the village people 2

there is a silver living to the white noise of a forest

a unique manner that pulls static from air

tender, invisible touches…slowing a harried way

I could stand in the ever green of nothingness…

not knowing if sound or sight has gone or stayed

how rare it is to take notice of the peace?

and, if I were to take my weathered hand to scoop ease away…

pocket the quiet grace for another kind of sway?

brooding crickets, settling leather tree trunks…

could seek refuge in the silence

all respite would fall from compliance…

leaving no room for another day

White Noise in Heaven


Like those who have gone before.

Little time for haste.

For waste.

White noise everywhere.

A traveling companion for despair.

What of the place that heaven indicates?

For those who hesitate.

Exclusive communes,

thanking its visitors for listening.

Fabled messages on hold.

Sounds of lines going dead.

Going cold.

Canterbury NH
Canterbury NH


Suburban Noise

Suburban Noise: In a world without windows.  We would have no choice but to see ourselves for who we truly are.

suburban noise 3

Why is it…

open windows…

with closed doors.

During this season where the

want is more.

The mother cries,

you are always poor…

But she speaks of justice with

amazons of credit by the door.

Dens of forked tongues

Such are the domesticated that eat their young.

With open arms there is a claim

to save the day. suburban noise 2

Yet where is the awareness of the

wars we must wage.

Some of our conflicts started with Nixon and Disney

in a box.

Other agendas began upon the day we were

left behind with just a key and a lock.

No, matter it’s still the same age

From one-legged veterans to

suburban noisebirds singing from a cage.

Still open windows and closed doors.

One step forward

two steps back

In search of the wars we wage.