a celebratory funeral…

a celebratory funeral

shadows
of
yesterday
linger
above
the sunrise
rays
of 
light
reflect off
discarded
silver streamers
and
paper party favors
those
souvenirs
of
a dying year
and
the birth
of
unkeepable promises
a rather
pontius pilate moment
for
most merrymakers
cleansing
their hands
of
previous episodes
of
existence
now
offering up
for
crucifixion
a new
covenant
commitments
covering
a range
of
declared weaknesses
from
health
to
social justice
a contract
no doubt
when
viewed
this time
next year
must have been written
in
invisible ink

 

 

measuring…

measuring

guess
the clinical
definition
of
depression
would apply 
to
a lot
of
folks
these days
so many of us
having
to bury
family
and friends
as the dust
from
their graves
swirls
in
the winds
of
hatred
it settles
on
my beliefs
turning them
ashen
but
i recall
hearing
someone
say
when you’ve
laughed
more days
than
you’ve cried
it’s been
a good
life

 

 

tour de azraelle…

tour de azraelle

the fog
is thickest
at
the beginning
of the journey
like
a warm blanket
of
innocence
concealing
all the perils
that
may be there
so
fear
isn’t
felt
instead
the blindness
fosters
an excitement
for the trip
like
all of childhood
for
one sees
so many
paths
that may be taken
heightening
a sense
of
adventure
into
the unknown
all things then
are
possible
so
a path
is
chosen
and
the ascent
from the valley floor
begins
leaving behind
that childhood blanket
of
innocence
as
the foothills
are reached
the fog begins
to clear
still vision
is impaired
oh on occasion
a strong breeze
like
a sudden death
clears the path
defining for a moment
what lies ahead
however
it is only 
a brief foresight
then the climb
continues
into the haze
of each day
laboring
to rise above the fog
hours like years
seem to pass
before the timberline
has been reached
then
eyes and vision
becomes aware
of
the dangers
on the trail
and
those all around
one marvels then
at the beauty of life
but
feels a sense
of sadness
for
not seeing
what was before
along the journey
but
the climb continues
to the tundra
the grandeur of the trees
now replaced
by barren earth
with only
low-to-ground plants
standing
like tombstones
now the path narrows
there is
no
turning back
no
fog
just
the trails
end

dancing with shadows…

dancing with shadows

those melodies
that
have
set the tempo
of
your life
have
disappeared
into
the
drumbeats
of
time
you
always
off tempo
enjoying
all the missteps
you’ve
made
never regretting
the toes
you
stepped on
it was
just
part of life’s dance
anyway
they
should’ve
never
asked
you to dance
in
the first place
or
held your dreams
so
close
to
their broken hearts
guess
that’s
why
you’ve always
worn
those
steel toed shoes
cuz
all
of life
is
a construction zone
one
never knows
when
the sky
will fall
crushing
the tips
of
your tomorrows
by the way
whatever happened
to
all
those old dance cards
you held
seems
you were deserted
on
the dance floor
no one
to
hold
or
dream about
guess
that’s what happens
when you
happily prefer
dancing
to
the off beat

 

 

just talk to the hand….

just talk to the hand

please
don’t say
those words
again
about
us
all getting along
because
we can’t
hell
even lovers
can’t
do that
so
why
do we pretend
that
the embedded
rebars
of
ignorance
and
hate
can be chiseled
from
centuries
of
layered
contrived history
each
previous
attempt
has been
paved over
with
more
hatred
and
fabricated
reasons
to
fear
others
that
are
not understood
nor
acknowledged
for
that matter
so
please
do not
bother me
with
can’t we
all
just
get along