• Archives
  • Categories
  • Archive for August, 2013

    Mercy, Mercy,

    2013 - 08.26

    Someplace in Oregon, where a Poet faces his past.

    He’s ruined now that you are gone.

    For you were to be his last

    The Ghost told him to quickly run,

    Staying away from all the anger,violence and guns.


    Love, she turned around and slapped him down

    Barely a ghost herself from the past

    She made his life one of strange dice


    The question is will he last?

    Alone and sick full of regrets

    His throttle hand is gone

    It just adds one more thing

    To the misery of his setting sun.

    People, let me tell ya. you choose your very own past

    Love and Peace are still going’ on.

    And you’ll wish it all would just last,

    Buses Trucks and trains and airplanes,

    Various way to get around

    Just so I can see your smile beaming……. with the Sun.

    Beaming……… in the Sun………………………


    If I was a Poet

    2013 - 08.15

    If I was a Poet

    And could write a fine hand

    I’d write my love a letter

    That she’d understand.

    I’d write it by the river

    On pages made of silk

    Where the waters flow by,

    And in between the madness

    I’ll know just what to do

    I’ll dream of her

    She’s in my heart

    Dear Madam Blue.