneakers too often camouflage

his pure heart and inner dreams.

Turned the corner and found,
wrapped in red tape
lost in a sea of salty insanity,
my mind

Mass bureaucracy drains
civilized souls creating
bitter breeding grounds
or at least a headache.

How might the masses manage
all their souls but that a few
become tweaked once and again
singing good feelings with
fiery tongues or scalding stares
until finally memories drift far enough
that no one’s spirit eye makes out
the screeching resistance.

Leave me.
Alone.

(No, not you. I love you.)

Did you know that junk
is junk; I mean, really, dude, the junk
is junk. Toss it out
cram it in the dumpster
close your eyes and
trash it.
Junk, I say
Piled high
Toss it
Burn it
Laugh that you ever
Owned it

Do the same with
that thought.

If we all carried around
as much junk as you do–
We’d be seized by the
waste management
police
carted off to the looney bin
to become ridiculously
paranoid trying to figure out
which piece of funky junk
put us over the edge.

I’m telling you,
pitch it now

and don’t tell anyone you know
that Thoreau was right.

They’ll think you’re crazy
because one, they don’t know
what that means, or two,
you are.

Have you started? Hurl it,
chuck it, lob it with your best “Hail Mary”
quickly now before you start to
think too hard about it

Stop thinking! Stop it!
Grab the thought and pitch it
overhand.

And next time, leave your
wallet or your neediness
at home because
Dumpsters cost, too, or most have
padlocks to keep your junk
from touching their junk so
getting rid of your junk becomes way too
complicated, expensive, or rude.

And P.S. Don’t recycle your junk.
It’s just down right toxic

Everyday drives through fog or sun
To work or school or errand runs
Past neighbor’s dogs and Pacific blue
With him or her or the two of you

Don’t seem to mind the silly rhyme

Because rhythm alone can pass the time

And long, slow drives along Highway 9

Help distract the troubled, worried mind

from labored thoughts and growing fear

And nothing done in the name of grace

Will save mankind from its awful fate

But driving along the Redwood route

Might quiet the hype and media angst

And remind us of that peaceful place

Where love unfolds, expanding space

Giggling kids, and rhubarb pie, and

“She’ll be comin’ round the mountain”

til we die.

No one wants to be a type
And yet we all are.
Well, maybe he wants
Rock star fame or she, a physicist’s
Noble prize or a mother’s
Lovely life

But typed, no.

Unique though we be—
We simply fall into groups
Of folks with similarities.

But some do rise—

Take Steinbeck, for instance or
Gates and Jobs, or
Mother Teresa,
John Wayne,
Picabo Street

What types they created!

Oh, there’s no type for you?
Ha!

Imagine that.
The type without a name—
The “broke the mold” type
One of a million.

When JFK repeated Roosevelt—
Breathing life into Fear
He sparked generations
Into believing that one’s mettle
Might be worth more
Than medal

When Goldman Sacs eats the money
Like popcorn at a B movie matinee
And A list celebrities trash marriage
And family for personal, immediate
Pleasure, and leaders of countries,
Including and especially our own,
Hide truths that make us weaker,
who champions that now?

I know who.
The girl who says, no
Because she’s a girl with might
And the boy who says yes
Because right is right
And the teacher who cries
Foul just in time to save light
And the soldier who knows
When not to put up a fight

Because mettle, says Martha
Means knowing when is when
So thank you, Patrick and Thomas
And men who are men.

Tip-toeing ever so silently
Between the rooms,
Tom thought he’d not
Been Heard nor seen
But Jerry knew

Because Jerry was
A cool cat of a mouse
With incredible sense
Mostly about Tom
And his antics

He knew, for instance,
That hiding behind
Any skirt
Would never work
Because cats like Tom
Need to groom their fur
To feel important
And skirts were notorious
For rustling or being shortened
And if the hem lifted
Tom’s exposure and the high-top
Boots might catch Jerry’s eye
And dynamite might singe Tom’s
Poor, befuddled ego

So creeping stealthily between
Staging areas trying to capture Jerry
In homemade contraptions
Made from old umbrellas
Always made Tom look
Foolish even desperate
But Tom didn’t mind
Because Jerry taunted Tom
Unmercifully

And he’d get him this time.