Home

sitting in this greasy, all night, Michigan, redneck café,

sipping on dark, stale, coffee,

listening to the local philosophers, as they eat their breakfast,

on their way to dry-walling and other assorted craft jobs,

indoors of course (getting too cold for outside work),

discussing the beating death of a Wyoming fag (their word),

and how the poor ole boys who did it will never get a fair trial,

what with all the negative publicity, and what is this world coming too,

when you can’t even bash a few fags around and get away with it,

after all, they was just having a little fun, they didn’t actually mean

to kill the little fucker (chuckles all around);

while listening, the thought occurs, that with just a different twist of fate,

I could be sitting at that table, with all the other small town know-it-alls,

discussing world politics and Wyoming fags,

and it is only now that I realize, I don’t belong here anymore,

just as the swamplands and muskrats of south jersey

do not belong here,

this place I once called home, has become just another town

full of strangers, I no longer know,

nor care too;

this place leaves me feeling empty and impotent;

I think of my wife,

the woman who has been with me for more years than I once

lived in this place, the woman whose touch still electrifies me,

the woman who has become my one constant,

my only reality, the one thing I can depend on,

together we have built a new home,

free from family or friends interference,

she is where I belong;

she is my home.

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Friend

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.   1 Corinthians 13:4-7

I watch you blossom,

I hear the joy in your voice,

I see the happiness on your face,

I feel the peace inside your heart;

my beautiful desert flower,

my warm, sweet dream,

my refuge within the storm,

my last pure thought;

you are my friend,

I love you unconditionally,

I love you completely;

I always will.

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Winter Morning at the Shore

in the morning the ocean is calm,

trash trucks canvass the boardwalk,

preparing receptacles for a new day’s rush,

the air is cool but not cold,

life ticks on,

gulls fly by, waves dance,

everything as it should be,

everyday;

on tv, the talk is about Syria and

new righteous wars,

but the dolphins and gulls

don’t know about these things,

and neither should we;

but still we do;

it is in our nature,

it is our heritage,

and so we will,

but it is of our own choosing,

we have options;

alone, I go for a walk on the boardwalk,

Chinese Christians gather on the beach,

praying to someone or something,

trying to make sense of it all,

I watch from afar,

thinking about my work,

and promises made but not kept,

about the predictability of it all,

and how sometimes, you wish you were wrong,

just once;

watching the ocean waves,

pounding slowly on the sandy shore,

realizing that they could care less,

that everyone but me could care less

and perhaps, I should care less too;

I think of my father,

and how I wish I could show him,

that it doesn’t always have to be his way,

that it is okay to feel good,

that it is okay to simply be;

but I know that I never will;

winter at the shore is the best time of all,

for some it is a given, others hold fast to it,

like a man drowning in the ocean,

later these thoughts will mean nothing,

but for the moment they are everything;

they are all there is;

perhaps the golden years won’t

be so bad after all,

maybe they will be just

what was needed;

or at least something new;

crawling back into bed,

reaching for her warm body,

happy to be where I am at;

happy for one more breath.

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Sunday Morning

bright blue Sunday morning,

silently waiting,

secretly weeping,

gently touching;

forever gone;

feeling, where there’s nothing

to feel,

believing, when there’s nothing

to believe;

reach out,

grasp my hand,

pull me up,

help me stand,

don’t leave me

here all alone,

don’t give up

now;

I am so close,

I am so sure,

I am so lost,

I am so afraid,

I am so wrong;

pathetic,

yes,

but what else

is there?

what else

is left?

answers,

without questions,

questions,

without answers.

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Right and Wrong

people keep trying to tell me,

what is right and what is wrong,

where it is that I belong,

that I’ve got to be so strong;

but I just don’t care!;

and you keep on saying,

your love is really so real,

that you’ve finally learned to feel,

but I say “big deal,”

your heart is made of steel;

there just isn’t anything there!;

traveling through this world,

in a life I didn’t choose,

playing a game I was taught to lose,

finding mysteries without the clues,

paying these same old dues;

it just isn’t fair!;

time to get up and be heard,

there is no more time to wait,

by then it will be too late,

you will already have sealed your fate,

forever trapped in darkness and hate;

don’t be afraid to share.

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Today Will Have to Wait

And, behold, one came and said unto him, Good Master, what good thing shall I do, that I may have eternal life? And he said unto him, Why callest thou me good? there is none good but one, that is, God: but if thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments.   Matthew 19:16-17

We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.   Isaiah 53:6

“When you stop viewing the world from the perspective of who is right, who is wrong, who is good, who is bad and start viewing it from the perspective that on our own, we are all wrong, we all have gone astray, it changes everything.” – W.F. Rhoads

I started to get dressed,

instead, all I could do was lay back down;

today will have to wait;

that is how it is, when the clock runs down,

but it continues to move, so there is still hope;

on television, angry crowds protest,

screaming words of hate at little children,

who stare out of a bus window,

wondering what they have done wrong,

to be the objects of such maniacal wrath,

when the truth is, they have done nothing,

except be born in a world where might makes right,

and wealth demands privilege;

the mob stands firm, in their position of moral

and political correction,

their comments, their words,

their agendas, their motives,

their ulterior objectives,

their over the top protests;

silently gives them away;

in it all, there is fear,

in it all is self-preservation,

in it all is greed;

I no longer participate in this self-illusion,

this mockery, this secret subterfuge,

this moral dilemma,

it is what it is, nothing can change it,

nothing can undo it,

darkness knows not mercy,

evil has it’s day;

good people, blinded by hate,

drowning in the cesspool

of their own self-righteousness;

today will have to wait.

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All There Is

“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” Then Jesus replied, “Have I not chosen you, the Twelve? Yet one of you is a devil!” (He meant Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, who, though one of the Twelve, was later to betray him.)   John 6:67-71

I turn to You,

because You are all there is,

You alone have the truth,

You alone have the light;

everything in this life fades,

but You;

money,

objects,

security,

flesh,

cars,

homes,

mothers,

fathers,

brothers,

sisters,

sadness,

sorrow,

happiness,

joy,

Buddha,

Mohammed,

Vishnu,

man-made gods and truths;

everything but You;

You alone have the words of eternal life,

You alone offer hope,

You alone speak truth,

You alone are the Way,

You alone took the burden of our sins

upon Yourself,

You alone died that all might live;

You alone are all there is.

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Martin Luther King Day?

Martin Luther King day?

he brought sanity

to an insane world,

created calmness

out of chaos,

peace,

to a battlefield,

forgiveness,

where none was deserved,

light,

to a land grown black

by internal darkness;

so;

Martin Luther King day?

I would certainly think so;

or at least a floater

for the first 50 years or so,

(profits are never recognized

in their own time);

oh;

make sure it’s on a Monday,

might as well get a long weekend out of it.

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Mackinaw

for a moment, sitting on that bench,

with the water washing up on the shore,

the cool breeze blowing in our face,

the bright sun shining overhead,

we had come to a place never thought possible,

a place where everything is as it should be,

as it was meant to be;

we discussed many things on that bench,

warm, bright, happy things,

deep, dark, painful things;

she has given me more,

than I ever imagined possible,

more than I ever deserved.

.

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than you

I have written many things in my life,

thought many thoughts,

fantasized many fantasies,

dreamed many dreams,

but none of them are more important,

than you;

I have written of imaginary lovers

and foolish ideas,

all of which seemed so important,

but were nothing, nothing at all,

compared to the love that we share,

you are the reality which has kept me holding on,

for more years than I can remember,

yours is the touch I long to feel,

the voice I long to hear at the end of the day,

when nothing seems real, when nothing is true,

as all the thoughts and ideas, go drifting away,

like smoke from a burning campfire,

you are the part of me I can never let go,

no matter how hard this need to destroy

everything that I touch has tried;

there is no one I would rather be with,

than you.

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Magic Time

now is the bewitching time,

now is the quiet time,

now is the in-between time,

now is the magic time;

I love this time most of all,

as the last rays of daytime light,

fade into the dark shadows

of the cold black night;

laying here with you,

makes it all so simple and clear,

no thoughts of tomorrow,

no empty worries,

no mindless fear;

soon enough it will pass,

the world will come crashing back in,

like some giant ocean wave,

but for now,

let us remember this quiet time,

this in-between time;

this magic time.

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Doc

he’s as much a part of the valley,

as the rocks, the trees,

the mountains,

the earth;

5 minutes after you’ve met him,

you’ve known him all your life,

the brother you never had,

the friend you can count on,

the ‘salt of the earth,’

everything good, in a world

of conceit and hypocrisy;

he lives the life, others only talk about,

he walks the walk, very few are willing to try,

never crying, never complaining,

wild and free;

he makes you better,

just by knowing him.

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My Cup Runneth Over

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.   Psalm 23:5-6

in the quiet of the slowly setting sun,

lie answers hidden so deep,

far from knowing eyes or understanding minds;

there are stories no man can tell,

there are places no man can go;

you looked for the light,

but darkness was all you found,

you searched for redemption,

yet condemnation is all you deserved;

and yes, there are stories that no man can tell,

and there are places where no man can go,

but still you held on, waiting for an uncertain future,

following unsettled clues, living without validity,

settling for pennies on the dollar,

surrendering to an enemy already defeated,

making a home in the middle of celestial wastelands;

you dreamed dreams, wrestled with demons,

witnessed angels, ran from the blackness of

the approaching night,

faced the wrath of an undeniable truth,

now, finally, you belong to Him,

what more could be asked for?

what more could be needed?

my cup runneth over,

surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

for all my days,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

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