Global Types

Sex, size, color and age

All are things we instantly gauge

All depending on our points of view

Seven billion, give or take a few


Hair, clothes, face an eyes

All are things we choose to disguise

All dependent on another’s view

But just one decides and that’s you


Stereotypes, media-hypes, everybody’s taking swipes

Each one sharing in each other’s gripes

Yet share we must to survive

While still we share, being alive




Rolling Coaster

Some days I feel big, some quite small

Some days I feel like nothing at all

Some days high and some are low

Some days I don’t know where to go


Some days I go left to find it’s not right

Or think I’m right and circle all night

This ride I’m on just won’t quit

Strapped in a chair, obedient I’ll sit


When spinning fast I’m often amused

Till winding down and feeling used

Atop the wheel, enjoying the view

Seeing all when they can’t see you


Spectators surround everywhere I see

The invisible clown is how they see me

Then a dash for the gate – almost there!

Anxious for home, strapped safe in my chair



Stung by the Firefly

Summer days of long ago

Carefree times we all know

Pollen tickles our little nose

Grass tickles our little toes


Morning dew make footsteps glisten

The birdies make us stop and listen

Morning knocks on the old screen door

Weekend swims with friends at the shore


Afternoons spent being lazy

Evening sunsets being crazy

Chasing fireflies into the night

Kept in a jar for a magic nightlight


Then off to bed to dream of tomorrow

Waking with screams of death and sorrow

My firefly’s magic all died overnight

Now haunted am I by the sting of their light



Pens versus Cages

I woke up dreading my pen today

Everything’s good, I’ve nothing to say

The sky is blue, the grass is green

Prettiest day I’ve ever seen


I’m sure if I try I could bum myself out

I could yell and scream and swear and shout

I could read the news, that’ll do it, no doubt

I could stare at the floor and see it needs grout


I could stare in the mirror and discover new spots

The closer you look you’ll find lots and lots

Or ignore everything just a little bit longer

Postponing these pressures until I’m stronger



Waking Up

Yea, woke up again!


Waking up’s the best time of day.

What will I wear, what will I play?

It’s time to think of things to do.

First find my pants and missing shoe.


Wipe from my eyes the sleeps last trace.

I’ll brush my teeth, wash hands and face.

My bed’s made, teddy’s on pillow,

But one last hug before I go.


To the kitchen, mom will be there,

Making breakfast for us to share.

We chat about things to be done,

Some of it work, some of it fun.


Finish dressing put dreams away.

It’s time to start a brand new day.

That’s why waking up is the best.

But can’t do that without your rest.


The End



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Penned Pretend

I’ve written more words than I’ve said

Just to make space in my head

I write of my demons, so they’ll go

Making room for more – I’d rather not know


Perhaps this is a writers curse

A play never-ending we can’t rehearse

The stage set high, the pit is deep

The curtain falls yet I can’t sleep


A costumed impostor, naked, pen in hand

Conducting blindly a leaderless band

Actors, black and blue all look the same

Though some quite vicious, most are tame


On each sheet lay a one-act play

Performing soliloquy day after day

Awaiting intermission – after applause

Make believes effect and cause




Purveyors of perception

Is what a poet be

Sifting through the shards of life

That most choose not to see


Seekers of answers

No one knows for sure

The good days are great

The bad days more


Our love is dissected

Cutting up the muse

In search of a beating heart

Something we can use


Dives dismally deep

Doling out despair

Climbs quite climatic

Seemingly without a care


Our minds are a toy

For building, breaking and play

Scattered pieces everywhere

What will we find today?



Morning Triku #69

Rings True


Mutually daring

Quintessentially caring

Lovingly sharing





Up before sunrise

Down by noon, dreading blue skies

Awaiting the moon



Dimensionally Stable


Having thought outside

The box for so long, I’ve now

Become Tripolar




Day Dreaming Reality


Portraits of time and of self

Antiquities dusty upon the shelf

Volumes of reference to explore

Nature’s framed beyond glazed door


A pretender perched many a year

Penning in silence for all to hear

Words, numbers and colors all float by

Till looming shadows shade a sunny sky


This past’s the shadow to reflect

Reminders of the pasts neglect

Selling the former to fund tomorrow

When even good times odds say sorrow


Betting the future to play today

Retirement in the opposite way

It’s yesterday’s dream to say “I am!”

Today a poet, tomorrow a scam


Or just a dreamer dreaming a dream

Building castles by the ream

A hopeful realm to rest an ancient head

Dreaming forever in my feathered bed




The more we have, the more we need

The more we want the more the greed

Living lives consumed consuming

Conned into debt for things amusing


Day by day we run in place

Tracks grow longer on our face

The wheels of commerce set the pace

Rolling over this human race


Blinded by labels to make us feel

Sculpted by images to make us real

In the darkness all are blind

Disappearing piece of mind


To dwell in a time lush and green

The futures blight not yet seen

Waters’ pure cascading clean

Paths uncluttered, bodies lean


Family and friends share to survive

Living life to be alive

Preserving futures, planting seed

Thus is all we really need



don’t read this

Nearing the pit of the pendulums’ path

Forces of nature care not of their wrath

The weight of the world pivots within

Knows not when to stop or where to begin


The highs never reaching a stable peak

These highs too high to which I seek

Delves of darkness seem never to end

Rises resisted rapidly descend


Familiar patterns now drawn in time

Thus manifested in delusional rhyme

With feathered hand to soar and blind

To my ravenous return in stillness of mind



Book of Dreams


A page from my book of dreams;

a tale of love, or so it seems.

I wake each day the dream doesn’t end.

Will she ever love me or shall I just pretend?

Technicolor visions and her scent in the air

Awaken from this dream I could never dare.

Her touch always welcome on my trembling skin.

When she says she loves me, my life will then begin.

Encounters of the flesh, too few to ever last.

Music of her voice now echoes of the past.

Sunlit voids surround were daylight once was bright.

Now only darkness brightens our rendezvouses of night.

The End


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