Summer Daze Alone

A familiar air,

cloudless sky,

Listen to the sounds of a backyard,

tree trimmers, grass cutters, BBQ-ing neighbors,

listen to the children with innocent screams nearby.


He would understand,

their natural allegiance to the land

around them being an open playground,

his own did the same,

decades earlier,

on similar days,

a cloudless sky,

the sounds of summer daze.


Yet there is a familiar air,

perhaps we call it the resistance,

we felt it when twelve years old looking out the picture window,

a light rain, yet friends gathering,

and him,

staying inside,

pretending to not exist,

though experiencing all of the psychological trauma,

that associates our lives with the living.


He would find himself in that place again,


while the world outside embraced the summer skies,

his mind in a fog,

wondering about time, wondering where,

curious just why he falls into this mental cavern of


it is the time he remembers as a boy,

wondering in the moment,

not knowing beyond the day,

yet now, in the quiet midnight,

the same question remains.



Beyond Moments

If in breath, a gasp, an eye glance,
worlds interact with indifferent realities,
only to provide expression,
if only then might we understand.

While a horizon away,
a family struggles to recognize
the wealth of their local dream,
while on the other side, a smile.

If during some compelling summer
we all recognize theirs is an august,
might we in that brief moment,
give certainty to everyone’s value.

While walking toward the sun,
a fellow or perhaps her inclination
might be to know truth is love,
could all possibility turn virtuous.

We listen to the dreams of the others
oft beyond consideration of our own.


How close do we come

to understanding

where it is that we belong,



we sudden realize

we remember a song, a laugh,

a sort of posture always held true.

If I could see you in the manner I feel you,

would that be all I need.

There’s so much more

beyond the memory of your kindly heart.

So often can I recall your beauty,


just in the Grace of your being,

I see so many faces

they exist around me,

I always have you nearby.

If I ask, you’ll go away,

so I find myself

using peripheral vision,

my ideal is to not frighten you away,

with some mortal insecurity.

Did you know I am working on bringing you back,

well it’s a facade,

a sort of well put together imagination,

brings you to mind,

every time I hear the word


As Time Passes

There is the recall,

an eccentric reality,

the laughter in smiles,

that lovely sort of memory.

There is the time,

when a quick glance

meant a new friendship,

unknown minutes earlier,

the human condition


There is the possibility,

when all of our quiet contemplation

in a sudden turn of events,

came true,

further beyond the mind,


There is the now,

when everything matters,

only in the immediate,

while all around our lives

we watch simple features

quiet inroads,


There is the …

blistering cold,

the atmosphere shadows peace,

when all desire beyond passion,

becomes a working legend,

that place we spoke of,

only yesterday,

when in such final scrutiny,

we gave up.

There is tomorrow,

when everything begins again,

including incredible sunrise,


The Nature of Time


When I spoke in youth,

freedom in desire and passion,

a yield within seasonal adjustment

kept the mind busy,

fascinated, curious, collective,


The nature of pain, reflective,

had little circumstance,

beyond the wood,

a trail, an exploration

of childhood memory just begun.

When waft in confusion,

the speed of change,

an embarrassment to the naked eye,

would call rite of passage to some

become a mark of travesty,

an ignorance.


Clouds fly by, skies awaken,

a sense of delight in desire, passion

begins some sensory sojourn,

a travel

yet realized only imagine –

fast-forward trivialized


broken hearts, desire in splinters,

now piece together


Solace is found when

faith allows forgiveness.

If when

that resultant fire explode,

if the arms of nature hold promise,

the incessant need for comfort

be less inclined

to overwhelm the mind.


While response to craggy steps

turn to mastery,

while infliction humbles the mind

we did step lightly across

trails of wisdom,

often sent to the ground

soil soaked knees

clamber aside river sweep,


stand again to react

to an ever changing world.

Sleep another day

as the changing world,

a clock where we measure


a freedom to live, to thrive

will perhaps be testament

to a journey still in motion,

inspired in love.


We are a passionate soul,

who often in mid-step

wills our direction

to question, to ask, to philosophize

a better travel,

a spirited trek through the dense


is time.

In the Nature of time.

20 Years

I stood on the corner

concrete monoliths

cracked surface scars

held the past in shaded

memories we created.

Now time gives way

to rooftop patios

the sounds of live acts

turned consumerism.

I stood on the corner,

looked at the faces,

wondered if any age lines

could recall my own

youthful stares,

the agony of a lonely

night outside sounds

of busy lives

passing through eyes

just an instance and gone.

I stood on the corner

welcomed a sigh

where the many hours,

the clever wording,

charms in intriguing posture

walked right by me again,

left me singing a quiet

melody in memory.

I stood on the corner,

and laughed to pass the time.

Knocking On Doors

I choose to navigate the open walkways,

a common thread

similarities in typical days

places I dread.

I wonder sometimes about certain choice

if we might know

just why it is we find the time to rejoice,

however swift hearts grow.

When a decision in retrospect is made

we sometime slow realize

that memory that conscience forbade,

will leave our wonder wise.

When a lift in melody caught sweet attention

the very source of gallantry

spoke aloud with strong desire to love, mention

in all its chivalry.

Welcome the moon in familiar tonight’s pattern

while the sky awaits morning light

a beautiful life we swift acknowledge in turn

when covering shadows in the night.

When only the naked mind is given allowance

In simple virtue our humanity’s bliss is chance.