I Want More

ask you only with a dime in hand

could you play for me hopeful melody

that sort we might recall is memory

sweep the mind in nostalgic tones we land


While watch personality wreak havoc

might soulful dreams explode – become one

to canvas territories when felt undone,

we climb outside a valley, peak the arctic


winds of certain fury, the cutting sheet

of glacial ice will envelop hope and dream

unless speak we might not be what seem

inconsequential beyond our own defeat.


For in the winds of change we will release

our selfish desire, to allow inherent peace.


Walking Toward the Moon

We could navigate firm ground alive

play the fool to see a mind survive.

All children must conform to a rope

length set by elders, might we  hope


enough to sweep their hearts in motion.

A traveling caravan of wild emotion

pervades the mind of the little eyes;

shall we imagine society’s ills, lies


really be enough, to allow a sweet

cherub blossom, the rite to greet

ugliness around shadowed facade

in an optimistic manner. You decide.


When nightfall becomes our only light

Nature’s embrace, innocence we ignite.

Why Again

Why do I find this way,

the acceptable manner

again the hours long,

the time is as brief

as any other moment lost.

While the world around

decides upon their day,

for me it is the dawn

and setting of the moon,

throughout the sky,

I’ve watched as now,

I’m looking the other way,

still again,


so beyond a scope

of reasoning,

I prey to the victim

of my own circumstance,

no one other,

only this self guided

tour of scrutiny

well beyond the norm

of a typical day.

I am that beast of

some myth, some adventure,

the one that always for reasons

did not get away.

Ancient Moon / Blood Moon


We see the same

you and I,

years before

we stood today.

We wonder

similar paths

while away

our worried soul

yet out there


just the same

the blood red moon,

holds us all

we are together

once again,

like the time before,

and when we did,

wonder the same,

that other eon,

that passage of

rite of

historic event when

we reacted

quite the same,

miles away

in concept, dream,

hope, wonderment.

We always do

wonder with

wild abandon

when allowed

to think

beyond ourselves,

beyond an ancient moon,

a blood red moon

speaks to my soul,

your soul, theirs,

the time before,

when we would want

the same again.

Yet we still

look for more.

Tonight we did

begin again,

until the next one

asks the same,

sees the same,



dreams the same

under the moon.

Stepping Outside

A picture speaks a truth.


I danced alone happy,

the first time I could.


A conversation

a put down

a clarity of purpose

a scant reminder


A why do we do this

sort of thing


that allows our lives

to become enthralled

by the ones that do.


A reckoning

when time slows

enough to wonder

about how simple

a decision

might be well after


inherent trepidation.


A summer night

stars are out,

a full moon waning

sheds a sorrowful tear

on a quiet reality,

while we all enter

a continuum

that part of our lives

we could never …

but we did.


Another time

we revisit in hope

we might settle

a difference that

when recalled

did help us focus

on why we

hate reminders


Would we ever

again be able,

could we possibly


just how far

we did stray.


A friend once said

they wished the world

could get along

without a fight.


We yelled each other’s name,

never did we speak again.


We didn’t try to look outside.

Brought Together

In an international fire

she burns the minds

an electrifying voice

to the people

to the women

to the girls

brought together


To be just that




in a global fire

an energy

brought together.


She would lead

with an entourage

all sleek in eye

move with us

say legs and arms

flail in a rhythm

brought together


A global fire tonight,

I watched the admiration

the people speak

in a fashion so alive

all of us can cry

she lets us believe

Beyonce together.


Global Citizen Festival.


When a factor,

a measure in time,

while the observer

the other’s own dime


held out to the beggar

for the sake of truth

to confront that pallor

would it be uncouth.


To trigger the moment

we all lose our shell

in pity we might lament

our loss is our hell.


Have we crossed the line,

lost our grip on soul

or is this only a whine

while we play our role.


When once the word rang

strong in a crowd of eyes,

now it seems we do hang

only upon the other’s I’s.


Workplace monotony

could paralyze the confident

when idle scrutiny,

the albatross does resent.


For when I die, I might be

happier, or fly above the sea.