Category Archives: poems

Lies in the hospital room II

It was fucking terrible
Probably the worst thing I’ve had to do in my life
I couldn’t look at her
The life drained from her young face
Killed by life
By child molesters
By her whore of a mother
She looked at me and smiled
Asked me if I would come back and see her when she was better
But I knew that there was no better
There was no later
I had to leave the room
And let hot tears pour onto the cold and sterile tile
Before I could answer
I lied
I lied
I smiled and kissed her goodbye
Knowing that it would be final
And said goodbye

Yeah, I know I am a downer. This whole deal has just brought back my niece Amber to me from 2014

It’s been a hard couple of years

But hey, A reader actually requested some poetic writing.

It’s therapy, so screw you



If you have not seen the post previous to this, Please go to it.



I won’t hold her

I won’t hold her

I won’t bind her to this earth

Not after losing the second one

Not after losing her baby

I won’t force her to stay

Not by promise or time

Or love or sacred vow

There is only so much

A human heart can take

Before it bleeds and breaks

When this one goes

I think that I I will have say goodbye

To all that I love

I won’t hold her




I thought of her one day

Walking in the woods

Between the sun and shade

My wild child

My little Celtic beauty

Beautiful and strong

Her blonde hair

Flying in the wind

With a smile on her face

And mine

We had raced through

The narrow streets

On roaring steel

Wanton daredevils

Without fear or care

I smiled as the wind

Ruffled through my hair

Gently whispering memories

And wondered


My wild child

Had gone

Before she sleeps


She opens a window
in hope that the sky
will fall in from outside
and it’s tailwind brings

her the moon and the clouds
lined with silver, a crowd
of the finest of stars
and a spare pair of wings..

Bones 1-10-2016

Something just struck me about this little piece

It has a vision built into it that encompasses so much more than what has been said

It reminds me of something I would have written (Or wanted to)  in better times

It was written by “Bones” another anonymous author on one of the poetry sites I hang out on

Yeah, I’m a geek like that

A dangerous one

But a geek nonetheless


He can be found here:

Mother’s tears

He is gone now
Returned to dust
All that is left of him
Are his mother’s tears
Tears that she cries in torrents of pain
Late at night when all others sleep and dream
She rocks in the old rocking chair
Weeping and sobbing
There is no comfort for her
Knowing that he is gone
His place on this earth vanished
The life that she gave no longer existing
All that is left of him now
Are his mothers tears


I can’t tell you why it is
Anymore than I can tell you
Why the warm spring sun feels so good
Or that a tumbling waterfall is something to see
Or a blue sky something to be lost in
Or how gently crashing waves can soothe a soul
But all I know
Is what it is
Somethings are just meant to be
And I think that I was meant to love her
I knew it the first time that I ever saw her
That we were like nature
The sun, the sky, the waterfall and the ocean
Everyone needs someone to love them
She has me.

Classical/bluegrass quartet made one of my poems into a bluegrass song

Geeked? Yeah, a bit. It is why you write after all isn’t it?

Below is about the quartet which is named Invoke

“If the goal was to make classical music relevant, it couldn’t have proven the point any more clearly.”

– Columbia Free Times

Described by one pretty important radio guy as “not classical…but not not classical”, bowed and fretted string quartet invoke continues to successfully dodge even the most valiant attempts at genre classification. The multi-instrumental band’s other not-nots encompass traditions from across America, including bluegrass, Appalachian fiddle tunes, jazz, and minimalism. invoke weaves all of these traditions together to create truly unique contemporary string quartet repertoire, written by and for the group.


Invoke’s 2015 debut release “Souls in the Mud” begins with original works that conjure images of America, including the fast-paced opening track Travesty and The Trace (inspired by bourbon whiskey). The third and title track, Souls in the Mud, is an American transformation of a 16th century motet featuring banjo, mandolin and a bluegrass-influenced boot-stompin’ finale. The EP is rounded out by invoke accompanying a historic recording of a haunting traditional English ballad and two compositions by prolific American composer Danny Clay.


Since its inception in 2013, invoke has been selected as Artists in Residence at Strathmore, Emerging Young Artist Quartet at Interlochen, and Fellowship String Quartet at Wintergreen Performing Arts. invoke has shared the stage with some of the most acclaimed chamber groups in the country, including the Enso Quartet and the U.S. Army Field Band. Other performance highlights include appearances in Columbia, SC as honorable mention recipients at the Savvy Musician in ACTION workshop, on two consecutive seasons of the Common Tone concert series in Maryland, and as part of the Radical Sound collective.”

And here is a link to the track:

And the original poem:

Beneath the mountain

Leave alone what lies beneath the mountain

The labyrinthined caves and deep burning fire

Take instead the cold stinging creeks

The summer pines and pale blue sky

Take the rocky trails and sharp stone

And all the beauty for your eye

But don’t stray below and leave alone

What lies beneath the mountain

Chumley the cat

Whilst strolling through the woods one day to while away the time
I came across a creature, orange furred and fine
He had pointed ears and bright green eyes
And a tail that kept in time

He sat on the path quite relaxed and squarely in my way
He did not move, he did not budge, he would not let me pass
“Good day to you and how do you do?” Said I in my merry way
“But please move aside, as you’ve broken my stride
and let me continue with my day”

“Hello”  Said he, as he sat on the path, in a soft and purring way
“Let me introduce myself, my name is Chumley and I am your cat
I’m pleased to meet you, pleased to see you, so glad to be your cat”

“It’s a fine thing you’ve done and a fine man you are
to walk your cat through the forest
A cat could ask for no finer master, could find no better man.
So, let’s finish our stroll on this beautiful day and continue on our way”

“Hold on!” Said I, quite taken aback ” For surely you are mistaken.
I have no creatures great or small and most certainly not a cat. You are wrong good sir, a mistake I,m sure, for I know that we’ve never met.”

“Oh master!” Said he, with a sorrowful cry “What is it that I’ve done? Whatever would make you treat me so, the pet who has been like a son?”

“Step aside!” Said I, becoming irate “The day is fading, the hour is late.
You are not my pet, I know for sure, your mind is muddled, go find a cure! Now move from my way and allow me to pass. I’ve had enough of you blocking my path!”

A tear seemed to form in his green hued eyes
and next when he spoke he asked me why; why after all these years
would I forget a pet of mine

I’d had enough and told him so “Move from my way and let me go!
I’ve things to do and things to see, begone from my path and let me be!
You’ve wasted enough of my walking time, now out of my way, you are not mine!”

The cat finally spoke in a wavering voice ” I will leave you alone you give me no choice.
But I will always remember our time together, long nights in bed and walks in the wood.
I will always remember the love and the good

Later that night, I’d dined and I’d supped, I’d closed the curtains
and turned up the light
I thought of that cat I’d met earlier that day
The thought of him would not go away

I sat at my table, full from my meal, of bread and cheese and wine and veal
I wondered if he hungered, whether he had any meat.
So just to be sure I put a bowl at my feet……
For my cat Chumley

Ever run into that cat that insists it is yours just because you petted it?

Yeah it’s that cat

This is a children’s story I wrote about 20 yrs. ago at work

The entire thing was written on post it notes

Boy, I sure was a productive employee back then

Cold river

She wraps me in her  icy flow

and chills me ’til I’m warm

Soothes away the open space

With sand and pebbled shores

She tries to lull me downriver

Gently pulling, drowsing

Massaging the miles off me


I know she lies

I know she’d take me to the big river

Carrying me like an eddying breeze

But I want to lay back and dream

And slowly drift away

Bright Angel creek in the bottom of the grand canyon. It feeds into the Colorado

The blue shed

She caught him out in the shed
Like a thief
Stealing a moment of pain
Wracked by sobs and pouring out tears
Over small and faded pink canvas shoes
The shoes had supplanted his purpose
Sapped his intent
They made his tools indifferent
And uncaring
Turned them into nothing more
Than rusting steel and hanging shapes
Outlined on musty pegboard
That meant nothing
Nothing at all
Until her small and gentle hands touched him
And in shame
He dried his eyes
And put the shoes away
Back in their box on the shelf
And became a man again
Lived again
And worked again
In his shed full of tools

Lies in the hospital room

My words became roses
And made bouquets
To brighten her room
Beautiful red roses
Without any wilted petals
Of sorrow or fear
I left them laying
Strewn carelessly
About her bed
And left the crying
For the cold hallways

Some would say I’m odd…….

I am odd
Some would say
But not to me
Living here in my own skin
In my castle of bones
Listening to words
Beating like my heart
Some would say
I am odd
But not to me

Beneath the mountain

Leave alone what lies beneath the mountain

The labyrinthined caves and deep burning fire

Take instead the cold stinging creeks

The summer pines and pale blue sky

Take the rocky trails and sharp stone

And all the beauty for your eye

But don’t stray below and leave alone

What lies beneath the mountain

This is the poem that was made into a Bluegrass song by a string quartet. I am still awaiting a copy of it . The concert recording at strathmore did not come out well and they are going to forward a copy when they record it in studio.

Melancholy in my coffee

Melancholy in my coffee
Subdues my day
Dresses me in drab
Lifeless clothing
The smile I wore yesterday
Left hanging in the closet
Slightly wrinkled
Sends me out the door
Under the grey sky
My vision clouded
My mind numbed
Even your warm skin
I kiss goodbye
Can’t make the sun shine today
Tomorrow, I think, I’ll take
My coffee black

Leaving her

I can’t bear the thought of leaving her
My heart that races when I see her
Stopped and still inside my chest
My life’s blood
That I would so gladly bleed for her
Dead within my veins
Casting off that cold corpse like a blanket
And flying into the darkness
Leaving her so alone
A broken widow in this world
Her soul mate flown
Gone away without her
I can’t bear the thought of leaving her
Just going away
Leaving her nothing
But my cold flesh to cry on

Picking wild berries

I hope that wild berries
Will bring some joy to her
I wander the spring woods
In search of  sweet treasure
My footsteps are all that break
The mornings bleak silence
I slowly fill my basket with Blueberries
I pick our life with each sweet fruit
Our ripe destinies gripped in my fingers
My eyes fall upon dark Raspberries
They hang in the sun in  juicy prime
Suspended like treasures, Plump sweet jewels
Dangling from thorny crowns
Greedily they are plucked from their vine
For a moment I am happy with my bounty
My basket is full of ripe and plentiful fruit
Then her pain comes to my mind
My happiness is clouded over by worry
Cast into the shade by the dark shadows
I wonder if my basket of wild berries
Will be enough
I hope it will

The hearth

I require no company
save those that gather
’round the warmth
of my fire.
Late at night
hushed talk floats
in the chill air
like wisping tendrils
of smoke.
Faint firelight gropes
at the surrounding darkness
after imparting
it’s warmth.
Hours burn as embers
and laughter flickers
like flames.

Two track

It was a gash in the forest green
A two track
Run red with clay
Smelling of grass
And laid down below
The ocean of humid air
And it carried off miles into the swamp
Riding on the back
Of the long, long Island
And my feet followed it
Like a river of earth
‘Til its end
At the old Indian mounds
Mountains of men
And the ghosts of long ago
Just sitting there in the lonely forest
Reaching up to the sky
And every time I arrived
I always thought the same
Such a lonely place to die

I didn’t know that I was dead

I didn’t even know that I was dead
That my empty veins held no life
And my heart
That engine of my life
Had sputtered to a stop
And become cold
That my bloodied hands
Somewhere in the climb
Had faltered
Lost their grip
And let the rough stone
My hand suddenly clenching
Just an empty fist
I didn’t even feel the fall
The rushing wind
Nor even the impact
I didn’t even know
Until I looked up at the sky
And it’s pearly blue
With quickly fading sight
That I was dead

I’d rather die


Breathe freedom
Even if it be
Your last breath
Fill your lungs
With the taste
Of free air
And bloodied grass
Breathe the gasps
Meet the fate of all
Free on the ground