Ocean

Subtle and powerful
Endless vista ends at the horizon
Relentlessly methodical
Totally random

An edge
A bridge to everywhere
Sand melts into water
the hard line between them in constant motion

Sand
body
Ocean
soul

Life

Life In The Exurbs

A dove coos,
dogs bark,
the highway hums
as dark
gives way to
sunrise.

Mowers buzz,
roses bloom.
A conversation about
last night’s full moon
leads to
neighborhood gossip.

Fresh tomatoes,
iced tea
and buy one
get one free
draws a crowd to
the nearby outlet mall.

Grill sizzles,
steak fries.
A lonely child
cries
as friends and family
mingle outside.

A dove coos,
dogs bark.
The highway hums
as dark
covers the cul-de-sac
miles from town.

Restless Quest

A restless quest for a perfect life
dominates my thinking,
contradicts logic and reality,
leads to heavy drinking.
When one thing is right another is wrong.

A restless quest for a perfect life
is depressing,
unrealistic,
passive aggressive
and is dragging me around like a dog on a leash.

A restless quest for a perfect life,
marriage, kids, a trophy wife,
suburban estate, private schools
is a great dream for lunatics
and fools.

A restless quest for a perfect life
contradicts my
normal high level of acceptance
for life as it is.
What rhymes with acceptance?

A restless quest for a perfect life
bounces me on hard concrete
several times
and whacks me
into a brick practice wall.

A restless quest for a perfect life,
a stressless, messless …
This is a pointless
exercise in finding meaning
and purpose in life.

Purpose and meaning
will find me
when I lighten up
and discontinue
my restless quest for a perfect life

Status Quo

Empty heart
hoping to be full again
Longing
Dreaming of time
Proximity
You.

Past
collides with present
Time and distance
face off
Status quo
No me and you.
Just me.
And you.

Lost

Lost
seeking what isn’t there
longing to live my own life
not yours.

Alone
There’s a crowd here
but you don’t feel me
nor I you.

Waiting
for the right moment
to break free.
Not yet.

The Attic

If the attic could talk,
what stories would it tell?
Old clothes, ugly ties;
what’s that smell?

Boxes of pictures,
a dusty bike,
“we might need that lamp some day,”
presents we no longer like.

If the attic could read,
what stories would it tell?
Old love letters, report cards;
a trombone we meant to sell.

A life of collected fragments
sit covered in dust.
If the attic could rearrange the randomness
what would it say about us?

Who Are You When The Lights Go Out?

No need to smile.
No one is looking.
Be yourself for awhile.
No one is thinking
a depressed you even exists.

Maybe that smiley face the world sees
IS the real you,
even if your mirror reflects
a curmudgeon in the dungeon

Cry for awhile.
No one is looking.
Swim for awhile
till you start sinking
in a sea of the life you think you missed.

The happy person everyone thinks you are
might melt into the night
and turn sour and stale.
The real you can hide in the shadows.

Or live for awhile.
No one is looking.
Hike for a mile
through a mood of your making;
the optimistic mood on which you insist.

The positive person you once thought you were
can walk out into the light.
Life is a struggle
but you’re not alone when the lights go out.