The Dumb Idiom Bum

I think he caught his second wind.
He keeps his cards close to his chest.
His back to the wall, he does his best
to weather the storm. Most thought
of him as a dumb idiom bum. Yet,
he was richer than the rest. He lives
in a house of business cards. Bet
he is a cat among the pigeons.
He buries every hatchet and burns
every bridge. He goes out on a limb
in cold blood. When life seems dim,
he looks on the bright side. Life is no
picnic, but it doesn’t get out of hand.
He writes his poems in a black book
in front of black cats with black caps.
He may give you the cold shoulder
or a skeleton from his closet. He is
the only human in a room full
of elephants wearing tight pants.
He raises the bar outside the lines.
He stays in the loop: has the scoop.
He will not drain his swamp.
No pain. No gain. And, he is here
to stay. The dumb idiom bum
chooses to live against the grain
because he is a free-spirit up to
no good for God knows how long.






The Name Game

Just another name:
More of the same.
A life to be lived.
Chances I take.

To be me is to be
Here. Being myself:
Eager to become.

Death to my ego.
Remember when.
Everyone changes.
And life goes on.
Me? I will, too.





Memory Lane

Today, the car is in cruise control.
I take it slow and go with the flow.
Today, I take a ride down Memory
Lane. I revisit past pain and travel
through time frames: different days.
I unravel. I tear up gravel to navigate
an unknown fate. I carry weight;
I talk to my shadows: old versions
of myself. Sometimes, I ask them
for help – words of advice. Miles
into Memory Lane, I face pain
and embrace joy all the same.
I see old friends of mine the way
they were before I last saw them.
I notice houses I used to live in;
I recognize yards I used to play in.
I begin to see places I have been.
Today, I met with Father Time
and rode down Memory Lane
before any new memories came.



The Perfect Storm

It’s been raining
for months –
If I said I was dry,
I would have to lie.
The wind has been
blowing prior to me
knowing. People
misplaced. Problems
faced. Dreams chased.
Memories erased.
The perfect storm
is brewing. No shelter
can protect you or me.
We will have to see
what it means
to be caught between
life, nightmares, and
dreams. We are the
eyes of this perfect
storm. Together, we
form chaos and grace
in a world we face.
Rage and elegance:
hell bound and heaven
sent. All we can do
is watch our perfect
storm take shape
and hope we can
enjoy the rain
soaking our brains.

Wasting Away

Days fly, and they don’t
say “hi!” or wave “bye!”
Days fade as memories
are made. No time to be
afraid. The world turns
just how a candle burns.
None of that concerns
me. I try my best to feel
blessed – to digest stress.
I try not to waste away,
but I must have my rest.
Like a car sitting alone
in an empty parking lot:
Sometimes, I’m all I got.
I am the bullet being shot.
Will I hurt or help? Die
or try? Crawl or Fly?
Should I wonder why?
Do I fall or do I rise?
Either way, I wont waste
time easily misplaced.
I choose to face the day
instead of wasting away.