They begin to come down
This time of year
From the Mountains.
And in my town, 
You are as likely 
To see them anywhere
As you are to see people
Or birds at the bird feeder.
But if you are not careful,
Just like birds
They disappear.
Did you know
That there are people
Who cannot see the birds,
People who have not
Seen them for years.
It is one huge 
Mass of metal for them,
And glass, and wood
And papers filled with numbers,
And dates on a page.
But for those still alive
To their soul questions
In October
After the first snows,
The deeper world 
Of the mystic wood 
Seeps down into the towns,
And if you watch,
You will see it
In their eye.
And then you will know 
That that there is hope
And that you are not
Out of reach.
Thank God!

I was raised with worn upholstery
And so I am not 
A part of that class 
Which appreciates new things.
I wish it were different at times
But it is what it is.
Once in a while
My comfortable soul
Beguiles itself
Into believing 
That there is a virtue
In my poverty 
But there is not,
No more 
Than there is virtue
In your wealth.
It is a mistake to believe 
In that kind of goodness.
In former lives, perhaps,
I envied you your leather
But not any more.
I rest deep in my old things
and breath the sweet mediocrity
Which contents itself
With the old.
It sounds sad
When I put it that way.
But it is true.
Thank you.
Thank you for letting me be.
We are not so different
You and I,
Both bound by the familiar
Both resting in that thing
Which most comforts 
Our afflictions.
But then again,
Don't put it past me 
To stay in your hotel
Or to relish in your richness
Of a June.
But home for me 
Will always be 
In that thing
Which you discard. 
And if you ever tire of fretting
Over your expensive cache
Feel free to rest 
Upon my couch
It will not fret 
Or show the scratch
Like the leather
One at home.

I wonder if it's true 
This thing I've said to you.
Is it ok, that I don't care
To prosper like the masses?
I hope so,
For I am tired of pretending.

So grateful...
For smooth cement walls 
Rising layer upon layer,
To an open, cold and blue sky.
She holds me up
While I lean against her 
Waiting for the elevator
That will take me 
To the bank floor.
There, tellers will smile at me
And twenty somethings 
In sweater vests
Will push papers 
And pretend
That they can offer some security
To the anxious patrons
Who so confidently
Pass them
Thier tens and twenties 
And hundreds and thousands.
"Rest assured" they say
"You're in safe hands with us!
Yes - Never you worry!
Go to your lives 
And rest assured
We'll never let you down!"
But I feel more safe here
Sandwiched between 
Layers of sand and lime and rock.
I lean against her smooth face
And feel the cool breeze 
Blow through her open sides.
"I make you no promises" she says
And I know
That when "the end" comes
This is the last place I should be. 
But I cherish her anyway
For the icy truth 
She tells.
"Ding!"
And there is my elevator.
I pull myself away
From the cool cement wall
And step into the shiny 
Red carpeted room
That will lead me 
To the fiction
I have chosen.
Goodbye old friend.
Until next Thursday
When we'll meet again
In that space that lies just before
All that we've imagined.
Meet me there again
And remind me
Until then
That nothing is for certain.
Cool me with the memory
Of your silence.
You are true old friend
And I am grateful,
Grateful to find you here, 
Grateful that you never leave
Goodbye...until next time.

Slow down.
Not every opportunity
Is for you.
It's true!

Be still.
Chill!
Be slow to act
My friend.

Be content
Don't vent
Your anxious impulse
On some imprudent spend.

If so,
You'll grow
Into a wealthy man
And if your soul's secure,
You'll bless the world
With all that dough.
For you did not need it
In the first place.

I am sad
For how the world has gone.
But you don't know why.
If I were to tell you,
You might say 
That I was intolerant
Or bigoted
Or blind.
But I am not.
It is not a sin
To believe
That one thing is better
Than another.
And I do not hate you
If I believe
That you are wrong.
It is my right
To mourn for you.
It is a prerogative
Which does not require
Your approval.
And I am content 
To do so quietly.
Would to God 
That you would 
Mourn for yourself!
But in the absence
Of that sorrow 
Which you lack,
I will grieve 
In your behalf...
For I am sad.

​Photo by Rodrigo Rodriguez on Unsplash

If your knowledge comes from books, 
Beware.
Humanity cannot ascend 
From the mire of its baser nature
By looking in the mirror.
But if your knowledge comes from above,
Rejoice.
​There is hope in higher things.

Quietly I hide
Behind this paper.
Content to disappear
Accept for what 
I choose to show
Here on this page.
For I am not what you believe.
My identity was never negotiable
And I realize now
That it was a mistake 
To give you a vote.
So farewell
To all of you
Whom I love so much.
I love you still,
Perhaps better 
For what you cannot see
Since I no longer allow
What you think of me 
To determine what I am
And how I love you.
Nor will I allow
How you appear 
To sway me 
In my estimation of you.
For here in the quiet silence
Of my solitary life,
You are all I ever knew you were,
Noble, sweet, true and kind.
Brave and faithful
To what you meant to be.
But if you ever forget 
Your majesty - Your beauty,
Come find me here,
For though lost to yourself you be,
You are not lost to me.

Why will you follow fools?
They play
And you dance
And in the end, 
You both fall down.
And then you complain.
I love that thing most
That comes just before
They speak.
Silence.
Why not skip the rhetoric?
Why not settle for Silence.
She does not impose.
She does not imply.
She does not 
Call upon dead others
To justify her lies.
But do not be deceived.
If you sit with her long enough,
She will speak
With words too terrible 
To utter.
And then 
You will either live or die
By what comes next.
For no one 
Having heard her voice
Can justify their trust
In anything less.

While my ambition slept,
I dreamt of a world 
Where naps were allowed.
In my dream,
I met the secret side 
Of CEOs
And Entrepreneurs,
The side they hide
From themselves.
And there
They were just as lazy as I,
Lazy enough to see the sky,
To feel the breeze,
To take a ride 
With the windows down
In the middle of the afternoon
Without a thought 
Of the bottom line
Nor even a concern
For what they'd eat
For dinner that night
Or the next.
In my lazy world,
The poets were praised
For their ability 
To create so much
From lazy days.
But I had no time for pride
That was too much work
For this head of mine.
And so I slept the day away,
A nap within a nap.
Shhh........
You'll wake that grind of mine.
Let him sleep.
He's mighty tired.
He needs a little sleepy time.
A month will do,
Or perhaps an age.
Wake him when 
The sun don't shine
For after that belated rest
He'll raise the cosmos
From its nest 
With all his cock and crow.
Until then,
We'll sleep away
And tell you all
To hit the hay.
Now take nap,
It's ok.
Forget about
Those bills not paid.
And slumber high 
Beyond the moon.
Where the sleepy wood fife
Plays a tune 
Only for ambitious souls
Who now must rest
God only knows
How long.
And do not worry
It's allowed.

.There has never been a time 
In the history of the world 
When people have felt more alone
Than today.
That doesn't mean that we are 
But it seems that way at times.
If you are alone, 
Remember
That loneliness is shared
With those as lonley as ourselves.
Believe in the lonely somebodies
Who must share the yoke 
You bear.
We are a clan you know -
A band of ones
Who long to love
But who instead
Must suffer.
But at least we suffer together.
I sit alone in my room
With each of you beside me.
What a comfort 
It is to know
I'm not alone
Within my wretched solitude.
What a joy!
I almost touch you there,
Yes.  There you are,
Looking back at me 
From your solitary square.
Perhaps one day
We'll meet,
In the open air I think,
Where the bluebirds sing
And flit the wing
From branch to branch.
You won't say a thing
And neither will I 
Except perhaps 
From heart to heart
And even if our meeting
Is no more than a simple greeting,
I'll know you 
As one of mine
And hold you close 
Withing my mind.
You'll pat my knee
And we'll remember
Times when we 
Were not so blessed 
As we will be then.
In the mean time
At least
This poem we have,
A less romantic moonlight tryst
Between two lonelys,
You in your room
Me in mine
Until the time...
Until the time...

Oh fair spirit,
Sweet lover of my soul,
Floating there
Still gowned in your bridal veils.
How bright you shine!
How white your ever pure intent!
No desire but always still
To be mine 
Who spurned you 
Year after year
For more solid loves.
Ashamed, you turn away your face
From one so blind
As to disdain
The very image of devotion.
For there was always some other
With fairer lies 
With which to be beguiled - 
Those whose luster,
Though not so bright,
Still shone with neon promises
Painted on the night.
But still you linger,
Faithful still. 
Do not die 
Before I've broken free
From all the things 
I do not love.
Do not die within me
Bride of mine!
But lend me life
Enough to spurn 
Those fables dark
And bind myself 
To she whose love 
I always cherished most
But feared to find.

Image by Carabo Spain from Pixabay ​

It takes no machismo
To be a skeptic.
It's little more than nothing 
To disbelieve.
Would you be strong?
Would you stand upon the mountain
And sing the triumph song?
Then believe!

Show me one with faith
And I will show you
A thousand sheep
So weak
That they cannot be bothered
By conviction
Till it's nipping 
At their heels
With proofs so terrifying
As to drain the life 
From their already 
Dead corpses.

So, Why not believe?
Why not be the victor
And wear the crown of the mighty?
It's reserved you know
For only those
Whose sureness 
Stands the test of fire.

But we are weak
You say.
True.
So why not start today?
Build brick by brick
The tower.
There is no other way
To better tomorrows
Than through
The dark and mournful fictions
Of today.
So, don't give up
On what you cannot see.
Believe!

And when the sun
Pokes its head out
Between the clouds,
And warms you with the truth
You could not see,
Grasp it!
Hold it close!
And do not let it go!
It is the assurance
Of sunshine yet to be.
And that man
Who hordes such proofs will find
His hope, though hidden deep within
Will one day set him free.

Face a thing when it comes.  
That is the key 
That unlocks 
A certain kind
Of peace of mind.
But face it fully
Or it will haunt 
Your pocket
And beg to be 
Written down.
And then
You are its slave.
That man is free
Whose simplicity 
Manifests itself 
In the empty spaces
In his schedule
Which yawn themselves lazily
Open and wide 
Spanning the gap
Between few and deliberate
​Pillars of intent.

Two worlds.
Would to God that I
Could straddle the fence.
I wish that I could please you.
But to do so,
I would have to be 
The thing that you expected
And not the thing I am.
And I am no more 
Than what you
See before you.
And since I cannot please you,
I am afraid 
That you will have to
Love or hate me
There is no middle road.
So here I am.
Will you love me 
Will trust me
Will you share
The air you breath
And your last oil and flour
With one who cannot
Serve your fancies
Or say the things 
You're longing for?
If so,
Then all my heart 
I give you,
All the words 
You're longing for.
I am yours 
And you are mine love,
Nothing less 
​And nothing more.

Don't give up.
Hope is there beneath it all.
Hiding.
Thank God!