The Sons of Mothers

You were our first mistress,
we were your slaves.
They were your eyes
we most wished to look into.
They were your eyes
we most played to.

We would have changed the world,
we would have become anything you asked,
just to stand at your hem,
be in your close favor.
It is you that we
measure womanhood against.

It was you that started our day,
and set us off to take on the world.
It was you that we wanted to
scare away the monsters,
read to us, and kiss us to sleep.

We are nothing, nothing,
that you did not create.
We look to find a woman,
a woman that measures up
to the standard you placed in us.
We may look our whole lives.

The love we will love for our woman,
is the love for a woman you gave us.
We learned from you
that a life without the love of a woman
is not a life at all.

We will always be yours,
the sons of mothers.

© October 8, 2010

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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Poetry


Secret of Winter’s First Snow

The wind blows cold,
like a breath from the north witch.
From somewhere far away,
lonely bells can be heard ringing.

Fireplace scents expose,
of warming those who do not dare
to experience the secrets.
Taking refuge against nature’s endowment.

This, the first day,
unwanted spring not so far away.

Walking among the forest’s furtive tale,
trees’ weathered branches a woven cloak
to protect in secrecy that
which it desires to conceal.

Snow pillows soften
footfalls to silence,
Leaving all that is familiar behind,
for a frontier, evergreen scented.

Nymphs laugh and hide
waiting for the unsuspecting.
Silence, perfect silence.
Thoughts uninhibited.

In continuous renovation,
this scene never before seen,
to never be seen again.

© December 2010


Posted by on February 23, 2011 in Poetry


Free Willie

I can finally now rest easy,
I’ll sleep comfortably and worry not.
With a sieve for a border,
and the cartels out of order,
they’ve arrested Willie with six ounces of pot.

This bastion of crime and mayhem,
This purveyor of fun…this felon.
Has finally been apprehended,
His criminal empire upended,
The dreaded & dangerous Willie Nelson.

With our border guards standing guard,
We no longer worry about such grave danger.
The worst of the worst bad guys,
Busted and cuffed up with plastic zip-ties.
They’ve captured the Red Headed Stranger.

Now they’ll tell you that they’re only doing their job,
Taking in this icon of song.
The streets will be safer,
From this border bus racer,
Or am I just seeing this all wrong?

Perhaps I don’t have the whole story,
Is there something they’re just not telling us?
But if I saw him today,
I’d look him straight in the eye and say,
Willie you gotta get a much faster bus.

© November 2010

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Posted by on February 23, 2011 in Poetry



I’m pink,
that’s a color.
I don’t see pink so well.
It would be nice to be brown.
I like brown,
I can see it just fine.
I don’t see red so well either,
I see yellow.
I don’t know what color that is,
but I don’t think I would want to be chartreuse.
Can’t we all be blue sometimes?
Green with envy?
In a black mood?
Should such things cause hate?
It still does, though.
I don’t understand.
Isn’t the pallet beautiful,
all the colors side-by-side?

Are we not all of the same pallet?

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Posted by on February 23, 2011 in Poetry


Sea to Believe

Looking across the facade,
reflections cerulean
spotted with suspended albicant.
Contemplating what I couldn’t see.
The mysteries she keeps hidden,
the treasures and loves she refuses to bare.
Brave adventurers set upon her,
exploring, searching for everything.

And I listen.

She whispers of ravaging storms
killing without favor,
making believers out of doubters
of mortality and love.
Halibiotic worlds beyond
inspired imagination.
Bathysmal dreams of wonder,
this majestic bestower – and taker – of life.

Possessing an inescapable grasp
on dreamers, lovers and poets.
Giving sail to vessels of seekers of hope,
to bottled messages from
raconteurs and the desperately lost.
Its fall and rise as sure as time.
She is the story.

© January 2011


Posted by on February 23, 2011 in Poetry