smoke and mirrors

just when you think you know what's what
you then find out what you know you don't

the only way for you to know what's what
is to forget everything you think you know

when so and so behaves like such and such
it turns out it's you you see, and not he at all

it seems nothing you see is ever as it seems
you see it's all done with smoke and mirrors

you see ?

the legend never bleeds

this is an ode to those who much prefer
the legendary hero on their TV screen
rather than the living, breathing, flawed and
tarnished human being who plays the role
no matter what fresh hell he must endure
our beloved mythic legend never bleeds
there's a stuntman for all that sort of thing
he sometimes doesn't even have to show
as his stand-in oft as not is standing in, so
one may rest assured that he shall ever be
as good as new by next week's episode



 

popularity contest

life is not a popularity contest
if it were, these lines would certainly not appear
if things i do or words i speak determine who or what you choose to see
it seems you've missed the point and fail to witness me
i soar to lofty heights and sometimes sink to shameful depths
as well as all there is between
still i lay my willing heart and soul upon the sacred altar
why ?
why indeed ?
why not ?
who is it i need to please ?
if i orchestrate my every move to gain your sure approval
i'd be the one to miss the point and fail to witness me
you see ?
yours and my opinions are like wispy clouds that pass on by
i wish to come to know and trust the one true shimmering sun,
which is always there on high
thus where and how i step shall not e'er be chose by me....or thee

  

how little it seems to matter

the bitter poisonous bile that you so freely spat
still burns right through this tender wounded heart
like the acid venom of some scaly hell-bound viper

how little it seems to matter
behind those sly indifferent eyes
as you skim across the surface of what you like to think is life

how little it seems to matter
as you hurl your cursed epithets
like rusted jagged broken razors with such impunity and contempt

how little it seems to matter
that those you've touched lie bleeding at your feet
as you're conveniently tucked behind so many veils
of what you desperately hope one surely ought to be

somewhere deep within that tinder box
where once there was your heart
lies a dusty dry cracked weathered scroll
with archaic mystic symbols scrawled upon it

this ancient faded scripture may seem all but dead
and so it is if one does never dare to seek, discover and define
the true and timeless meaning of the priceless message hidden there

that heart which you've discarded so many years past gone
still beats for you in a dark and musty corner of your attic
the secret to the re-awakening of this broken bleeding thing
is clearly written in this age old manuscript, if you would but look and choose to see

broken rainbow

beyond a broken rainbow
neath the chalk-white moon
beyond the edge of space and time
half-buried midst the dust and bone
remains a battered shattered dream

just as the last of the fading embers
is about to breathe it's final gasp
comes a sudden swirling gust of astral wind
that serves to stoke this long forgotten fire
and what seemed all but dead
now awakens into flickering flame

slings and arrows

whether 'tis nobler and all that....?
there is no choice at all....only the illusion

if he is cut, he'll surely bleed
if he bleeds out, he'll surely die

if he cringes and huddles in fear, he'll surely waste away
if he wastes away, he'll surely die

what then is his purpose in struggling forward on,
or standing head held high before his fate ?

he must lay his heart and soul upon the sacred altar
and risk those god-forsaken slings and arrows

if he is struck and wounded, he'll surely howl in pain
while the ancient beast within him lashes out in fierce reply

he is but fatally human within his mortal confines,
a hungry feral creature married to his place in time



more to come....

the road home

they say that all roads lead us back home
for this world weary traveler it proves true

countless times he has been called to serve
here where he had promised never to return

and for those who were long ago left behind
with no reason or intention to e'er meet again

men and mice might make their many plans
that take them on crusades to far-off lands

they may seek to find themselves elsewhere
or pull the midnight run to get out of dodge

it is no matter how far we choose to ramble
the powers that be will always lead us home

one true source

some days the forlorn child within him cries
for lack of anyone to hold him safe and close
as there seems no evidence of tender mercy
round about him in the realms he must travail

he has had to reach the end of all he's known
to accept what cannot e'er be touched or seen
he's still yet new to placing faith and trust with
the one true lasting source of the love he seeks

for this old dog, new tricks don't come so easy

hero's struggle

just beneath the surface of his sleepy mundane life
a heroic epic struggle has been furiously raging on
every sinew of his mortal shell steeled for the fray

it seems that all he's lived for was to meet the hour
when the last of those lingering haunting ghosts and
unrelenting demons lay slain and defeated at his feet

but experience has revealed to him this eternal truth
the nature of these beasts is that they're never-ending
and depend upon his morbid fears for their earthly form

that day he's always fought for can never come to be
til his bloodied sword and battered shield are laid to rest
as only absolute surrender can bring him lasting peace

golden road

he's not really here, you know
only if he speaks does he exist
if he were at peace to be silent
these words need not be spoke
no matter what profound tale
lies here before you now, it's
only yet another clever mask

he's like that puffed up wizard
at the end of the golden road
who commands your audience
but never lets you get too close
where can you be, oh dorothy ?
this ancient fable has no ending
without ye and your ruby shoes

who's there ?

they say there is no rest for the wicked ones
it seems doubly true for this world weary soul

there's that knock-knock-knocking yet again
just as i settle down to early evening bread

one might think i'd be accustomed to this now
still every eve at dusk it chills me to the marrow

the rapping ever sounds upon the garden door
which opens to a view of our village graveyard

if our twilight callers' feet did but meet the earth
there'd be a well worn path from there to here

it hardly matters anymore who or what is knocking
the crucial fact remains, i choose to bar the door

i now suspect this ancient rusted lock but serves to
cage this mortal terror in, not keep the spectres out

limbo land

another day well spent, night's cloak as yet to fall
here again before me lies a chasm black and deep

aye, just as when i lay my head to restful slumber
there's this limbo land tween waking life and sleep,

so too this boundless, nameless chilling void awaits
like clockwork in some mysterious timeless realm

it seems to be that world where fallen angels dwell
and the haunt of countless ghosts and cursed souls

a cold dry somber voice now whispers from within
there'll ever be a knocking at my early evening door

early evening blues

there's a lineup at the door
in these early evening hours
ghosts of wives and lovers
come to call me to account

it's no use to bar the portal
or wish they were not there
i gave them everything i had
which was not much at all

i was but a broken promise
long before we had ever met
and could never own the tears
beneath their masks of paint

today i see those drops of pain
seeping from such forlorn eyes
damp smears of black and red
trail down their chalk white faces

now by grace, i own those tears
along with these which i have shed
and pray to all the powers that be
they may wash our ledger clean

i am much more than a promise
standing here before you now
with sacred pledge and solemn vow
i hold your timeless spirit above all

breaking of bread

the moment has arrived to take our place
at this ceremonial breaking of the bread
breaking of bread, not banging of heads
as our supper meal often played that way
i must make amends for much i can't recall
and set your spirit free to be at blessed peace
i am so sorry, father, i sincerely didn't know
how consumed with righteous indignation,
bitterness and spite i had let myself become
i now release you to your final resting place

dinner guest

tonight i choose to share this supper
with the ghost of my long dead father
for reasons that i have yet to fathom
there's a separate place prepared for him
it has been he a-knocking at the door
yes, every evening at around this time
i knew this, yet did not want to know
true, i'd forgot the curse i wished on him
and ached that he ought ever pay the price
for the sorry broken dream i had become

stranger's lament

why every evening at around this time
must i perform this endless penance ?
you have cursed me oh so long gone by
it seems you've forgotten when and why
won't you ever let me lie in restful peace ?
each night i come to call with never a reply
if you were but to answer and invite me in
there'd be no need for us to suffer anymore
i'd be free to settle into empty timeless dust
while you, my son, could finally go on living

familiar stranger

every evening at around this time
a familiar stranger comes to call
i know too well who knocks there
still though, i prefer to think it's not
why does this fearsome spectre
not lay at rest where he belongs ?
there isn't much of our living world
that can fill my soul with icy dread
yet so he does, and from the grave
every evening at around this time
'

under the bed

the monster doesn't know
that he's the evil bad guy
he hangs out neath the bed
because it's his cozy home
if one were just to ask him
he would sure confess to be
much more scared of you
than you could ever be of he

to the deep

clawing away
it's dark here
chill and dank
can't stop now
can't stop ever
no sign of light
just enough air....foul as it is
sweat is neither cold nor hot
seems to eat through me like acid
there is no time here
everything is endless
not sure if my heart still beats
something pounds within my head
doesn't seem like blood
there is no light, yet i see
what i see keeps me scratching and clawing
some ancient reptilian urge
keeps me digging
it's not light i seek
neither food nor air
only just to follow
this infinite voiceless calling
to the end and the beginning
to the cold black silent womb of mother ocean
to the deep