On White Privilege

I was pissed today,

they didn’t get it,

instead, they threw it away,


look around the room,

everyone has a set of eyes,

focus on the corneas, nothing else,

notice the tear ducts,

they exist,

Everything else is added baggage,

meant to confuse and display,

every wonder why?

The eyes?

I stood outside in the rain,

a natural cleanse,

when I opened my windows later in the day,

I could see clearly again, another setting sun.

When Movement Stills

A quiet day,

voices around,

my mind is in full motion,

imagining everything I want to be

afraid of,

dissecting the morning I said hello,

and the failed response in return,

wondering about the future,

starting the same rotation,

again and again and again and

I love to play this game,

makes me feel alive when I can realize

nothing will ever change.


well, it could you know,

life does happen,

I might string out a dozen cliches

turn on easy-listening,

loosen my belt,

close all the window shades,

lock the doors,

step into the garage,

finally, after all that is …

walk outside and realize this world,

so much to be had it would be a shame

to stay on the couch the rest of the afternoon.

Piano Solos


while the world rings true,

a glimmer, a hope, a dance

while this melody, a shape maker

presents an accidental shift

in memory.

Imagine the rise of delightful keys,

sweet muse

soft patterns of reality.


I listen to piano solos

for the breadth of tradition,

that notion spoken

in the hearts of many before me,

whose talented fingertips,

did create moments.

Awe, delight, tears, and genuine

sadness, perhaps simple delight,

triggered by a tempered key,

twists the mind around an obligation,


when just recently I wondered

only how, when I might release

my imagination,

I listened

the notes bold,

suggest my life is attainable,

as reaching the octave necessary

towards an understood element of survival;

an epiphany moves through my veins,

causing heart to blend –

the moisture outside,

while we wait,

will cleanse our sated soul.

Spare Me An Hour

I wonder,

while my eyelids

weightless in a vacuum,

imagine miles

the allowance of a measure

a value option

when we cross paths

decide upon a course

of autonomy,

our own manner of delve

into a sea of natural



While the world conveys

a certain security

in sync with

planned reality,

how often would we

wish to wallow

in the slow motion atmosphere

of minutes before

rather than the time ahead

unraveling before our very eyes.

Knowledge is a virtue,

begs to suggest we have already,

hiked along this trail of time.

Love Always


I glance outside a window in my favorite cafe,

and I realize nothing is there,

well that might mean change in a way,

the landscape is bare.

I wonder about that for a minute or two,

put my music back in ears,

glance through windows,

let time ensue

hoping sounds no one around me hears,

will take me to a place

somewhere I haven’t been but seem to want

in case where I am becomes that haven

of worry and discontent.

There’s a world beyond these windows,

that I may resent,

but for now the world outside and around glows.

The soft white of winter blankets the earth


enough to deter a lacking self-worth.

I glance around the room

people are there drinking tea


upon me they loom

I wonder what its like to be free.

If only in  a short while,

I left my soul and whom am I

stepped in single file

upon a roller coaster of cry

might I know then


the ideal of love

that place I so seek

when only I imagine …