While the Presses Run

While the presses run, people continue to be real,

if in a day I change my focus,

the shell I’ve composed will remain on the surface.


While the presses run, the value of love does remain,

if in a moment she sheds a real tear,

nothing in the world will satisfy her impressive fear.


While the presses run, society has a certain makeup,

a sort of balanced hypocrisy to live by,

we all become responsible parties to questions why.


While the presses run, ignorance will wreak its havoc

upon those soul who cherish closed doors,

the rest of society might continue to personalize wars.


While the presses run, can we possibly give ideals time,

rather we sequester our minds with shallow

immediacy that disallows any true dialogue to grow.


I stepped outside in the morning sun, a glorious day,

to find the paper box on my corner, turned on its side.


When Teaching Moments Fail

A crowded room,

a passionate embrace,

eyes wander to take care

of those closest to real.


We do have so many unknowns

sitting nearby,

a wall of deceit,

a clever pursuit suggests time


doesn’t matter when ignorance

speaks with shallow


I found myself crying


with little possibility to ever

change the mind

of Judas, fervent, frivolous,

lost in the concept of doubt.


I wondered about the others

still maintaining a posture

throughout a sudden hostile

uproarious cavalcade of oppression.


For we do live together,

and we smile the same,

we have different wardrobe

yet, our heart cries out in name.


I wondered about the feeling

occurs when terrorism

suddenly enflames a cultural

mecca of humanity seeking love.

I Chose to Watch the Sunrise

Beside the water I could feel gravel

slide upon my shoes, dry.

There wasn’t any risk here only

living in a quiet world,

where in retrospect I would wonder

how it is we came here.

I threw some rock in, a splash ripples

to indicate a world of glass.

I thought of who I am trying to see,

water casting shadows; a fog

is all I could really imagine there to be.

I stood and kicked some dirt.

I wondered when the time might come,

when happiness could be mine.

I stood inside the beauty of nature

I chose to watch another sunrise.

When Fatigue Drops By

It is some respects the outcome of a heavy day,

a difficult conversation,

a trying imagination without a cause.

When the fatigue stops our eyes,

where once we stood,

we know drowsily a memory.

While the tiresome moo, continues

with gentle caprice,

to light our night, we do suddenly

decide we could go perhaps


It is in the long enduring reality of our lives,

the awkward silence, the sleep.

When I Dance

When the world is right,

eyes look upon skies

with a certain freedom,

a plan to gather wise.


When the world is right,

I haven’t a need to plan

beyond the safety of you,

believing that you can.


When the world is right,

the pleasure of purity

in the soul, in the mind

is what offers love, levity.


When the world is right,

we have tears we share

while no one else knows

the level of our care.


When the world is right

when the day is long,

our hearts and mind

know where we belong.


Tonight, the world is right

It’s in a sweet dance┬áI delight.

When The Rains Fall









We all sort of band together,

a community,

suddenly we want to feel like we


in similar ways

the grief of the day,

or in contrast,

the delightful nature of a

calm spring day,

when last night,

when the horrid reality of life

in all of its shapeless mortality,

suddenly did reign upon us

with passion,

a vigor more relentless than ever we might


and yet now this morning,

sun streaked skies allow our hearts to breathe

in natural elegance,

we will recall the Purple Rain of symbolic legacy.

Until later on, when beyond the intoxicating allure

of a glorious spring evening,

we do sleep again, only to wonder

if when morning returns

will we listen to the soft coo,

When Doves Cry

We Breathe In Crimson


We’re disconnected,
walking in circles,
wishing doves sing

Don’t want any tears,
I’d rather pretend
life is more than a mirror.

Where do they go,
when someone dies,
how do we know
they can ever be again

“How can you leave (us) standing”
the world is alone without you,
I wish I could step into the rain,
I wish the color scheme streamed


“Dearly Beloved”
talking out loud
about life
and ‘the afterworld’

When is it we can finally
realize mortality
long before the shock
of sudden departure.

I never did realize my dreams
back in 1999 I was a punk,
wanting “a little red…”
consequence in life is my
good night

Peace to your soul,
we all speak the truth,
pursed lips in an

everlasting smile.

“When doves cry”