Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

You liked his early years best—
pinch and scrape and struggle,
the limited success, the lack of mess
less now because of all the quietness

Now he watches sparrows flutter
in an inch of water showing
miles of empty sky

Too late to turn life around, seeing
there’s so little of it left, though
some ...

If there were a Like button, I would give you one.

Memorial a much better word than funeral.

sitting by yourself
watching life in the fast lane
nowhere else to go

what's the real point
writing to a dead person
seems rather foolish

normalcy we cry
we pray to live humble lives
bring her home to us

Peace to Judih and family. I am sorry to hear all this.

under your soul time beats
life anointed with sorrow
day-after-day we pray

she still sings same songs
for kiss given years ago,
listen carefully

more mosh than manic
another shit poem on board
more than wasted words

raining like hell now
not as hot as one might think,
maybe one doesn't

Friday Octave

near the shore He stood,
one hundred fifty three fish
caught for salvation

Thanks.

Other side of what? ...and what are the sides?

the waitress returns, asks
if you are finished, is surprised

by your face-to-face emptiness, her
hands, no ring, red-chapped, a last drop

of condensation on the water glass
twitches, lingers, an unbroken slide—

a delicate capsule of time, so you nod,
want to ask her about the ravaged

beggar ...

ego is evil
evil speaks to empty souls
duo threat of sin

another end year
blizzard on the horizon
same old, yet same new

November replies
with the first snow of winter
you shudder again