No reason, No pain

I don’t mean to sound defeated

It just always hurt to try

Knowing there’s no meaning

In waiting out the night,

So I take my lashes willing

Under this starry sky

Knowing there’s no reason

Or pain to justify

Her Beauty Unfolds

How lively and cruel

Mother Nature can be

How honest her birds

Who chirp Chickadee

Her hawk soars majestic

Through winds over sea

Her beauty unfolds

Without you or me

Bad Brain

The only pleasure that I get now

is from forgetting I exist.

Your Cynical Smile

There’s something cynical in your smile

as if I rubbed off some and forgot to say,

that I’m not that kind of cynic.

And I feel no joy from any of this.

This old house

There was new life once

In this old house

Which echos lonely footsteps

—silence rants and raves—

Trudging towards Nirvana

Amongst Other Things

My confidence comes and goes

like passing showers in Southern California.

Aprils Fool

I wish I could have been

The air of reason

Forever calm

Before the storm

Instead of becoming

Those howling winds

Those howling winds

You knew before

But having been

Picked over plenty

Like a jukebox full

Of another’s score

And though I never

Sought to reign

Like Aprils Fool

I seem to pour

Clowns

It never struck me as odd

how all the happy clowns

were so less fortunate

than the sad ones. They too

of course were sad at times

but wore the biggest smiles—

smiles the sad clowns smudged—

for good reason? Probably not.

No luck of clovers here

If a man’s to charge me now

I don’t think that I could move

Blinded by the sun

The insects stand aloof

Counting blades of grass

No luck of clovers here

Each day’s a hangman’s pity

Each night’s a cross to bear

In Our Time.

Remember— oh brothers and sisters

that we are the philosophers of our time.

Us haggard poets of principle and measure,

no matter the plight must rise.

Through tears of understanding

with honest eyes do I

accept thy pleasure’s burden—

to see within our time.