Simple Money

Simplicity in human form
comes in many shapes
of skin, flesh and bones

Brains and skin tones
are often not equal

we are all unique
in our ability  
to manipulate the world
for what we need

…but more importantly
for what we want to have
for things we have learned to want
from others

They say “Money doesn’t buy happiness”
it certainly buys everything else
they say money doesn’t grow on trees
what they mean
is that their money doesn’t grow on trees
paper, after all, is all one needs

If I had all the money in the world
I would be sure to share some
so that I don’t find myself
at the unfortunate end
of a stranger’s loaded gun

If I was the last man on the planet
money wouldn’t buy anything
If I was the only man on the planet
without money
well, that’s a whole other thing

There is nothing wrong with “greed”
isn’t that only the opinion of others?
it is human to give but mostly take
there is much about life still to discover

A few random thoughts


The positive have a way
of choking reality into silence
the passive and peaceful have a way
of provoking actions most violent

The smart ones are often silent
or maybe silence only signals mystery
the ones at the top are those who slept
through the most important lessons in history

A closed mouth doesn’t get fed
empty vessels make the most noise
the world loves the thought of new ideas
a new world churned out by old boys

There are those who love peace and quiet
others search endlessly for the storm
we are all born without words
but learn to mimic sound for pitch and form

There are those who take vows of silence
monks and criminals are not so far apart
all roads lead to Rome
to find meaning in silence is not for the faint of heart


No one got rich by being generous
a penny saved is a penny earned
experience will turn a warm heart cold
the pinch of poverty is a lesson learned

There is a great drive in some people
it is usually called “hard work” and “persistence”
the truth might be far less glamorous
for a piece of the pie at fame and money’s insistence

We love big packages
though the gift may be quite small
appearances are always important
to make a lasting impression above all


A picture is worth a thousand words
birds of a feather flock together
the Ugly Duckling was never a duck
reflections are the only chance to be seen for the better

Maybe we once came from the same people
it is still wise to be weary of strangers
somewhere along the way we fell apart
sometimes the ones we love are the biggest danger

In light of recent events

Breath is justice
a manifestation in our lungs
one long enough to take hold
to consume us
leaving us overcome with existence

Breath that refuses to halt
heaving and pumping
rising and falling with the chest
a thoughtless but powerful clockwork

Suffocation is an antidote
to the elation in our eyes
the beating in our hearts
a trampling and choking
forever subduing the writhing body

In between breaths                                         
when all is unassuming
before sunlight encompasses us
and the nightfall consumes us
justice harbors the innocent

but only for a moment

The question of souls

Today I heard a little girl say
that she was a spirit.

There are a few matters
I no longer grapple with
that are pushed aside
cornered and out of my mind

Does the world exist
from the outside in
or from the inside out?
Will I one day leave my human casing
forever leaving this planet
for something else?

Do I already float with the finished
flirting with the end
without realizing the consequence
of never again?

There are a million questions
to which no answer will suffice
no amount of consolation or speculation
will ever prove to be right

We are often told
cherish your life
live for the moment
enjoy the ride

When the knowledge in a child
can shake the foundation
of the day’s order
neither heaven or hell
can step in to stop
questions the mind may harbor  

Seasonal skies

The skies sparkle bright in color
when the seasons shift
and light takes on new meaning

The abundance of clear horizons
fused with the purples, reds, and pinks
arrest gazing eyes into contemplation

The colors of the skyline spectrum
meshed into a collection of the beautiful
live and breathe in the distance

The hands reaching down from the vista
caress the aura of onlookers
every stroke like a soft sensation upon skin

A beauty that cannot be touched
there are no owners to this panorama
simply an infinite canvas painted by nature

The breath of spring renews its hold
fresh air from the lungs of the season
exhaling new life upon the land

Living tomorrow today

For years I watched
the world move ahead
sometimes in a hurry
often slowly and labored
from one day to the next

When I was young
I was happy to be
life moved in a day
and tomorrow was filled
with endless dreams

Now I am older
no longer new
no more so fresh
the disappearance of my youth
no longer in mourning

It is easier
to appreciate the mornings
to contemplate the nights
and note the grace
of the changing seasons

Sometimes I think
that if had a choice
I wouldn’t return to the past
I would stay put for the present
knowing contentment isn’t elsewhere

It is in the moment
between thick and thin
on the current page
that hope and happiness
laugh together in the passing breeze

If I turn the pages of life slowly
I’m sure to savor
each passing moment and breath
the taste of today on my lips
the satisfaction of experience in my stomach

What we really want

We make a big scene
on a social front
for change and equality
for rights at new heights
for the sake of human prosperity

We shout and scream
picket and protest
holding our ideas and values
to make life fair
to take away despair so grotesque

Aren’t we so conscious
to the ills of the world?
to the evils of our forefathers
to bigotry and hatred
and the destinies of the ill-fated unfurled

Self-preservation is fact
fear is a driving force
to maintain the status quo
in the face of heroics
we often succumb to the usual course

Many wish for revolution
without making sacrifice
if change is what we really wanted
watching the ills of the world unfold
would prove to simply suffice

Don’t talk to them

People don’t talk
to men of a certain age
bearded or clean shaven
balding or nearing gray

people do their best
to stay out of the way
men tend to bring disaster
disappointment and dismay

some look and move on
men are seldom to be trusted
some women know men to be evil
averting eyes refusing to be lusted

children point and stare
some can only laugh
others disgusted or afraid
sure to step out of their lonely path

studied and subdued
aggressive and rude
men of a certain type
rarely bring comfort and certitude

some try their best to understand
these creatures from outer space
others make a good effort
to vacate shared premises to another place

these men these monsters
these men these pigs
these men small and large
these men bothersome and big

men they have no mothers
dirty scoundrels and rotten lovers
don’t turn your back for a second
they’re up to no good under covers

I just so happen to be
one of these strange creatures
an object of precaution
a lesson for wary teachers

I’ll die tall as a man
even though I was little like any baby
It’s the time between birth and death
that’s sure to drive a man like me crazy

What it means to chase a dream

The long breath of responsibility
upon the backs of the squalid
the young, the starving, the dreamers
can only last until their passion is fully forsaken
to follow the advice of others

The luck of the draw
rears its generous head
into the minds of few
the others scrambling
to connect the dots
to make ends meet
juggling responsibility and commitment
to follow a calling
they know to be true

The impractical and impossible of yesterday
are the realities of today
the failures of yesteryear
are the successes of tomorrow

Dreams are never fully owned or borrowed
but to be pursued through
on the paths of happiness and sorrows
dreams are the fuel of hopes and ambition
built to defy tradition
with the courage to live life in one’s own rendition

The blood in my dancing veins

The trees sway
as they do in darkness
washing over the landscape
I press silence to my chest
my eyes open to the cold
the warmth upon my skin
a luxury to my shuddering bones

I cannot move like trees
in nimble accord with wind
flexible in a state of grace
I do not sweep over the scenery
like the eye of the night
the calm texture of leaves
turning green from seasonal respite

The flesh of the evening
holds nature so stubborn
scattered over hardened mud
I tremble in the grips of earth’s aura
legs quivering in the still
the body keeps the night close
embracing the reverie it seeks to spill