Old Hippie, Old Hippie Songs


The human among the abode…Among us…So real.  So real.  As though, we would not know normal if it flew up, and slapped us in the face.

What an ugly word…flawed?

So caustic…yet, this house was built upon it.

Handicapped brick and mortar…stacked in the most irregular manner.

Inch by foot

Pallets of disability…covered with hairline fractures of pride.

As the years grow older and higher…there is still a dog and a cat…on the lawn.

Still, two old hippies on the deck…

singing the same old hippie songs.

t n b 1To run from the mess…now…

we would have to pack the home and leave.

All the bumps in the night

All the aches and groans in the wind…

All that normal tells us not to…believe.



My Tunnel


a little tunnel

a little, woman-made, den

the construction of which…helps me to understand where I’ve been

there is rain at the entrance

there is shine…at the end

the Truth About Dogs # 11


Dogs have given us their absolute all.  We are the center of their universe.  We are the focus of their love and trust and faith.  They serve us in return for scraps.  It is without a doubt the best deal man or (woman) has ever made.

Roger Caras


As He Lay, Dying

prison 2

Along with the accident…another dose of cynicism…

Another strong cup of boiling, black coffee.

So near death…the father flirted with heaven but drank down hell.

A balancing act of almost faltering became the father…

As if it were…its own entity.

As if my whole world were under a spell.

One moment a junkie to gratitude.

The next moment…a devil’s successor.

Over and over, living in his closed circle…sipping from his cup.

Feast or famine with the joy…and, the rancor.

I often wondered…

‘is there any new found faith…to awaken for another day?’

But when I marvel…

I usually know my own answer.

Nearing death meant nothing to the father…

Cures no moral cancer.

Dying Breed


She had been old.  She was on the threshold of dying.  And, still vanity had the best of him…her companion.  One leg lame, yet, her loyalty has never waned.

Together with their his and her gait…a menacing, comical stride.  The couple could be spotted for miles and miles and miles.

Her human bristles upon the touch of even the most…common hand.  A permanent scowl below his white on gray mustache.  But on a good day.  When no one is looking.  His senior companion can lean slightly in for support and a pat.  And…a faint curl of pride hidden behind the frowning whiskers magically appears.

The old man’s friend knows it is time that she go.  She has prepared for years.  Ready and able to cross that bridge.  At this part in the road…she will go.  She has taught the old man…as much as, he’ll ever know.

The old grizzled gal, from a pup to adulthood, has always had Moxie…Hence the name.  Once wild and woolly.  Her coat is now coarse.  Her sight, a bit less.

With foggy eyes.  She glances to her companion and thinks,

‘Time to teach this old guy…a new trick.’

Lessons have never been easy to impart.  The old man has always worn his surliness like a faded flannel vest; up close and tight fitting.

Vanity has it’s place.  Moxie has owned it like the kindled kindness upon her face.  Jowls tucked up and in…Moxie wears loyalty with a grin.

Today will be the day.  Her last lesson?

Showing the old man that letting her go…Does not mean they will never see each other again.