To Know The Right Way

Oh, to go beyond the grasp,

the tangles that keep reminders alive,

there is the mystery of the mind,

what to turn off, what to feed, what to settle in,

so that moving forward seems a reliable

resolve to the repudiating repulsion of time.

 

Yes, without speaking in tangible terms,

leave it to the eyes to interpret,

disclose, determine in words,

what shall be thought to reserve judgment.

 

When standing on the street,

look into a man’s eyes,

is he relaxed, skeptical, terrible

in this seeming expression on a hot summer day.

 

While sitting in a local cafe,

she buried her face in paperwork,

a bomb goes off nearby and she doesn’t twitch,

for in our world we don’t feel explosions,

we only create war inside our brain,

that is the place we store the fuse, the powder keg,

the nuclear option to saving grace.

 

Oh, the notions of moving forward,

to know the right words,

to recognize complete action,

beyond simple presumptuous fiction.

How can a world determine,

peace,

when locked into the tenets of this

seemingly societal scrutiny,

makes allowances,

to suggest the human condition,

is flawed.

A Morning Notion

Begin in sunlit sky beguiler day
The same result might be impossible.
We wander in mind to discover way
Breathe positivity remarkable.
~
In life to know in peace delightful air
Think heartfelt, soulful, suggest promotion.
Find fortune inside sweet beautiful fare
Solidify choice inside elation.
~
What hold will truth create family love
Universals speak in magnetism
Celebrate change demand history hove
Live free live dignified mannerism.
~
I woke again to fright anxiety
Compassion in winsome allegory

These are the people I remember

I listen to a certain melody to bring me somewhere,

need to step out of where I am,

perhaps an escape,

one might call it a sojourn,

only works when I can find my right rhythm,

my beat, my way of departing from my real place,

into that world of imagination.

I use music to get me there,

but it can take a lot of hours,

just like the many days that have passed,

those that I recall when the words and tones of music

help me return to that place,

cold or bitter with the pain of my reality,

I can still find myself there.

I listen to music to bring me home again,

to that place we’re only supposed to go when we are ready to be there,

I suppose it is like a journey to another time,

that imagined pedestal too high to climb.

I have my music as a sort of blanket,

that one to suffice when emotions raw I can’t handle any outcomes

on my own.

I need your music to bring me there, again.

Whisper Wild Words

When everything seems to wane

we tend to

circle our wagons

we tend to

issues that matter

we tend to

run with the masses

whenever it seems our lives matter.

~

What happens while we forget,

how many miles

of open ground do we cover

how many miles

of indecision do we wander

how many miles

of afterthought do we compile

whenever it seems our lives matter.

~

I lost a friend the other day,

she seemed to be tired,

of trying to meet the needs of a world,

she seemed to be tired

of all the bullshit that crossed her desk,

she seemed to be tired

of trying to meet the needs of the man

whenever it seems our lives matter,

~

Whenever it seems our lives matter

the world around us seems to bother.

Chosen Fog

A certain peace

a shallow view

misty rain waits

under a cloud of misconception

Unless of course we walk right through.

The bold imagination

a stark contrast to indecision

truly a wonder it might be

to wallow in the atmospheric velvet

of a morning sunlight

just beyond our reach.

~

Play in the mud,

feel the earth seeping,

wet, grainy, aftermath

that cling,

soft mettled reaction

to what just occurred,

what reminders we might have,

to walk away with soiled

naked toes.

~

On a clear day,

an energy pulls upon

our inner soul,

asking us, begging to be free

inside the sunlight’s wondrous

brilliance,

the heat that eats away any

foreboden aftermath

of conscious gravy.

The light only shines

enough to offer a solace.

~

On a journey in the morning,

wetlands teeming with nature’s truth

a slow cloudy mist,

a photographer’s dream

like a droplet of poured paint

on virtual canvas.

~

I did wonder of the isolation,

and hoped the truth might lie

in only the recognition

rather than my disappearingĀ dreams

State of Mind

Well it seems rather simple when we look it square in the eye,

you’re either thinking racist thoughts or your not,

it seems like it ought to be that simple in our world today,

yet, we now have to include state of mind.

~

We used to get away with recognizing hatred as evil,

a mile away you could see it in their eyes

today, we stand right next to one another and yet still

really haven’t a clue of that state of mind.

~

Inside a church where people stood and prayed and bled

they fell together in their efforts to be led

though hadn’t any idea of the person standing so nearby

on that particular day amidstĀ their state of mind.

~

We go to work sometimes in a dull morning only wishing

to stay in bed sometimes for lovely reason,

yet we smile, we nod, we open doors altogether while

inside we may discretely hide a state of mind.

~

So who is it that can wonder how to corner the market

stand next to one another and smile genuine,

who knows the next time we are all leaning toward the sun

we won’t be yearning upon a certain state of mind.

~

I suppose it might be easy to offer a simple solution

It always is so much better in the right state of mind

Letting the Blues Speak

depression

Sometimes I stare at a blank wall,

I mean I really do, could actually describe the texture,

cold and sort of metallic gray with a never ending mass,

invisible to the eye,

your eyes of course.

Those of you that walk around me,

seem able to walk right through, and when on the other side,

take a moment to glance back,

to see if I might be coming along,

might be joining you,

might have forgotten that you just walked directly through

my steel wall of agony,

that piece of reality, my eyes, how easily it reappears.

~

I’m occasionally drawn directly to the girth of the wall,

just a sort of daily hello,

a greeting to an old friend.

We all know about the nemesis that became our

greatest advocate when push came to …

ah you know I cannot do that.

This wall isn’t going to move,

sedentary and powerful to the eye,

that is,

my eye of course.

you are unable to see it nor am I willing to let you inside.

Perhaps if I did that the illusion would crumble away silent,

sort of like that long process of erosion,

a chalky substance that if you pick at it, grows further,

breaks away, like the pock holes of your garage cement.

Those holes are real, you can see them, step on them,

see moisture gather inside cracks on a rainy afternoon.

~

This wall stays pretty static, whenever the facade visits, well,

that security of its massive presence surely remains.