The Plan

I jotted down a plan and made note
Great words, I spoke, great achievements I hoped
I lived, laughed and loved in picture perfect form
but then came a drizzle, some rain, a storm

I hid from hidings
following into lunacy with the moons tidings
riding my mule into the world with which I was colliding
to awaken scared in despair
a horror in air, a million eyes to every stare

I bear the brunt of sickness
to my plan I am my only witness
life is good but was it not great?
sometimes we substitute plans for the mistakes we make

My Words

My words on paper
simply meek for a ponder
discarded, unused by souls who may never come across my blank thunder
a roar of gentle harmonies
my pennies strewn across the page

The split between a reality of letters and my own
distant from life, for reasons unknown
a leech to limited blood, my solitary pen leaks my insides
when the words type themselves for the kindnesses of men
to oppose the villainous worlds that manifest from within


In black, in white, plain and simple
lips sealed, hands up
a finger through my dimple
a box without borders
too close for comfort
within the walls that refuse to budge

Drudge in robotic movement
sadness without improvement
the frown lining disposition
the glass walls that pose imposition
I find escape through time
finding ways back in through the buttons of rewind

Leaping through misunderstandings
until rotated full circle in captivity
my silence my longevity
in my words of brevity

Blunted Haunt

Life arisen from experience
of futile, of fulfilling
from being a human in circumstances driven
by the hands of necessity, the thrills of want
to fulfill the desires and acquiring through taunt

I dismantle my education
to build mistrust
sweep my finger the dust
under the clean carpets of the just

Uncover a truth so plain
of a life so empty
I wish to be let down gently
but linger I will

So cold so shrill
into the soul of an old man in full swill
I let the words flow freely from my mouth
as it is only the truth I may spill

Ruska III

The breeze that brushes my face is undisciplined in happening. Cooling me, offering a touch of fall to my senses. The wind wishes only to pass through. My features are touched by chance, only by my intrusion into its path.

The weather has changed and darkness has fallen. At first, the slight change in temperature was not as telling as the dramatic shift to life now around freezing temperatures.
I wish only a warm breeze on a cool day only as I want a chilly gust on a fiery summer evening. It is hard to part with a season that brims with warmth into an arctic chill that encapsulates surroundings into distant objects. The chill isolates people. The cold air captures the young and old alike into shells that are unbreakable until the first leaves of spring and a turn in climate.

And so, it happens again. I find my glasses the only protection from the biting wind that wishes to bring cold tears to my eyes for the sake of the season. I intend to enjoy the fall and endure the winter. I have experienced this weather before but there is a renewed sense of novelty in this change year after year.

A falling leaf no longer clinging to hapless grief
released from branches that survive through snow
but delicate leaf, you are not strong; you are weak in your existence
we will admire your changes and praise your colorful ways
until the end of your days
when we shall wave goodbye
and walk away

I Dream

I begin to wonder
under lightning and thunder
a cold proposition
a sleep so sound
under blankets profound

Waking thinned, unveiled
undressed without fail
the curtains open to the solo act of life
I am alone on a stage
lonelier than a solitary alphabet on a page
performing to an audience
without a unique face
lacking the vision for grace

Examined, scrutinized
until my eyes are closed
and I invent movement and patterns
that shall appease

But I move without motion
amidst the noise and commotion
when I find myself seated back in the crowd
without an act to follow

The displeased audience demands a show
but who shall oblige?
I sink into my seat
my hands to my feet
lucky to wake up between my sheets
warm in my retreat

On Writing III

Conjoining alphabets to create a flowing stream
headed to places unknown
a transition between dreams
the worlds follow suit
sentences formulate
methods of madness manifested into paragraphs
heavily medicated
unnecessary in their existence
therapeutic in their value
to calm the quivering bones
that shake for the unknown

I wait for a gentle ending
to let me down lightly
frighteningly short
surprisingly long
there is no end in sight
for the beginnings left in the morning light.

For Saturday

Underestimating the need for a balance
the end to the week
a strong finish to the meekness of oblivious Wednesdays
standing for days to gather light rest
refreshed in repose, deposing worry
restoring pride in reason
replenishing the integrity in pathways
establishing another week
to rest for the weekend

Awaken to stand correct in optimism
despite the loathing in negative charges that fight back against a bright tomorrow
that wish to draw the curtain closed
only to witness a continuation
of this lifelong show;
a show that will not end
that must not end
until it is all left it by the wayside
for a sunny Saturday afternoon

The Intelligent

Escape company to join conglomerates
a sea of subordinates
with degrees inordinate
educated in masses
intelligent as individuals
we share common spaces
locked away in our cubicles

Oh these fine credits
blemishing unseen
you deserve, you are worthy
triumph and ambition hand in hand
for a victory within rules

Top a peak
such sweet loneliness
look down upon those
who wish your place
only to shake them off

You are a winner, a champion
the fire in your heart a true companion
and success you will have served on a platter
but wary you shall remain
with only your own ego to flatter


Dumbfounded by distractions
unbalanced through attractions
to stand apart in refraction
a mere shadow of souls

I maneuver the cracks
and tiles on the streets of life
harder than concrete
softer than eggshells
walking between the lines
as long as I can
not stepping out of the uniforms
to fit the designs

But I eventually I shrug my shoulders
and break my walk
march no longer
the patterns indistinct
and I continue
knowing the outlines will be there
with perfect pattern tiles
to step inside
if I shall ever again
choose to waste my time