Vain

Fickle man,
fickle world,
fickle silence that can almost be heard.

Fickle sadness,
fickle ground,
fickle knowledge tasting what can't be found.

Fickle wishes,
fickle dreams,
fickle eyes knowing not what they've seen.

Fickle feelings,
fickle plans,
fickle fingers touch my outstretched hand.

Fickle rainbows,
fickle smiles,
fickle flowers that I've smelled all the while.

What is this world?
Is all of this true?
(I'll bet you think this poem's about you).

Confesstions of a bag lady

Erratic, cataclysmic thoughts invade my brain and my wardrobe.
Challenging all I have done or will ever do.
Where do I stand? What is my purpose?
“Who am I and why do I smell like this?”
The crazy lady is scared.
Paranoia creeps in and threatens vengeance on dentists everywhere.
Lovey dovey, lazy daisy…who cares? Maybe me.
But I don’t want to anymore.
I’m tired of wanting.
To have and to hold, to care and to mold.
And for what?
A day at the park, and afternoon at the beach, a hand to hold while you’re dying?
Love is fickle, love is weak,
It tears you down when you try to speak.
Or maybe that's just the one I’ve known,
The one that was supposed to be full grown.
So now I stand up, now I grow,
But why the hell am I moving so slow?
Time moves on, lives hang in the balance.
A teetering tightrope of emotions
That topple at the first sign of a drop.
Drop in prices, drop of liquor, drop of a hat
They’re all the same
Each marching to the beat of their drum,
Never realizing that they’re all playing the same song.

The Ultimate Choose Your Own Adventure

Do I stay or do I go?
Am I just running from the show?
Or do I gracefully bow out
artfully dodging the next blow?

All I want is a little peace,
knowing where to find release
do I stay or do I go?
Just let me know, please.

"Go further up and further in"
Run harder and faster spin
to the real country that I'm from.
To find the end and begin again.

What if he says "Whatever"?
What if it's up to me altogether?
What if I choose the wrong one?
Can I live with that for forever?

Paralyzed by indecision,
Plagued by un-precision,
Over-analytical ridicule
over-affecting my current condition.

Do I stay or do I go?
I'm still the only one to know.
I guess I need a better system
than "eenie, meanie, miney moe".

Dead poetry society

My poetry is cold
Lying dead on the page.
Clammy hands, no pulse,
Just naked and lifeless.

Sex, Lies.........

.....and a bottle of rum.