Thursday, March 15, 2018



Once every full moon, Sparticus comes out of
The clouds, and drops down on all fours.
He is a ghost of the moors.  His whispering is immense.

He has been waiting for someone to avenge him.
He has been waiting for a miracle.
No one knows what happened to him,
And no one knows why,
Except sometimes the police becomes
Immersed into their old files and flips

Through them, trying to piece together the
Pieces, trying to discover the clues.
Everything is right where it was when it first
Happened, everything was right where it was
After it occurred.

Some deaths cannot be explained.

Sunday, March 11, 2018

The Reader.

The Reader

I would like to start out my poem by saying
That I am a reader.
All readers lead a revolt against the government,
By being informed about the world around them.
Reading helps you learn how to think.
Even educated people cannot read.
If you cannot read, you will not be able to read
Many bosses are illiterate.
Many workers are illiterate.
Let’s focus on the goal of disarray; by becoming
A more kindly society that is focused on kindness
And justice.
Many judges cannot read, either, and then they end
Up throwing innocent black men in jail;
They end up throwing abused wives in jail;
They end up throwing people like Nelson Mandela in jail.
When you learn how to read, a world opens up to you
That you have not perceived before; the kindness of
Friendship, the kindness of learning things from a
Different perspective.
Like I said…workers cannot spell, which can cause
People to make the same mistakes over and over
Again, and that will lead to more deaths and even
More mistakes, which could cause the entire universe
To collapse.
What is the matter with you when you can’t read?!

All Lives Matter.

All Lives Matter

What is the big deal?
A human is a human
A life is a life
All lives are important
Including animals and trees and fish
We will not change until worse things
Hate is a pandemic that has
Spread throughout the
Hate is the biggest crime
Against nature
Hate destroys humans
One by one
It obliterates the soul
And one day we may not have
At all

Wednesday, March 07, 2018

Going To the Ball Game.

Going To the Ball Game

You told yourself you wouldn’t do it,
That you wouldn’t buy yourself another cup of
Coffee at the café, but it was way past sunrise
And the day was just starting off. 
You told your mother you were heading out
To the ball game, with a cap slumped low over
Your eyes, and the t-shirt of the Detroit Tigers
That you got for your birthday last year.
You are going by yourself in your new Chevy,
Something you bought after you were promoted
At your job, something that changed you because
It was your first.  Some people don’t know the
Difference, but you do, and this was your first
Ball park game besides, and everything after
That was going to be gravy, but you didn’t
Want to take your video camera because you
Were sitting too high up.  Sometimes blaming others
For your mistakes can be the problem.  You get into
Your Chevy and drive three miles to the ball park,
And stand in line with your ticket, letting the wind
Run through your hair like a waiting sliver. 
Shivering.  You are cold.  By the time you get to
The ticket booth it is about four-oh-clock in the
Afternoon, and the sun is still out because it is
Spring time, but it just snowed last week because this,

This is Michigan and the weather has strange patterns.

A Bench In the Park, June 3rd, 1993

A Bench In the Park, June 3rd, 1993

My mother, Gloria, and I were walking down
The street one evening and she commented about
How the moon looked like a giant face. 
I asked her if she wanted to continue the discussion,
And she said yes.  “What kind of face does it look
Like?”  I asked her and she pretty much said
A cookie.
I started to get hungry after that, but we had a long
Way to go and I was on a diet. 
We strolled until we came to the park.  It was
Almost 8pm but we were enjoying the scenery
And the Coca-Colas we were drinking.  It wasn’t
Even a long way back home, just three blocks. 
I saw a bat flying above me and my mother jumped
And screamed, and I laughed.  She didn’t like it. 
“Why don’t we sit on the bench over there?”  I suggested,
Pointing to it.  She agreed.  We walked over to the bench
And sat down.  It was a pretty little picture and I was so
Happy I thought I wanted to stay here forever.
Then a drunk man strolled by, smelling of cheap


In Which God Laughs At My Plan.

In Which God Laughs At My Plan

I told him about my goals in the morning
Of September 12th and I thought I heard
Him laughing at me.

He wasn’t very big about my goals.
But I just wanted to make it clear,
That there was nothing that could

Make me stop reaching them. 
Everything seemed a little out of touch
At the time, because I didn’t know where

I was going to end up, and I kept praying
And praying and nothing was coming through.
But I didn’t give up even though God kept

Laughing at me and telling me things weren’t
Going to be great, that I was wasting my time.
I didn’t think it was a waste of time.

I thought there was a spot on the horizon
That said things were going to be

Great, forever and ever.

Friday, March 02, 2018



I’ve found that destiny comes on all fours,
Especially at night when the wind moves in
The trees, and the sky is spread like a giant
Bowl above me.  Nothing else matters but hell
And high water.  Some people’s words melt
Like butter on my tongue and I think I know
But I don’t know.   My mother told me never
To gossip about anybody but that doesn’t really
Work, it doesn’t really show anything about
Anyone.  The stress is astronomical.  I know
This guy who recently got his car back and he’s
Been talking about it for months, as if the car
Is the greatest thing alive.  I didn’t think it was.
I thought sex was.  It rolls on the tongue, doesn’t it?
“That’s how we roll,” my friend said late one September
Morning as he and his family were driving down
The street in their Mercedes, watching the children
Come out of their houses and play in the streets,
Watching the dogs lick their crotches.  This is how
We play, this is how we roll, this is how we do
Anything these days, with ease, I’m guessing,

Though I don’t really know anything about that.

Thursday, March 01, 2018


The First of March

Snow falls on the first of March.
It was warm yesterday, but seasons change
Temporarily and sometimes change back.
It is coming down hard.  The snow is white
And large and flakes all look alike. 
An old man is strolling through his garden,
Looking at all his vegetables turn into nothing
More than piles of garbage that return to
The earth.  The seasons vary in different parts of
The world, as if they know nothing of stability.
Sure they know of change.  Sure they know how
To make a grand entrance with rolling black or gray
Clouds and fierce winds that rip through your skin
Like a knife and are bitterly cold. 
The time is ripe for staying inside.  For having
Cocoa around a hot fire.  The fire is hypnotizing. 
There is a homeless man on Fifth Avenue that
Waits for a place to stay, wearing long jeans
And a winter coat.  He lost his boots last week.
Sometimes he gets visits from his mother or
His grandchildren, but they purposely stay away
And do not offer any money or any help.
It is the sad reality of life.  There is hardly any
Help besides a few dollars here and there;
And a drunken dog who follows him around
Looking for bits of food.  A lot of dogs are
Homeless, he thinks, trying to console himself
About it.  He pictures himself in a warm house.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Ode To the Bitter Storm.

Ode To The Bitter Storm

Ode to the bitter storms that weep;
And cry and hate and love and sleep;
Ode to the weathered storm,
Where lovers are in houses warm. 

Ode to the rivers that are vast,
And the snow that falls is bitter last;
And all the cold in the northern winds,
Are yesterday’s forgotten lonely friends.

In the darkness of the night,
The wind sounds lonesome and full of fright;
Ode to the skies above,
Where the clouds form in maiden’s love.
All the hate and light of life,
Are burdened by the dreams of strife;
Take the heart and show the dream,
Of a cold and lonely driven stream.

Where fish are full of maiden fair,
And flies fly lonely through the air.
All the night that dimly sleeps,
And cries and mourns and sins and weeps.  

Love From a Distance.

Love From a Distance

“I have to love you from a distance,”
I said, as I smacked my lips on a piece of
Bubble gum.  This was how it was and how
It always shall be, a little like an apple
Falling from a tree.  Destiny is far from reach;
Some people never obtain it.  Look at life as if it
Is going to bop you in the eye because you don’t
Understand anything else.  Once you said,
“Why don’t you love me?”  But you never loved
Me back in the way that you were supposed to
Love me, as if I were no one else alive in this
Crazy, mixed up world with its crazy mixed up
Rules.  Nobody said it was going to be perfect
But it has got to be better than the alternative,
Something you don’t seem to quite understand.
The letter of it is that nothing is quite the same
And that everything is turned backwards;
Everything is turned inside out and I don’t know
Anything about anything except what I know.
Things aren’t always quite what they seem,
But sometimes they are and you have to get used to them
Before things change and you don’t know what
You are doing or where you are going and nothing
Is ever the same again.
All it is is you are my long lost friend and I miss you,

Far away and forgotten.  I am miserable without you.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018



Eating pizza is done by culinary experts
That ride on the shores of Grimm Lake;
Short pools of nothing fade to expectations,
And move to resounding resistance.

Thinking is futile.  The experience of differences
Is nothing short of amazing, and the head
Of the crowd is often the least likely person.
Don’t think about anything twice.  Think less
About things that matter.  The lake is just as

Bland as others are; we love the turn of the
Movement, the heart of it all.  Drown out
The sound of your mother’s calling; go walking
Out into the unknown.  I think about it
Sometimes, about what could have been if things

Hadn’t turned out badly; destruction may be imminent,
But don’t say I didn’t try.  I tried to fix things,
To make it work, but it didn’t end up that way
And now I feel sorry.  There is nothing more to say
About that and I can’t thank the person enough for
Bringing it to my attention.  The burden of proof is

Hard; something else is least forgotten.