The gates stand open
you can walk in;
about returning though,
no guarantees
are given.
You start walking
thinking you want to
get there soon,
get there at any cost
you walk fast, faster
and trot some too
and then you see
that you are sure no longer -
is this where you wanted to go?
You haven’t got there yet,
but the pathway scares you,
and so do your co-passengers
why do all of them
resemble scavengers?
Now you are sure,
‘This is not what I wanted!’
But you are tired
you are more than
half way across
and the scavengers
are waiting for you
to slow down
or change course.
And so you walk on
to where you are so
sure, you no longer
want to go…

on my guard

I am tired -
of phony smiles
expensive scents
and sprits
and inexpensive
Free loves
and freer moralities.
People meandering
through the party
with their
insignificant others
“How are you?’s
and no answers
listened to.
Virtual memories,
and artificial laughter
I am so tired,
but I cannot,
not for a second,
let it be known
that I am not
one of them
once they know
they will
‘Tch tch’, they’ll whisper
‘She seemed so normal.’


I dreamt yesterday
of walking to the door
of a room
yes, full of happiness
it was; I knew
ere entering
as is the nature
of such dreams.
And I knocked
the polished
brass knocker
with anticipation
… no trepidation.
The door opened
I walked in
and found myself
yes, full of happiness
which was
within, not without
I looked around at
the vast emptiness
and felt truly
- happy -
for the first time


In a strange world where
it’s norm
to talk in rhymes
a baby wailing for milk
cries in cadences
a little older, says,
‘I hunger for milk
so kind mama,
give some, like
mothers of your ilk’
a dying man
not able to form
a coherent rhyme
dies without saying
anything at all.
Haven’t you heard
of free-verse
my good folks?