poems

I could take a walk with my wife and try to explain the ghosts I can't stop speaking to. Or I could read all those books piling upabout the beginning of the end of understanding...Meanwhile, it's such a beautiful morning,the changing colors, the hypnotic light.I could sit by the window watching the leaves,which seem to know exactly how to fallfrom one moment to the next. Or I could loseeverything and have to begin over again.

Trying to build myself up with the fact that I have done things right that were even good and have had moments that were excellent but the bad is heavier to carry around and feel have no confidence.

It is silly to think they all achieved it "just like that". nothing in life is so easy, that is a fact.Behind the scenes were tears and pain,they stumbled and fell but got up again. They heard a voice, firm and true"Muster yourself you'll make it through"Steadied by a hand they arose to dancein the turmoil and storm with perseverance At the end, it came upon them; a light so brightsuccess was theirs: it was their right!

I write small poems_ the kind that fit on a postcard_ and still can break your heart

Between the MileI have always counted the miles.Sometimes they came quick,Other times slow.The distance between things,The way I could know.Close could feel far,And far could feel near.The miles that passed too quickly,The ones I ran out of fear.They weren__ all the same,So I had been told,The unmarked trails,And the days I was bold.Some miles went down,Spiraling so low,When I was afraid to look forward,There was nowhere to go.The sunset came fast,And the day turned to night,But the trails could be endless,If I looked at them right.Everything I knew,All I was told,The conversations left behind,The people who grew old.When the miles stretched out before me,I wanted to sew them at the seam,Looking forward and then back,Holding everything in between.

Sometimes the rainfallsjust for you and meto be the violinplaying in the backgroundof our loneliness's song.

...you hold a poemthat functions half as personalnote and half as telescopeto the heightsawaiting us all.

Eagle's flight of loneliness soars so high Around its sigh, no more alone the sky Other birds remain away, clouds pass byBetween shrouds of life and haze sun rays die

Es sind tausend Tropfenin einer Weltnur für uns gemachtTausend Tropfenwenn der Himmel weintund man dennoch lacht

I__ looking for youin the bare corridor where my shadow is the only passerbyharmonizing an unsettling whisper: echoed through my chiming thoughtsFrom the poem 'Looking For You

I have been so very, very fortunate in my life. I've met or been in contact with several of my childhood heroes. I've interacted with people all over this planet, and even though I couldn't possibly hope to remember all their names, I remember a photograph, a poem, a sound, a joke, kind words of encouragement. All is not lost.

Call me crazy, but there is something terribly wrong with this city.

That__ a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their rightmind would point at this thing and say, ____ going to fly in my Model-A1_.People would much rather say, __et in my whirly-gig_. And that__ what youshould name it.

She leaves my side and heads deeper intothe apartment singing, ___f the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away_ acopper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.

I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.

There is a stillness between us, a period of restlessness that ties my stomachin a hangman__ noose. It is this same lack in noise that lives, there! in thedarkness of the grave, how it frightens me beyond all things.

I can__ help but ask, __o you know where you are?__he turns to me with a foreboding glare. __o you?

Did Bach ever eatpancakes at midnight?