The Space Between Words

did you hear that

did you hear a sound

it’s unlikely you did

since there was silence

right there

in between the words

falling among phrases

the pause separating

the chosen sentences

there is a meaning there

it’s often not what’s said

it’s the space between

the words

did you hear that

it’s there

right there

there’s meaning in

those spaces


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Colors of Life

soaked in sepia

mass of monochrome

listless grays

between black and white

these exanimate days


now to seek splashes

of the colors of life

to signal that someone

inhabits these spans

from dusk to dawn


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to be the master

of all that’s surveyed

must come with

many pitfalls

but to serve

an unknown

invisible master

can create

an inescapable



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it may be played on

a different instrument


it may be sung in

a different tongue


it may be paced in

a different rhythm

but there

as it is here

it is the song

of death

the march to which

we parade toward

the grave


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Ding dong it is midnight.

The wicked witch will remain.

She will be marked in daily blocks,

As we leaf page-by-page,

Through hardware-store calendar.


Her evil spell will be felt,

Throughout the coming dozen,

The 52 repeated stretches,

From Sunday through Saturday.


A toxic brew which she conjured,

Especially for our benefit,

A blanketing pox under which we live,

Will cover the days we inhabit,

An inescapable, personal burden.


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To Be A Good Son

If I bend my beliefs,

To what you hold as true,

Would you consider me,



If I reshape my will,

To meet your desires,

Could I be counted as,



If I seek after goals,

Of your choosing,

Will my life and times,

Bring you pride?


If my knee remains bent,

In submission,

Can I be called a,



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Doors Locked

back then, living in squalor

in that far-too-expensive

apartment, with little

if anything in the fridge

or the cupboard and the

door constantly locked

my true friends were

Kurt Cobain, Eddie Vedder

and Chris Cornell – the only

guys who seemed to

understand me or what

it all felt like to be there

today it may be different –

different days, different


my friends haven’t changed

but the doors are still locked


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A Life in the Day


George Martin: 1926-2016

I have read the book

its cover lies closed

the blackbird now

with her folded wings

floats within the sky

among precious stones


the dirt will be wiped

from our hands as

we march from the grave

the whole world came

you helped to give us love –

all that we ever needed


now you have followed

the path of your sun

into the waiting arms

of your Lady Madonna

you’ll now forever roam

immortal fields forever


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Storms Like These

rain – the kind of rain

you’re sure will bring down the sky

wind – the kind of wind

you’re sure will bring down all around you

thunder – the kind of thunder

you’re sure will crumble the walls

lightning – the kind of lightning

you’re sure will puncture the ceiling


while others choose to cower, I revel

storms like these remind me I’m alive,

display a power over which we have no control,

clear out the cobwebs of a humid day,

and can reshape the landscape


storm – the kind of storm

you’re sure will end it all

but what a show and what a feeling!


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Words Like Leaves

Lifted from language, from a native tongue,

Words fine-tuned, sharpened to a razor’s edge,

Made into the mysterious, sublime.

To metaphor, simile, parable,

They are fitted neatly and uniquely.

Each grouping a singular character,

Expressing new ideas and emotions.

But can these vehicles of expression,

Be effective out among so many?

These drivers of feelings aimed into hearts,

Must cut through the noisy din, the clutter.

They are numbered like the leaves of the wood,

Crash to earth as if constant autumn.

Where might they fall; by whom will they be heard?

Will they fall withered, scattered like refuse,

Or sound out a new voice, a special chord?


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