10/8/11

What better moments to remind,
How fortunate we are,
Than time we take to rest, recline,
And gaze up at the stars.
At times we envy wealth and fame,
Yet now, it's hard to see,
Who else on earth that we might name,
Is luckier than we.
10/7/11

An unexpected change of standing plans,
May seem at first an inconvenient thing,
But altering ones course from where it stands.
Is valued for the promise that it brings.
While fine to have our expectations met,
And realize our visions seen in deed,
Our regimented minds must not forget,
What inspiration comes of being freed.
10/6/11

A quiet time at work,
A welcome spot of rest,
A squandered day to hide and shirk,
Daydreaming at my desk.
10/5/11

Sadness is a hairline crack,
Eroding in the soul,
A tiny thought, a minor fact,
That grows into a hole.
It's seldom pressure from outside,
That forms this cavity.
More often, it's a force of pride,
Abutting destiny.
10/4/11

When one leaves home they are themselves,
For nothing stands to alter them.
Their routine life shows someone else-
A false appearance they pretend.
But does conformance, day to day,
Definine our minds and shape our souls,
Or is it when we step away,
That we assume  our own true roles?
We're, all of us, chamelions,
Who let the darkness pale our skins,
Then change our shading in the sun.
Are such disguises worn within?
Which life is real, which one untrue?
Does truth discern between the two?

10/3/11

Tonight the monthly council meets,
Assembling in the city hall.
Some gather there to speak their piece,
While most enjoy no peace at all.
10/2/11

The last night of our time away
Before we must at last return.
To common woes and workaday
To mundane matters and concerns.
A few short hours where the storms,
Of debt  and duty hold at bay.
We blindly bury worldly norms,
To live like children, one last day.
10/1/11

Rainy days and autumn fairs
Local crafts and handmade wares
Wooden carvings, toys and spoons,
Woven clothing, knits and looms.  
Sweet perserves and pickeled spreads,
Oven goods, baked pies and breads
Simple pleasures line the asiles,
Where we wander, chat and smile.
9/30/11

Five years today, we formed this bond,
We spoke our prayers and sealed our vows,
To keep our love, to carry on,
And promise then,  who we are now.
9/29/11

We quickly pack our things and swiftly flee,
Abandoning our livelihoods and home.
We stow possessions under lock and key,
Protected in our absence as we roam.
We leave behind all comforts known to us,
To venture forth as wanderlust compels,
Upon this self selected exodus,
Escaping from the island of ourselves.
9/28/11

The rain kept us awake last night,
As flashing thunderclaps assailed.
Despite our fitful futile fight,
To stay asleep, our slumber failed.
Thus ended our expected dreams,
And so began our  altered course  
How much do all our plans and schemes,
Rely on chance and nature's force?
9/27/11

Why, in our lives, are we so often asked,
To render pure impossibility?
We somehow rise up to the lofty task,
Then hear that our results are under par.
For every mountain moved, another test,
Awaits the strain of our abilities.
We're called to catch the moon upon request,
Then criticized for leaving out the stars.
9/26/11

A job is someplace that you go so you can earn your keep,
To place a roof above your bed where you can't fall asleep.
9/25/11

There is a choice we sometimes make,
No matter how unfair it seems,
No matter how our hearts may break,
To live one's life or follow dreams.
9/24/11

Small talk is invaluable, most businessmen maintain.
It's said to aid one's rise and guide horizons to expand.
But after countless mingling over drinks I must complain,
That no one I have met before remembers who I am.
9/23/11

A friend's success we hear by word of mouth,
Is no less very pleasant news indeed.
A happy tale transferred by any route,
Is welcome to be told and to retell.
Yet fortune heard firsthand is without doubt,
The kindest way to have such news received,
For when we are included and sought out,
The blessing then becomes our own as well.
9/22/11

Nothing ever matters really,
But to love and sing and laugh.
This will let us live ideally,
Or else, make us psychopaths.
9/21/11

There are some days I feel disgust,
At my own lack of faith in man,
These base suspicions and distrust,
That skew my movements, words, and plans.
I wonder, is my heart too hard?
And every time I yield control,
The instant that I drop my guard,
I learn I can not trust a soul.
9/20/11

There once was a person who needed to show,
That he was the best and the smartest of all,
And even in times when this just wasn't so,
He learned to inflate things, no matter how small.
Thus people would think he did more than his share.
Of course, if he couldn't, he simply would steal,
But give minor credit, to prove he was fair,
And make his contrived contributions seem real.
He'd always agree, whether falsehood or true,
Unless he could profit from shooting you down.
When no one was watching, he'd ask what you knew,
Then make you look small with his betters around.
He did all these things to help get him ahead,
This talentless hack with an envious thirst.
The irony is, one fine day he was dead,
And for all his plotting, he'd gotten there first.
9/19/11

Words running rampant,
For every detail,
Thread like a serpent,
That eats it's own tail.
No resolution,
As each cycle breaks,
Waxing solution,
Then waining opaque.
Soon we are swallowed,
By all our own thoughts,
Proffered and followed,
Then countered and caught.
Whirlpools in oceans,
Which drown and destroy,
Spiraling motions,
Encircling a void.
Growth in slow tangents,
Like shell on a snail.
Words running rampant,
For every detail.
9/18/11

At times we find ourselves involved,
In needed fits of exercise,
A newfound passion and resolve,
To physically achieve our best.
More oft than not this task revolves,
Around financial enterprise,
Investment as a means to solve,
The issue of our laziness.
For nothing else will guarantee,
Our promises remain intact,
Than offering a precious fee,
Ensuring we obtain results.
We join a club and hope to be,
Enabled through this costly pact.
For only by these means shall we,
Behave at all like grown adults.
9/17/11

A crisp chill stings the autumn air,
Our senses are confused and fooled
Though skies are clear, uncluttered blue,
And sunlight streams, all warmth is cooled.
Brown patches form within the green,
As slowly, growth becomes undone.
A whisper through a summer scene,
That tells of winter soon to come.
9/16/11

A weekend without any plans,
No chores or projects to complete,
No set appointments or demands.
Two days, an unmarked, clean white sheet.
A canvas bare and waiting still,
For color, structure, shades and light,
Left for our pallette minds to fill,
With varied options of delight.
When, years from now, we reminisce,
Upon our long lived histories,
Those times we count most full and rich,
Will be such empty days as these.
9/15/11

All morning meetings set to start at eight
Are no doubt scheduled by a beast from hell,
All other groups conveneing sanely late,
Will surely settle matters just as well.
No tangible advantage is obtained,
Conscripting the exhausted out of bed,
Except resentfull thoughts and  mental strain,
Ensuring none remember what was said.
9/14/11

There are some days where nothing works at all,
It makes no difference how hard one may try,
Each new initiative will fail and stall,
With no result as hours fritter by.
Each impetus is rendered impotent,
All giving leaves the world with something less,
Our final course must be abandonment.
And claiming that we simply tried our best.
9/13/11

A pleasant visit to our home,
A night to chat of life, and art,
A fleeting chance we may atone,
For spans we have been far apart.
An evening to enrich our souls,
Before our days are spent again,
Engrossed with those we barely know,
While reminiscing of our friends.
9/12/11

A celebration to announce the relocation of a friend,
A last occasion marked and measured from the day he must depart.
How many farewell dinners have I had the honor to attend?
How many more, without announcement of such endings, broke my heart?
9/11/11

No poetry describes a sense of loss,
When true acuity can't be conveyed.
No weighty words can balance out the cost,
That comes of what is gone and can't return.
Time is the only scribe that speaks a verse,
Which calms the horror of a heart that aches.
It's meter, measuring the pain at first,
Becomes our story as we slowly learn.
9/10/11

A yard sale is an odd event, by which a life is known,
A portal into someone's soul, their past upon display.
Yet, all they love and cherish is not gleaned by what they own,
But, rather by discarded things they choose to give away.
9/9/11

Enchanted in a darkened space, all eyes upon a canvas sheet,
That glows emotion, showing drama, sorrow, love and comedy.
And tells us stories of a people who we'll never chance to meet.
While right beside us, those with stories just as fair, sit silently.
9/8/11

An injury shall never heal the way we might expect,
But lingers as a lasting patch of vulnerability.
When wounds subside we must abide their phantom-like effects.
Incorporating all their reoccurring misery.
For as a laceration seals, it leaves a telling scar,
A record of the sad event. A lasting signature.
And every suffered harm that heals will add to who we are,
Each jagged line defining us like maps of where we were.
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