Broken World

Throwing Stones 

I never really told ya how I felt
And still I don’t know why
It hurts to know you’re out there sleeping
under these same sad Denver skies

Though it’s only a dream, I held you in
walking in a world ya never knew
And thats why its so cold to wake up alone
within a dream, lost inside of you

Should of done that
Should of said this
keeping the truth a secret
stones I can’t throw, or forget, 

and now I know 
it only hurts forever

I never gave you my words 
or sang you, your song 
instead I let them burn 
like ash from a fire that’s gone 

now its so quite in this room of blue
blinds drawn to the things we lose 
that died a long time ago
within a dream, lost inside of you

Should of done that
Should of said this
keeping the truth a secret
stones I can’t throw, or forget

and now I know 
it only hurts forever

Love Dump

Soundtrack Coyotes by Jason Muraz

I always wanted to be in love.  But maybe I am one of those who can’t be loved.  I try to hard to be funny, to be passionate—-to be lovable.  But maybe I always choose the wrong person to love or maybe they picked me by mistake.  Everyone needs love, to feel special to another in a world that leaves us all too often feeling ordinary and small.  I think I’ve spent to much time alone, I scare myself with all these crazy love thoughts.  Maybe I’m crazy and that’s why love alludes me—-I scare sane people off?

Maybe I expect too much of love. Maybe all that crap in poems, songs and stories is just fantasy.  I need someone to share my fantasies.  Maybe love is pretending, as in pretending to be what another wants and desires? I guess that’s fair enough.  Okay then–how about a yard love sale.  A half off on all the miscellaneous dreams, wishes,  promises and prayers that nobody else wants anymore——or even cares to barter for.  

Okay then, I’ll share half my fantasies with you if you share half of yours with me.   And all the undesirable junk no one wants we can take to the love dump and set it afire watch it burn to ash.  

The Last Second Chance

So be brave 
Everyone is going thru something
No one really cares or understands why
We all have our own living hell
Everyone is barely hanging on
Tired, lonely and the depressed
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goes

So be strong
Everyone is going thru something
The ragged homeless guy panhandling for pocket change
The trembling drug addict, dope sick
The innocence locked-up inside us all
The suicidal beauty queen 
That’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goes


So be alive
Everyone is going through something
There’s howling wolves at the door
There’s night terrors in our dreams
There’s horrors in the waking hours
It’s all red lights and sirens 
The noose dangles then tightens
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goes


So be happy
Everyone is going through something
Regardless of it all
Stare the devil down
Throw rocks at the squawking ravens
Toss your shoes over the power-lines
Watch your bridges burn as they light your way 
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goes

So be bold
Everyone is going through something
Your deliverance is paid for with your intentions
There’s a sacredness discovered in your last second chance
Nobility awaits the headstrong
You either give up, or get up again
There’s everlasting glory for those who refuse to give in
We find out what were made of in the 15th round
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goes




















Soul Purpose

The only people for me are the ones walking in circles, silently struggling while getting nowhere. The ones who are not self assured, or at peace with themselves. These are the ones who are estranged from their soul purpose. It’s only through suffering that we find out what we’re made of. I wish it wasn’t true, but it takes troubled times to grasp the meaning behind this place in which I now have chosen to call home. I am the product of the choices I’ve intentionally or unintentionally made. Time silently rolls by, inherently taking no passengers.

I feel at home with the lost ones who are misunderstood, the ones fired from jobs, behind on their rent, fighting addictions, crippled by heartaches, tripping over broken dreams, the ones holding on by their last shreds of hope. These are the ones who’ve made bad decisions, foolish choices, and considered by most to be a lost causes. Sitting on a broken-down couch, empty bottles, empty dreams, full ashtrays, the sound of cars rolling by my sun streaked window. 

And there’s nothing as unsettling as knowing you are a lost cause. Make no mistake, we must all fight for whatever we want to get out of this life. Who’s to say who’s the winner.  When in the end I’m only shadow boxing. 

“Never cut what you can untie.” Robert Frost.  

Old Summers

Sound track by Down Like Silver, First Light

Its dangerous to want someone as much as I want you

I turned my back on the sun and let thoughts of you eclipse my fear

Waning moon now my only nighttime confidant 

I don’t sleep well any more, is it because of age or is it the ghosts of my past coming to haunt me, reminding me of people and things I no longer want to know

Weighing a lifetime of rights and wrongs, victories? defeats? regrets?

Who’s to to say, who wins, or who loses

Cause we’re all the same in the end

My heart feels the nooes tightening 

Cobwebs await unsuspecting flies

A beach bonfire, a primal smoke infiltrates our clothes 

Drink no longer soothes me, In fact, it makes mornings hurt worse

Worried, restless

Always lonesome for something, but for what or whom I no longer know

Where do old summers go to die?

The idea of time scars me

Maybe we’re all scared, some of us are just better at concealing it

For the crazy ones

There are many brands of mental illness.You’ve got your garden variety schizophrenia, Bi-polar, chronically depressed, OCD, PTSD, ADHD (not to be confused with LGBT). There’s Anxiety disorders, Mood disorders, Personality disorders, Alcoholism, Drug addiction, Paranoia, Narcism and insomnia. 

If you string all those psychobabble labels together and allow them to infest a soul, you’ll find the makings of a poet. Poets possess a menagerie of mental health disorders. They come with many of the same symptoms defined in The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, often known as the “DSM,” To be a poet is to be demented, a lune, batshit crazy, fool-hearted, delusional, insane and a vessel of junkyard beauty. 

Poets hear voices, see visions, are paranoid of the demons and devils that chatter incessantly inside their echoey heads. Some are being channeled by Jesus or Lucifer. Some claim to have been abducted by UFO’s who’ve inserted micro chips under their skin. There’s the ones with tin foil caps covering their skulls to blockout the micro waves that control their thoughts. They possess super powers, they are the cursed, the blessed and the god forsaken chosen ones. 

As far fetched as this may sound, these poets believe they can inhabit your brain and silently transmit disembodied emotions into your flesh. They scribble little black markings, or what we call letters on paper, arranging them into words and sentences. If these markings are assembled with perfection, they have the power to unlock revelations hidden within the readers gray matter. These words; these poems exist only in the readers imagination. They can’t be seen or touched, they mysteriously seep from the subconscious to the conscious mind. The author may be dead, but their words carry on in the readers head, like the breath of gods, omniscient, immortal——omnipotent. 

How crazy is that?

This is more than an observation I’m sharing with you, it’s a warning. If you choose to go down that path of becoming a poet, then you’ll need to go all the way. You’ll have to fearlessly peer into the heart of the darkness. You’ll have to force yourself to see and feel the things that most avoid. And there you’ll find death threats, condemned love, contaminated truth, the meaninglessness of life, a fools complacency, naked truth and simmering nihilism. 

If you can get past the fear and madness, if you are willing to endure the song of the sirens, you will find your own voice. There will be peace and wholeness. In the sadness there is beauty, behind crumbling walls of the fortress there’s freedom. In this secret place, time means nothing, reality is malleable, love is forever sustained and a poet is ordained.   

For The Lonely

When it rains in the forest

I imagine you beside me

As Nightfall is coming down

In the dark gloom of December

A damp fog reclaims a wounded sky

I wonder what becomes of the likes of  you and me

Look how these years have blown thru us

Maybe we aren’t so young anymore 

I have a place I like to go

A bench overlooking an Andrew Wyeth meadow

All I want to say before it’s too late

I lose myself when I find myself in you

Branches sway, shadows dance

Winter is made for the lonely

It’s hard to wait on something new

To lose another day lost

Stranded behind our silent walls 

Reprieves And Lost Causes

Let’s get this straight, people who seek simple answers are stupid. The ones who say, “Just repeat this mantra, just take this pill, go to this church, become a vegan, do yoga, read this book, join this party, attend this meeting, be affiliated, be indoctrinated, surrender yourself to a cult, follow this preacher, prophet, shaman, sacrifice your individualism, follow these steps, support this program and on and on into perpetuation. If anyone offers you simple solutions to the myriad of life challenges, immediately run in the opposite direction. Nobody’s gonna save you———except you!

Get this through your complacent brainwashed mind, “Life ain’t simple and surely not easy”. It’s filled with tough decisions, difficult questions and complex choices. Furthermore, life is unfair. Innocent children unexplainably die while evil murders on death-row live out long heathy lives——it’s infuriating! These dreadful thoughts keep me up at night. What kind of god creates a universe that approves such horror, inequality——such depravity. 

There was a time many years ago when there were only three TV networks to choose from (ABC, NBC and CBS). There were two types of bread, white or wheat. You were either a Chevy person or a Ford person. You were a Beatle fan or a Beach Boy’s fan. You either watch CNN or Fox News. There was a time when we only required one hour of nightly news to cover the local and national fresh batch of calamities. 

Nothing is simple anymore. Is “more” always better? Maybe the Amish have it right with their horse-drawn buggies, silly bonnets and goofy black hats? Maybe enlightenment is more achievable for the Zen Monk living alone in a cave in the Himalayas, no distractions, no facebook, no TikTok, no porn. Is ignorance bliss? Was Socrates right when he said “unexamined life is not worth living”. Are the stupid people happier than the seekers? It’s so much easier to be stupid and happy rather than struggling to find yourself, to be “woke” (whatever that means?) 

Now a days, we want to see, hear and know everything. We watch with glee as our heroes fall from grace. Does the tragedies of others make us feel better about our lackluster lives? Life is no longer lived, it’s processed, deep fried, homogenized, propagandized.  We watch life through a porthole, secretly peering into others Social Network realities. We seek out others in an echo chamber that supports our beliefs. We’re overloaded with conspiracies, truthiness and artificial intelligence (oxymoron). There are now computer apps that can be programed to write college thesis papers, compose music and create original paintings. I don’t know what original means anymore. Is there an algorithm for originality? For beauty? For reality? For Love? 

What’s real, what’s illusion. What’s true and what’s bullshit? It’s all up to you because the future is up for grabs. There’s no longer a truth filter or bullshit detector. We live in a world of contradictions and complications. I don’t know about you, but I’m pissed off. Why you might ask? 

The rich pay no taxes while the rest of us fight over table scraps. Politicians sit on their asses and do nothing while our children are slaughtered in another mass shooting. We have resources to better feed and house the homeless but yet there are more starving people living on the streets than ever before. We have better medications available to save lives but pharmaceutical companies charge more than what the sick can afford. We have science that has revealed the imminent dangers of global warming, yet our governments and industries fail to implement changes that will reduce the greenhouse effect. 

This one life given, should be better lived.

Sometimes it’s a curve ball

A dear John letter

A tire with a slow leak

A misfire

Ruble and ashes

Simplicity lost

Regretful goodbyes

Cold left overs

Prayers and futility

Unexpected farewells

Stained excuses

Potholes and apologies

Pretend love

Leached out success

Players and fakers

Listing ships

Death by loneliness

Silent betrayal

Orphaned dreams

Waiting on nothing

On no one

Self forgiven

Forgotten promises

Stubborn solitude

Watered down desire

Driving alone

Getting nowhere

Squelched confessions

July Snowstorm

Unhappy endings

Reprieves and Lost Causes 

Don’t wish me a good night

I too suffer from insomnia. The night can be a prison for the over thinkers and senseless worriers of the world. So much empty time to recount all my failures, follies and faults. Things I should have said and done, opportunities missed, loves gone ill-requited. The red numbers on the bedside digital clock appear frozen in time. I consider taking a half of one of my Ambien sleeping aides, but the after effects often leave me drowsy for several hours the following morning. So, I’ll bravely stare down my meddling ghosts. 

Time is so precious but at this tortured hour time takes on a different meaning. I have what the Buddhist call monkey mind. This is when my thoughts jump from one unrelated thought to the next. What a silly ass thing to say “Good Night”. There is no such thing as a “Good Night”. there is only darkness and solitude awaiting me there. Night is where my demons and devils churn out boogiemen that hide under my bed or breathe loudly from behind my closet door. 

Are you a believer in ghosts? Do they come from within us like a dark psychoses? Or, are they materializing out of the night ether? Have you ever seen one? If god created all of the universe, then he/she (binary?) surely could include ghosts in this odd ball thing called reality. Reality is malleable, depending on whose version of reality you choose to subscribe too. There’s a fine line between reality and illusion. And, I don’t give up my illusions easily, they have sustained me up to this point. 

I hope my rants don’t scare you away my dear old friend. Maybe “scare” is too harsh of a word. Perhaps the way I connect my esoteric thoughts is too confounding.  I’ve even grown tired of my own ruminating thoughts. You’ve peaked under my covers and seen my nightmares. I didn’t formally invite you in, but now that you’re here, feel free to make yourself comfortable. I offer you my friendship and therein my condolences—–as this is a package deal.