As the morning light came
He was lying in the dust.
Much too drunk to feel shame,
His whole life was a bust.
It happened in the square.
He passed out in the dark
Without anyone there,
All alone in the park.
He got up on his feet
And he looked all around.
As he walked to the street,
Only birds made a sound.
It was quiet at dawn,
The city still asleep.
All his money was gone.
He was in trouble deep.
Lucky to be so young,
He was just twenty-one.
His song may still be sung,
Have its day in the sun.
For those men much older,
Near the end of the line,
The wind is much colder,
The sun will hardly shine.
To die out on the street,
No family or friend,
Life is so incomplete
With such a bitter end.
Wherever you may roam,
Beneath the stars above,
Be thankful for a home
And for someone to love.
“How does it feel to be a guinea pig?”
An old hobo did once ask of me;
It was dawn, the morning sun rising,
Up all night in a park were we.
On a sidewalk inside New York City,
Just like mice inside of some maze;
Wandering around, as we hung out,
We stumbled about in a daze.
We had a hard time comprehending it,
Although it was quite clear to see:
We did not plan a life on this earth,
But that’s exactly what came to be.
“Judge not, lest you be judged.”
One and all are in this together.
As each must carry a heavy load,
Existence is light as a feather.
Say your prayers and mourn the dead,
But much more killing is still ahead.
As long as the guns are in our lives,
Only a random number survives.
Empty words are always spoken.
The heart of society is broken.
Many say all we can do is pray.
Legislation’s for another day.
Second Amendment is a suicide pact.
Now is the time for leaders to act.
Do something more than just offer prayers
And show us which of you really cares.
A concept is but a concept,
Existing only in the mind.
All of these words are thoughts
Belonging to the human kind.
Objects exist in empty space.
Without eyes, there can be no sight.
The real world which we call nature,
Does contain no wrong or right.
Reality has many forms,
Many more than we can perceive.
All we know is what we know
As the words which we conceive.
Good people have at their core,
Standards to be held on high.
A religion can be nothing more
Than a set of rules to live by.
Only the insane are truly atheistic,
Or agnostic and without any rules.
We all must strive to be realistic.
Those without any rules are fools.
Remove an O from the word GOOD.
Add a D to EVIL, it spells DEVIL.
GOD can then be fully understood,
And religion becomes on the level.
God and Devil are Right and Wrong,
Philosophical symbols in the mind.
Only good people will ever belong
To the Universal Church of the Kind.
In another lifetime
I was William Blake
When I saw his work
That was my take
He wrote about love
And the human heart
I thought I was him
Right from the start
He wrote about London
Tiger burning bright
His influence looms
In whatever I write
He wrote about life
The human abstract
I hope I was him
I hope it is fact
I flatter myself
To think I was him
Deep down I know
The chances are slim
His mystical presence
Burns like a fire
To be like him
Is to what I aspire
(Published by The Society of Classical Poets Literary Journal February 11, 2018 and Lone Stars Poetry Magazine, Fall 2020)
As I wake up each morning
I breathe in my fresh air
I remember you are with me
I love that you are there
Whenever I think about you
It takes my breath away
I breathe a little easier
To know you’re here to stay
So breathe on me my lady
And love me if you can
Your love leaves me breathless
I’m your ever lovin’ man
You are like a precious stone
So rare beyond compare
Loving you is as easy
As breathing my fresh air
Ever notice how time goes by?
The clock on the wall goes “Bong!”
Just like a bird, the time does fly;
Like an army, it marches along.
The leaves on trees tumble and fall,
The wind blows across tall grass.
Life is short, does it matter at all?
We are born to live ’til we pass.
Passage of time is incremental.
Step by step, we grow and age.
As memories can be sentimental,
Every day we turn a new page.
Our lives develop like a book,
With chapters and twisting plots.
Stories change each time we look,
Our emotions tied up in knots.
At last, our bodies will expire,
Physical death comes on us fast.
Buried, entombed, consumed by fire,
As the future becomes the past.
Our journeys will take many turns,
As the road goes around the bend.
When a lifetime crashes and burns,
The Book of Life comes to an end.
Christians and Muslims all agree,
There will be a judgment day.
If I could ever talk to their God,
Here is one thing I might say:
“In case we do not pass your test,
In the course of the human race;
If we could fail and burn in hell,
Why create us in the first place?”
For breakfast I have a cup of tea,
And a little granola to satisfy me.
For lunch I may have a piece of fruit,
Or maybe a carrot, or some other root.
My dinner depends upon my wife;
Whatever she cooks sustains my life.
When morning comes I am still asleep,
Lost in dreams and in slumber so deep.
It is in the afternoon I start my day,
Thinking about what I may have to say.
I contemplate what it is I might write.
Most of my writing is done at night.
One thing always does come to mind,
Whatever may happen, please be kind.
(Published by Lone Stars Poetry Magazine December 2016)