goggles

goggles in his corner
on a cold winter day
as he observes
whatever passes
his way.

there are no

there are no breadcrumbs
where fall the tears
no path to follow.
no steps aside.

i write

i write for us these sweet refrains
in this world,
of so much pain.
i search for pillows
where our heads can dream
of a world,
not this.
not as
it seems.
perhaps the awakening truly
resounds
when we hear our own
heartsounds.
allow the warmth with
which we were born
not to

be wounded or
walked upon.
and doing such
in a gentle way
that cannot be denied
nor can it
be
played.

in the little places

in the little places we would not dare to go
those empty spaces
that we all know
in those darkest corners
where fear prevails
hope love finds you
on this lonely
trail.

parking lot pudgepot

parking lot pudgepot
do you laugh or cry
as  you watch
the all too many
cars drive by.

ode to decrepitude

ode to decrepitude
this so called aging process
is so very rude.
aches and pains
where you did not know
you have parts.
(even laughter
causes farts)
wrinkles
tinkles
cracks and jowls
i'd like to rail at all of this
but i would hurt myself
if i howled.
falling down
instead of falling in love
yeeks who invented
all of the above
if i could chose between
wisdom or smooth skin
and sparkly eyes.
a wise choice i would not make
i surmise.
yes life is a gift
even for we prunes.
but why does this gift
now resemble
a ruin.

i am walking a path

i am walking a path i have walked before
but now the treads are not so deep
and my feet are sore.
i am taking a route
both old,
and new.
the difference is,
my internal
view.