Echoes of Tomorrow

With a silent dance ‘neath a starry sky
    twilight paints a canvas of the night
      where dreams gather what remains
         of daylights end
where whispers weave
the secrets of the breeze  

    let echoes of tomorrow shine bright, 
      inhabit the spaces
       where new pathways blend
into gardens where time flows
   with gentle ease
     and dreams bloom like petals
        ’neath a moonlit night.
With fears aside,
     with every step
        our story expands.
Though footprints fade on shifting sands, 
   we journey to the unknown.

In the echoes of tomorrow
    our fate’s implied.

Hold onto the echoes
   that guide us through the night.
In life’s masterpiece, 
    find delight.  



The Far Side of The Moon

In the ebb and flow of restless sleep, 

I glimpse the far side of the moon, 

a timeless space
where magic can be seen

as rockets navigate tight spaces, 

a celestial dance,
along endless corridors
of time. 


As the dream fades,  

I wake, 

and wonder, 

was I truly there? 


Did I feel the tight squeeze 

of cosmic passages,  

or simply dance 

with the echoes of the night 



I hear the boom
and the crackle of gun fire.
I live in a world where the sound of hate
is louder than the call to heal.  

I tire of useless gods,
swap them out    for any that give a damn.  

 I tire of government weasels
               who don’t give a shit.  

I tire of those who make me sad,
make me groan,
make me regret
I share a space 
in time 
and a genetic code. 

I live to cry 
and long to smile. 

Tears soak my pillow,
I wring it out 
and create streams 
that swell into rivers.

We kill, kill, kill 
then cry, cry, cry. 

it’s someone else’s turn 
to die.  

We tolerate, 
the tools of the trade.

Needing the gun wielder
to shield us
from the gun wielding 
bomb thrower

who follows ideologues
that have the innocent 

die for the cause. 

Invisible ideologies 
that drive intelligent
to maddening acts. 

We prevent rabies,
but have no clue,
how to vaccinate 
against the rabid god, 
the rabid leader 
the believer.  

              How tragic,
to be mired
in hate.

The Ride

Come on a ride with me—
clasp my dream, hold me close
and hang on tight.

The wheels on this old bike
spin, like the wheels
of a fifty-seven Chevy
in heat screaming down a quarter mile stretch.

The road we’ll ride
will be downhill steep

the ride, a tailspin, a barrel-roll.
See the gravel at our feet—
don’t cry sweet,
I’m scared too.

Just hold me tight, and
don’t let go.


The Unfortunate Fools

All they need is time—
and heartfelt embraces,
it’s what’s worth giving,
yet, they willingly, sell it to the boss
or give it to the gizmos
they call tech.

Like cats at a canary
they gaze at screens.
For their sake
they should deeply commune
with each other
and not the things.

After they give the boss
an extra four,
when they come home,
even if one has wine
and the other kicks back a brew
unless they share a meaningful syllable or two,
until they spare the time, they have on loan
they are unfortunate fools
because they have everything
but   each other.