Existentialism was never my thing
it’s philosophy ephemeral at best.
God, angels, the universe in protest
never seemed to pass any test.

If their presence has no meaning
if God cannot raise the dead.
Then my life, it has no purpose
it fills the heart with fear and dread.

Dissipate into oblivion
dying with anger, raging in my head.
Existing only as a concept
you may as well shoot me dead!

May you never
Dance with silence
Or share a moment
With the one named pain.

If you see darkness,
I pray the sun
Chases it away.

Every thought
That brings you misery,
Let it be sent
To the farthest corners
Of your beating heart.

On the rare occasion
You fall for a fool,
One who makes you
Embrace loneliness,
I beg the heavens
To send you a smile
That forces Hades
To repent for his sins.

This, and much more,
I ask the angels
To give to you daily.

I’m already there
Somewhere else
The only way I can still be
Anywhere

Turned in my receipts
And tore up the old timecards
I’m not owed anything
I decided I’m free
When she left me

Time can’t hold me anymore
Even if I wanted to squeeze back in
Even I I begged
I couldn’t pry back into
That old story

I’m already there
In the new place
On a couch
In the living room
On the Blackfoot river
Drinking cocktails with my good mother
Watching music videos

Gods house

If I could write like Kipling,
Swinburne, Poe or Noyes
My pen would never cease to scratch
Tales full of hope and joy.

Maybe songs of misery,
Of woe and long lost loves,
Of girls I loved with passion
With words of tender love.

Of gardens soft and verdant
In dappled sunshine's glare.
Deserts bare and sunbaked
Where bleached white bones lay bare.

Tales of high adventure,
Buccaneers and gold,
Of Worlds in space, so far away
Adrift in realms ice cold,

The world seems
to have lost hope
in the streets of
uncertainty.

Compassion
became a bench
that none of us
will sit on.

Love is a rose
that was hidden
from the sun,
waiting to fall,
petal by petal.

Words turn into
fists that break
frozen hearts
into a thousand
pieces.

If only for a moment,
we could disappoint
the evil that
rules over
mankind.

Call me insane
for believing
in the times
when we
were united,
not divided.

Harrowingly
holding up
a glistening
golden glazed
glass of yesteryears
above a
withering wishful
world of
blackened blood worn tears.
Looking down
the leisurely
limping line
whilst wondering
what I would
leave behind. Footsteps
seeping
into the solemn
ground worn
with age never to
be found .

Poets are damned to live and die
beneath this sacrilegious sky.
They pen their petty piece of rhyme
They’re slaves, so they must steal the time

to pour themselves upon the page.
(They couldn't work without a wage!)
They hate to focus on themselves.
Their lives lie shattered on sad shelves.

They seek some kindly eye to see
(a heart in love with poetry!)
A kindred kind with selfsame soul
who’ll criticise, and yet console.

I had a vision of a lonely Man
Who on his shoulders weight was laid
With every sadness that sorrow can
That in his eyes was Spirit made

To capture time and tame the rage.
His pouting mouth formed early age
But in his blood he sought the fight
And always knew a sense of right.

I read his words and heard the shout,
“Not yet will I turn about!”
I looked long for him, his never die
And found him in the wind’s dark sigh.

Tattooing Biscuit coloured
Backs with haphazardly soul
sunken prints, feet bars getting
kissed by rolling rushing turquoise
waves with white foamy caps.

Its froth briny toungue pushing
out jellyfish and crab cones
Weightless driftwood surfing
aimlessly, sheets of golden

light rebounded off the sluggish
warm highway sea.

For the cloak of spontaneity,
Is often born of impropriety,
Lest...
A heart withers to form a wisecrack in character.

True to the core.