In My Heaven

Within such a short period of hours…Pieces of me.  Slices of intersections that I have crossed in the shadows of friends.  Persons who have entered my heart and soul; if only for a small stretch of road.  Have gone.  

They left for different places and other landscapes.  These are the loved ones who have found greater and less fragile fields to roam.  

And, in my awe, there is a blank space.  Bridges that at one point, came full circle with glamour, hope, personality, both good and bad; now fall short.  Just out of reach to the…other side.

Nirvana, neither frightens me.  Nor…does it lay before me as though, a blueprint to a perfect acre of love and beauty.  However, to my chagrin.  No matter my depth.  No matter my deep thought.  I mislayed the greatest gift life can give…’the ability to take nothing for granted!’

My Heaven

Nothing shatters.
Nothing brakes.
Nothing hurts.
Nothing aches.
We got yourself one hell of a place.

Looking down at the world below.
A bunch of wine.
Fighting schmoos.
Up here we got none of those.

There are pools and lakes and hills and mountains.
Music, art, lighted fountains.
Who needs bucks here, no ones counting.

No one works, we all just play.
You can pick the weather everyday.
And, if you change your mind…that is, okay.

Grandmas up here.  Grandpa too.
In a condo with “to die for” view.
There’s presidents and movie stars.
You just come… as you are.

No one’s lost.   And,  no one’s missing.
No more partings, just hugs and kissing.
And,  all these stars are just for wishing.

There are little white lights every where.
Your childhood dog… in dad’s old chair.
And,  more memories than your heart can hold.
Leave us singing fields of gold.
There are neighbors, thieves and long-lost lovers.
Villains, poets, kings and mothers.
Up here… we forgive each other.

For every soul that’s down there waiting?
Holding on… still hesitating.
We say a prayer of levitating!

You can look back on your life and lot.
It can’t matter what you’re not.
By the time your here… were all we’ve got.

IN MY Heaven


Wanderer by Trade

Purpose rolled down the icy hill into an embankment of doubt.  The, rare pockets of hesitation…deliberate and empty.  Our walk falls into pace, along with unflavored pieces of rock candy, dripping from the pines.

Frequently, I am reminded of the ‘waddle’.  A wintered saunter in which steps are shuffled, in smaller strides.  And, the big toe, extended, within the shoe, pointing slightly inward.  Akin to taking one’s first steps.

Gifts of used snow find their way to the sleeve made of  tired flannel.  Pouches, canvassed by a jacket not quite new, find themselves the recipient to Mother Nature’s tears.

Our destiny, now, re-learning how to stroll in the cold.

A visitor to our little chaotic scene?

Would offer up a tow device.  In the shape of oblong timber…Color, fire engine red.  

Perhaps, an earth visitor would also inquire,

“A common sense tool for any Northern Native…fool!”

However, our marching orders come from the beat of a different drum.  For us, there is no multitude of purpose, no sanctioned, sanctuary.

It is a simple and pure, daily reflection.  A meditative chance to walk away the haunts of the upcoming day!


Religious Artifacts



I watched her from a distance in her seated place.

Solemn, dignified, stately grace.

The look of amnesty upon her face.

At first glance,

it appeared as though,

we were victims of a scam.

Taking judgement from someone else.

To the left, kelly green in almighty alliegence.

To my right,

a stranger, kicking the habit.

Ravished in tweed…in the thick of it.

Guilt in four point restraints hung above.

Porcelain christ in a kit.


my abnormal distraction begged for satisfaction.


the curled in woman, the clamoured congregation…and, rainbow me.

Four feet, two wheels, at the tabernacle of the redeemer.

Historical hysteria…caught me.

Had the woman in question fashioned this chanted scene?


treading in sacred waters…ankle deep,

would this woman sacrifice for me?

Full circle charity,

four legs,

two wheels


four feet.

I watched her from a distance in her seated place.

Solemn, dignified, stately grace.

The look of amnesty upon her face.




Crippled Nuts and Barfly


If you want to reach me…I’ll be in the bar.

A distant poet.

I thought I would have out grown it.

The hunter.

The hunted.

A stool so formidable.

Slippery slopes so sly.

I almost fell for my own lies.


all those hostages with painted on mugs.

Just substitute teachers for love.


All that fanfare,

laying at my feet.

Not enough to complete.

Not enough to compete.

Crippled nuts,

shelled in a scrapped book.

Jukebox filled with communion thin…disagreeable sins.

In a picture viewer…just for one.

Seated at the right hand of one night stands.


Hearts inflection…enough to raise the grateful dead.


prayers to cosmic zeppelins.


in the end,

hail mary’s out of bedlam.

Altogether, tools in the great ascension.

Barfly destination…unknown.

A cankered zealot at home in the tow away zone.


Late September Mornings

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There is easiness to loving you.

The way you are…giving comfort so freely.

Without fear or doubt.

In this freedom’s infancy,

There upon an earthen table lay only my discarded webs and rat races…

mazes yearning for a way out.


Rural voyages were only pretty words…in masculine books.

But those were the days of obligatory smiles, red wine and prom poses.

Days of bonfires and misguided ribbons and bows.


I ran so hard from that church…that pew.

From your praising me.

From my days of obscuring you.


Through the blurred days, my run has broken into a pensive walk.

Times when I have cherished you…somber and dark.

Late September mornings, where I have begged for radiance from the fading sun.


But your tireless and weathered artistry has always brought wisdom to me.

Sometimes, unwanted, often veiled in a climatic mask.

Yet, with unbiased foresight you have given far more than I asked.