Birthdays Are For Fools

Blow out your candles, Blow out your cake

Open all your gifts, Unwrap all your things

No time to waste, Few moments left to tick

Every year the same, What a waste of haste

Hurry to your grave, Other candles need space

Don’t forget to write, Don’t omit your name

Counting age is grand, Who speaks such lies

Forgetting to mark time, Your only saving grace

Live without a clock, Live for all your youth

If someone brings a cake, Sing to them instead

Fools celebrate age, Fools and all their “friends”

Unspoken Promises on a Back End Street

Waving from the street, her eyes met his

Her succulent youth swung devils overhead

His mind’s rage captured them in his snare

The eyes of a woman child promised love

While the pupils of a man disguised his age

She had yet to find a reason or road to travel

The man’s road though, It was already long

What she could give him would not wash time

And what he held for her could not buy her heart

Still her eyes promised him light from the dark

His own promised but warm sheets and sin

She looked at him fondly as a fawn to a crop

He gazed back, a man child in flames full ablaze

They knew, standing there at the end of spring

They were looking for the first and last time

He wanted to show her that more lied inside him

Not only the churning of his raw guttural song

So say she believed him, for she did extend a wave

Maybe he believed himself, If time granted rescind

An old woman will tell her grandkids about that day

While the aging man takes his last breathe miles away

Largely forgotten by the clock, his stare and her eyes

Notebooks and Lies

Such purple skies tell so much about mood
Yet thunder neither dwarfs nor dulls a memory
And rainy days don't always clean the walk
For the traveler's footsteps are often heavy
His baggage doesn't fit in the terminal of ports
But such cloudy days are well soiled for thinking
About gardens not planted before the coming storm
Suppose proverbial tales tell a story long and true
And perhaps your own rain drippings do too

What secrets do soggy boxes hold in wet paper
The yellow edges of some other dream or two
Sifting through contents like a befuddled child
Wondering about things a dreamer only understands
People are quick to speak about reality and logic
But their waning imagination seems to sell them short
No amount of logic, reason, or money has cured them
And their heartbeats don't always count for being alive
Just like spring plants set in autumn will not thrive

Coming again to this place so full of blistering rain
I did not expect you, and then only silence ensued
Your voice, must have been lost in yonder clouds or so
For no strength was left inside it to break any chords
Tired I supposed as many of us do along our path or trail
Looking for reality and finding that it left along with yesterday
Its why I come here I suppose if I were asked to say
There's nothing like the wind's wrath  to bring comfort to pain
Nor can anyone see if you would weep in the falling rain

Many oceans have surely rose with the ongoing rains of girth
Though rafts fortified on dreams rise above the stormy front
The man seated there with his bottle of hope is scared to sink
Though he needn't worry if losing only counts in the the end
Being somewhere in the middle and not seeing the road is rough
Or comforting, depending on the fellow's level of madnesss
He writes his silly songs wondering about places like Baltimore
Homeless men there covered with papers don't mind the rain tide
For it hasn't stopped falling since the days of Bonnie and Clyde

Pause

Re-control presumes collectivity has dated before
But past suns don't dwell in pockets and VCRS
No story tells anything new again nor could it so
Chronos gather more eyes than a woman's breast
Though no one is quite sure of which direction to run
Imagine a blur, mixed with voices, sounds, and light
Playing backwards like some carnival ride on tape
Morning coffee tastes like lunch and then evening calls
Phones ding with greetings from faces never seen
While fires are blown off next year's birthday cake
The mounting collections of dresser top trophies grow
Mostly gum wrappers, receipts, little bits of fuzz
Insignificance rewarded on the grounds of ownership
More needless shapes to show that life has come together
Except the people watching seldom care for such
Next the bus man is taking up all tickets down the aisle
The air is stale and the light is dusky, flies all around
Same tired expressions dance across each blank face
Once people knew where it was they might be going
However, now it is much too late that one should ask
Doors are shut, the air is cold, and death is never late

Sunset in the Afternoon

The richest man is the poorest soul I have ever met
I met him not so long before dusk on the wet road
He shook my hands though they were his that shook
The cold clamp of death did  meet him all too well

We sat for a spell that day underneath a dying sun
The last he'd seen sober no one could any longer tell
His drinks were tall and yet somehow perpetually empty
I asked him frankly how he won his seven mile stare

He laughed a mouth full of teeth discolored like the land
Though the sweet sound of humor did not meet his throat
His voice only now a whisper as he largely told his tale
It partook at the beginning of things long before lies and love

No one could see him in the earliest of his counted years
He walked through tests and time without incurring a sound
No shoe would fit his foot to make him quite an unlikely match
Yet certainly youth did afford upon him some type of shape

He grew older still and so his chin became coarse
Intentions that left his tongue were much like spittle
All of the many things he would do oh to be quite sure
Still caught in the ways of youth the boy lied to be seen

Fortune met his door as well did his beating chest thump
Though virgins make poor guests in the homes of men
He then walked quite blindly into some whore's trap
And there hetraded eternity for some musty midnight oil

That he said was the first time his drink changed color
The first sad tune his violin would play at the opera
Curious I asked what he quite meant by his song
He said its best to be bashful when asking upon the King

Determined he was to dilute his past with much fortune
The man set about to change the world without a plan
What next ensued some would call a chaotic mess
But the man before me said that all life is a quest

Days become shorter and one thinks they find a cure
Rather than looking forward they find a rear view mirror
Riches gain them much misery and less time to breathe
Instead of counting blessings they count disappearing green

These things and more this man told me from his stool
He spoke that losing everything had given him the world
That only experiences of great loss could produce a vine
And finding himself in the midst of broken places too

Having less he said than ever filled his pockets stitched
Granted him more than ever his dreamer's eye did see
And each hill and valley renewed his sense of time
The secret he offered but in a sullen daz-ed whisper

Seldom be sure about anything so to question life much
Don't waste your minutes thinking about what you don't have
Though neurosis will often cut you upon your path some
Fill a journal with anecdotes and riddles or pieces of string

There will come a time when all your rodeos find one fence
And thats okay because your shoes will long be worn
Time will have passed and eventuality will have risen to meet
But love is a funny thing that will kill you or make you whole

The sun did set as the man idled on the bar stool before me
Half of what he said later I would remember then as I do now
Bent paths crossed our direction to that tiny place in time
A crossroads where two half paths may meet a whole

And I could have swore that his eyes were greener than I
Though they drooped a little much that I could be so sure
I tried to catch his name before he stumbled off the stool
Though his old boots met the highway and he was gone

What Spins the Earth

Let all men come unharmed
Than to see your vile face
Each deserves your hope
Not your bitter, seething rage
For the world is cruel, yes
And tomorrow colder still
Wear a championed smile
Even if acting is not your game

Children see each face and learn
From the lines inside each grin
And all their fairy tales will fade
Sooner or later at summer's end
So don't disturb the chance, see
They may have at kindness' door
For tomorrow, they shoulder ills
Left behind, gift wrapped for free

When soldiers they come to pass
Enough pain and tears they find
And political games they join
Will show them the meaning of lies
Rest assured each face does rust
In the watering of the tired well
Each heart will surely burst
At the ending of another age

When old men become ancient
Their frowns are customary
Worn hard by their life and labor
Or mayhap they were left ungiven
The joy of another friendly face
The burst of laughter, peace and hope
Something ought started at chapter one
A smile on the face of another soul

A Subtle Foe

A clutching, thumping madness; Cornered Bliss
A jumping, sliding bleakness; Mirrored Jest
To catch a stride, To win in spite of this
To play a tune, To sing a song less messed

Of hope to find the midst perhaps, not burst
Of thought to end the game forgot, not played

My selfish heart does tend to act its worst

My impish thoughts do need to be displayed

My circling brain does lose on autumn night
My open book lies flat against the wall

Of mirrors, Darkest corners find such light

Of puzzles, Pieces scatter, break, and fall

To translate mouths, do pour some salt in girth
To combat lies, have ears that never miss
A subtle, waking verse; A journal birth
A passing, jumbled phrase; An open kiss

Corrugated

Beside my thoughts,
A WARNING LABEL POSTED
Inside my head,
A MAZE OF UNINTERRUPTED THOUGHT
Under my bed,
PAST SCRAPS OF LESSER WHENS
Beneath my words,
ASTERISKS EXPLAINING  A CHILD
Through my dreams,
ALL WORLDS OF ENDLESS AMAZE
On the outside,
RIDDLES OF SELF DOUBT
Moving past,
QUICKLY AND UNNOTICED
Traveling to,
ANOTHER UNSEEN PATH
Carrying with,
MY BAG OF THINGS, OF COURSE
Writing within,
THE LINES OF ANOTHER SONG
Hiding quotes between,
THE LETTERS SO SOMEONE FINDS THEM
Understanding next to,
NOTHING THAT I HAVE SAID
Wondering above,
INTO A SUN THAT'S BLINDING ME
Running behind
THE BLASTED CLOCK OF TIME

Legacy

Wee child, For you is much untempered soil
Untouched by any hand, Mayhap unearthed
Your mask, Or have ye not remembered it
The great protector, Lies are our facade
‘Twas taken long ago, Do tell us now
Yes, Surely something quite another grand
A Savior do ye say, Of Him do tell

The minutes passed, All while we waited long
What seemed a child, For now he stood a man
He spoke of crosses did he now, We stirred
Emotion drove his words, as daggers home
Our hearts, immersed in flame, What light he shewn
Of which was never seen before, ‘Twas now
And men were fluted, culled from pasts, Be sure

What race doth children follow, Paths unstirred
A man becomes the sums of parts, ‘Tis true
But folds, Their ebb and flow do change like tides
And famous, Such peculiar dressing robes
That men of faith, They ought not wear at all
Their homes yes, Should their children know them well
Before a man, however, Silence reign

A work of hands be hard, And worthy gain

Be wary though, Of lies--green stares of men

Take solace, Shed all doubt, and laugh, Yes long

For days become much shorter, Sunrise wanes

And roses wither, Winter steals their vine

But you, What written songs behind your drum

Or will you leave a record--tale of Kings

Scribbling at the Proverbial Bus Station

And he said he didn't want to go downtown
For there was no one that would call his name
And he likes paintings, books, and mostly art
You could perhaps say he's romantic, yes
Though, what do such things even mean today
And who would even know art under tears
However, he yet peers at shooting stars
On cloudless nights, And he reads storybooks too
To stay awake at night when dreaming hurts
And many other things just pass him by
How much does waiting cost, How does one pay
A door is stood before him, Rusted vigil
Or waiting quiet, Some days are like that
While others are a deeper shade of blue
And while he ponders, He writes all the same

Last Song of the Day

The perfect premise to another end
The road, it flattens, Oh what hope it brings
No plain white noise, guitars invoke a sword

But bend your ear, But bend the sound my friend
To crank away the day, the pedal drowns
And vocals digest bad assumptions now

Yes, carry thoughts along the highway now
A few or twenty letter boxes left
The boxes make for music to drift home

Half Gasp

And then you realize at thirty
That you may have already so
Breathed out half of every breath
You would be given in this transient life

Choosing to run will speed the flow
Yet standing in place won't pause time
You have this plan, this pace, this rhythym
For not growing older, We would hear it now

The passing exhalations of morning coffee
While you were trying to remember your task
Shoes tied and out into the spinning madness again
Already a quarter of today's breaths gone like the wind

By the Road

So shines the light on yonder bench
Where no one has sat yet this night
Running by, I count at its textures
Boy do I wonder its many depths
How many came to sit and ponder
Those who may have sat down to cry
The many lovers perhaps inscribed in its oak
In the past dusk night of near December
I muse longer on the bench than I should
The man who built it, I reckon is passed on
Though his life's work is left here marking time
If ever someone should tire on the path
That they may stop to consider a course
My own bones perhaps could sit a spell
But running seems mildly less complex
The cool air is amass with unspoken secrets
Though perhaps the bench would hear them
Keep them well sure, like many others before

Beanies and Fall Leaves

Coffees Stir, Colors Fade

Or become more brilliant

Jackets slough, Fires warm

Or fade into dying dusks

Pies roast, Apples bake

Or fall forgotten to the ground

Jerseys stain, Bleachers roar

Or go empty and frigid

Trees trim, Stockings stuff

Or stay packed in little boxes

Years fade, Tomorrows bloom

Or stay stagnantly the same

Beanies warm, Leaves fall

Or none of this is happening