It’s impossible to force
A good piece of writing
It can only come from true inspiration
It should flow without effort
from the mindTo the fingers
and thenThrough the keyboard
To the screen

When life gets too serious
When the fun seems to have flown
When mystery’s no longer mysterious
When the daily grind has ground to the bone

Just….
Sing a little song

When

When did the snowfall
Lose it’s magic?
When did the night sky
Commence to look small?

It was when I grew up…

When did the past
Become so tragic?
When did the shadows

There's a tiny crack in everything
tis how the light's let in...

Everything lacks perfection
In the smallest particle there’s a flaw
Imperfection is our protection

I write too much poetry
Makes me feel like a jerk
I post way too often
Cause I’m way out of work

I know when you all see this
You’re gonna say “oh good lord

Darkness about me
In the somnolent silence
The silence has substance
tis thick as can be

silence about me
as loud as a scream
In a nightmarish dream
It can terrify me

Faded pink petals
twixt old yellowed pages
In a time worn ol’ diary
Filled with eras and ages

Leaves, red and golden
Pressed between old yellowed pages
Of old diaries beholden

You might think you look the same …
But you don’t

You might think you will …
But you won’t

You might think you don’t lie…
No, not you

You don’t think you betray…

If the God's of poetry
today bless me with luck
I won't see a posting
that contains the word f#@k

this could be a place for serious efforts
that's where this kind of work stalls

I want to tell my family
I want to tell those who are near
Please don’t look through me
Because…I’m still here

Acknowledge my being
Let me know I exist
Please hear my pleading

Out of work, Not much of a future
My life seems to be for the birds
Got no specials skills, life’s in the sewer
The only thing I can do is “words”

When I look in the mirror
I see standing behind me
Ol’ friends and ol’ loves
And lives not meant to be

When I look in the mirror
I see mostly memories
I see people and things

Baptist churches and brotherhood
In a tired, aging town
A moribund neighborhood
Where faith and fraternity are found

Cleveland Ohio’s a rust belt town

My Touch

To a loved family member…
a caress, a touch
A loving hand on ones knees
Can convey e’er so much
Just a soft gentle squeeze

To a child….
A finger’s soft glide

Pediatric E.R, R.I.P 11/5/09 (a drowning)

I watched…
A heartbreaking scene today
But I couldn’t tear
my eyes away

I watched …
I feel shamed to say
I watched