That’s the way the addiction grumbles
That’s the way the drunk stumbles
That’s the way the moon serenades
That’s the way the elephants walk in the parade
That’s the way the politicians talk
That’s the way the predators gawk

That’s the way the innocent dream
That’s the way the raped scream
That’s the way the fears surrender
That’s the way the cold remembers
That’s the way the lost are found
That’s the way the veterans weep to the sounds

That’s the way the truth should be told
That’s the way the lies are bitten and sold
That’s the way the victim cries
That’s the way the quiet feel inside
That’s the way the impregnator stares
That’s the way the son of a bitch cares

That’s the way the glass is poured
That’s the way the children are ignored
That’s the way the perception is skewed
That’s the way the label is crude
That’s the way the society thinks
That’s the way the one percent drink

That’s the way the air becomes stale
That’s the way the skin becomes pale
That’s the way the poets write
That’s the way the day turns into night
That’s the way the heart breaks into bits
That’s the way the last puzzle piece fits

That’s the way the thunder growls
That’s the way the thieves prowl
That’s the way the light disappear
That’s the way the dark becomes crystal clear
That’s the way the luck falls
That’s the way the anger crawls

That’s the way the perpetrators finger points
That’s the way the hippies smoke a joint
That’s the way the teacher dresses
That’s the way the students make messes
That’s the way the winners gloat
That’s the way the captain steers the boats

That’s the way the rich treat the poor
That’s the way the small companies closes its doors
That’s the way the snake rattles
That’s the way the beast fights in battle
That’s the way the cookie crumbles
That’s the way the insider fumbles

That’s the way the performers act
That’s the way the sky becomes black
That’s the way the song is heard
That’s the way the villains see the words
That’s the way the view turns into stone
That’s the way the virtuous become alone

That’s the way the branch breaks
That’s the way the dealers make mistakes
That’s the way the world divides
That’s the way the humans collide
That’s the way the people see
That’s the way the universe will be


My books are available here.

I didn’t advertise this and I should have when I released this book, the majority of poems are personal. This collection was written over a long period of time. Through out my life I’ve used writing poetry as an outlet because I had no one to turn to. My mother passed away at a young age, 48, due to health issues. I grew up watching her being sick but take it like a champion. She was one of the first people to have had a liver transplant. Due to medicine, the medicine at the present time killed her kidneys. Because of this, I struggle with intimacy in many ways. My father was an alcoholic and in my twenties I married one. In my thirties I had outgrown my ex wife and wanted more in life as she digressed. She made the choice to say she didn’t have a problem when she did. Long story short, she killed herself after our divorce and left her daughter behind. I can admit I was not a perfect husband, I did some things I shouldn’t have done.

I went back to school to improve myself while trying to work. During that time, I met the woman I eventually married – a strong but vibrant woman. I fell in love with her ocean blue eyes and her gentle spirit. She works in the medical field to save lives and commend her for that. I now have a four year old son that looks up to me and strive to be a better person.

I want my writing to serve several purposes. I want people to look inward and identity their own destructive patterns that prevent them from any form of growth. Perhaps if you can recognize them, you can see them in others. I think most answers that we seek are within ourselves. We do need help from time time, but essentially it starts with being honest with yourself. But we struggle to look at ourselves because it’s hard.

Although I’ve started out writing from a personal place, I trained myself to write from different perspectives by observing humanity. I’ve also learned to write just for fun, for me, and to challenge myself to approach the writing process from a technical stand point.

I often use humor and sometimes am inappropriate at times because I don’t want people to know the real me because the real fear is that they will leave me. Making and maintaining friendships is a challenge. I don’t have any male friends that I do things with and to some degree I am ok with it for various reasons. I go by the motto “a pen and a piece of paper won’t leave me like people.”

I am a work in progress like everyone else.
Today was the day I felt the need to share my a part of my story.


My books are available here.

The dark side is gravitating
Scrambled thoughts of my reality
Playing with the toys in my closet
A world you could care less
Claiming to know me completely
You know what you want to know
My efforts to shed dead skin get unnoticed
I grin on the inside of these vandalized walls
We share a love that wears many disguises
that you refuse to see
You chose to see only a few layers of me
We display a miserable performance
Consistently staring into my silence
I can’t make you use your tongue
I will never be enough or give enough
You are as broken in pieces as me
You don’t know how to walk away
I dare you to walk away like the rest
The grin expects the unexpected
Can you spell the word depression
Waiting for God to take me away
You will understand me when I’m dead and gone
And give more of yourself to another man
The dark side is gravitating


My books are available here.

I took vows to be mistaken and unwanted
I took vows to be just a carcass
I took vows to feel the treacherous winds
I took vows to someone that is clueless
I took vows to someone that can’t read between the lines
I took vows to feel the written script
I took vows to someone that can’t hear my words
I took vows to talk to myself
I took vows to someone that just doesn’t listen
I took vows to someone that does the bare minimum
I took vows to be a shadow and a check book
I took vows when I was someone else
I took vows to be a trash can
I took vows to someone that refuses to evolve
I took vows to feel something because it was better than nothing


My books are available here.

No, I couldn’t stand in your resonance
and your mind numbing negligence
No, I refused to be your noxious scapegoat
and omission in your dangerous eyes
No, I wouldn’t be a remainder in your lopsided mistake

“Hush hush, nothing will save you”
Yes, I thought I was rescued from my haunting past
Yes, I thought this residence was permanently carved

No, I dismissed the fatal request but still felt the jagged nail in my back
No, I denied you satisfaction and drifted in an awkward disposition
No, I fell in your discrimination and felt blackballed from the very second

“Hush hush, nothing will save you”
Yes, I thought I was found until I realized the pieces were scattered
Yes, I thought this residence was secure and guarded

No, I destroyed the walls you built with your reckless hands
No, I stumbled into your humiliation with anxiety stuck to my skin
No, I cried until my rage leaked from my mouth

“Hush hush, nothing will save you”
Yes, I thought I discovered love in a colorless dream
Yes, I thought I found peace when in reality all I heard were silent screams


My books are available here.

Forget me not, my sweet fears
I found untouchable verses within my discomfort
I found veracity within the crevices of the dark
I found my reflection staring into my tattoo of courage
I found emptiness deeper than this bottle

And my tears dry up and it’s time to stand up
And my anxiety carries a heart beat
And my passion bleeds forever more
And my endless ink soars like a blackbird

“Take my hand, I can no longer do this alone.
I can admit, I can no longer do this on my own”

Forget me not, my sweet fears
I found my imagination spinning out of control
I found my recklessness ripping me at the seams
I found my identity buried in a grave with a bouquet of havoc on top
I found my revelations reading scripture

And my tears dry up and it’s time to stand up
And my anxiety carries a heart beat
And my passion bleeds forever more
And my endless ink soars like a blackbird

“Take my hand, I can no longer keep hurting myself,
I can admit, something inside needs some help”


My books are available here.

For I am the gust in this brilliant joy
For I am the hope in these disorientated chapters
For I am the trembling suspicion in the corner
For I am the optimism in your stained pupils

And the fascination pierces in the burgundy sky

For I am the prosperity in this shattered mirror
For I am the wisdom you have never heard
For I am the glare in the whispering blur
For I am the salt in your four seasons

And the enchantment glows in the burgundy sky

For I am the zest in your shaky bridges
For I am the rainbow in your weeping azure
For I am the shine in your rusty screams
For I am the fear in your gripping wishes

And the artistry blooms in the burgundy sky

For I am the peace in your self destruction
For I am the grit in your sandcastle
For I am the treasure you haven’t touched
For I am the daydream in your hallucinations

And the elegance radiates in the burgundy sky


My books are available here.

I’ve been cauterized by my figment of
my bleary imagination
I’ve overlooked the obscurity dripping
in the marrow of my bones
I’m reminded of my thin sensibilities
drifting in a whirl
my memories weep in the photograph of
Black-Eyed Susans in the vase
next to the grin of my brave mother

Thank you for the encouragement
Thank you for the warmth
Thank you for walking with me in the dark
Thank you for the light
you gave your grandson

I’ve been sobbing at the gravesite
with a four leaf clover clenched in my hand
I’ve heard the growl within the pieces
of my shattered heart
I’ve stared into the loss and the pins
sticking in my sensitive nerves
my memories weep in the photograph of
Black-Eyed Susans in the vase
next to the grin of my brave mother

Thank you for the joy
Thank you for the unconditional love
Thank you for your never ending presence
Thank you for the smile
you gave your grandson


My books are available here.

Smiles turn frail and sapphire

Grins carrying cobalt bullets

Wrestling with a pocket of change

Standing in front of a phone booth

Eight hundred miles away from truth

Love took a freight train to misery

No emergency brake on this passage

Faster than a speed of light

Lost in all of the choices and indecision

Eight hundred miles away from lies

Wearing a royal trench coat of pain

Feeling like a thousand pounds

Too frozen and solid to remove

Still standing in front of a phone booth

Eight hundred miles away from her

Debating and contemplating

Fumbling with the quarters

Should I call her from Indigo


My books are available here.

She murmured sardonic puns, three line riddles and a secret written by her morning phantom
She was sipping on Coca Cola with percolating eyelashes carrying a catatonic grin
I sighed “your diabolical scent is quite ravishing and eloquent”

I didn’t mean to ignite the past
I didn’t mean to love you with the left eye
I didn’t mean to fall so hard with a faithless romantic

She gargled bits of authenticity, lucid theories, and swallowed a vitamin of intensity
She often spills her aggression, animosity, and uneven morals in her bloodhound diary
I cringed “your radiant light is piercing through the thick of the night”

I didn’t mean to surrender to your heart of stone
I didn’t mean to adore your nightmares
I didn’t mean to wipe away the rain in the storms

She has a mystifying language drenched in symbolism and an accent with a pinch of kindness
She miscalculated and misplaced the affection
I gave
I gasped “your insidious magic feels like gold, makes me wonder why your story hasn’t been told”

I didn’t mean to say those words
I didn’t mean to remove your veil
I didn’t mean to make so you afraid


My books are available here.

I know it’s Thursday when the nurse brings the little paper cup with five pills instead of three. A sip of tepid water and I go back to staring out the window. I can’t abide small talk. Never could. Better to observe my surroundings than spin idle words. My wife understood that, why don’t these young kids get that? Always on about the weather and am I comfortable and did I sleep well. Of course I didn’t sleep well. I haven’t slept well since I was brought to this place. I keep quiet, I know when to keep my mouth shut. It’s Thursday and she always made meatloaf with gravy and fresh baked rolls on Thursdays.

I constantly see him gazing. I can see memories crawling up and down a mammoth hill in his mind. I can see his mind slowly deteriorating as the seconds go by on our grandfather clock. I often glare at the Roman numerals on it and think of the precious years our love glowed. It breaks every piece of my heart to see him in a hospital bed. I thought I have embraced every minute with him. The last few years we have gone through the motions and hate the tears that fall into my lap. I’ve thrown away countless hours giving him the bare necessities and nothing more because of the silence that pierces through the friction of our marriage.

As soon as I close my eyes, I open them again to the sounds of a young woman opening the curtain. It’s no longer dark outside and I remember Sarah rose early during the week but slept in an extra hour on Saturdays. The nurse smiles at me and asks how I slept. She knows I haven’t slept but a moment yet her mundane prattling eases the sting of being away from my wife at least for a few minutes. I wonder when I saw her last. I miss her hand in mine. How her eyes sparkled as she laughed and smiled. Saturday mornings were made just for her and me.

He gawks at that nurse like he used to at me. I gave all of myself to a man that knew how to take but struggled to give. Parts of me cry like a baby. He never raised a hand or cheated on me. More often it felt like he was going through the motions. Parts of me are frozen. I often watch him sleep and watch his favorite television show. He was enthralled with details, crime, investigations, interrogation, lines of questioning, and trying to figure out the culprit. Benjamin Matlock was his companion more than I was at times. Parts of me chuckle saying that. Sometimes I even stare at that young nurse.

I remember this one evening, this evening when my wife, Sarah, was so upset with me because she had asked me to fix the sink in the kitchen, we were always having problems in the old house with it and she asked as soon as I got home please fix the sink but I was tired from work and I just wanted dinner and to watch the television, my favorite show came on right after dinner and I was so fascinated with the characters and the mystery and I was tired and I ended up falling asleep in my chair and when my wife woke me up she was so cross with me because I didn’t do as she asked and I remember I always liked to guess the ending of the show before they solved the mystery.

As much as I love him, too many times it came across in our marriage he was consumed by things that weren’t real. It was almost as if he was engrossed by make believe to avoid the realities going on in our marriage. He neglected confrontation and was absorbed by the simplicities of life (sex, television and food). I was marveled by his ability of not needing anyone. The appearance of being fulfilled by “things” fascinated me. I know there is more going on underneath but was never one to display that.

She sits and waits for me to say something. Anything. I know it. I can’t say a thing. What will she think? I was five when I learned my lesson well. Danny was eight. Daddy beat him until he fell off his chair, beat him until he couldn’t get up off the floor. Daddy said he’d learn his lesson. Daddy lifted the iron from the hearth and burned the sin from Danny’s hand that evening. I begged him to stop. Surely Danny would be good now! Daddy turned with dark, dark eyes and asked if my tongue needed the sin burned from it too. I closed my mouth and stopped my crying. I didn’t need the glowing red iron to brand his rules into my mind. I learned my lesson that day. Keep quiet and never get caught stealing. I never could say a word. How would Sarah look at me, knowing she married a coward. I stole the candy that day.

Danny hugged me tight. The tears were endless. William passed away at 67 years old and have been married for 41 years. Just like any other marriage we had our ups and down.

He was slowly decaying for the last 15 years of them. Our love was like rain – it poured, drizzled and sometimes it was dry. I can’t say he or even myself showed love consistently. I loved our memories but as the years went on both of us were going through the motions. Here I am sobbing creating more rain – the love we should have made. Perhaps it wasn’t just him falling apart in the last 15 years, it was myself. I took him for granted. I walked away with my hands clenched trying to be strong. Everyone stared at me. I needed a breath of fresh air and all I could see is rain. William loved the sound of the rain.


Check out Tara’s blog if you haven’t! This was a fun collaboration.

She’s exhausted from spilling ink
She’s uncertain with her fingertips
She’s wobbly and shaking on the inside
She’s powerless from the past
She’s flimsy as a thin piece of paper
Sing me a song for wide hope
Sing me a song for stretched out faith

She’s frail within her bones
She’s isolated from the rattle
She’s licking her wounds quietly
She’s aching for companionship
She’s comfortless and abandoned
Sing me a song for freedom
Sing me a song without chains

She’s tangled up in desolation
She’s withdrawn and torn down
She’s a tragedy without a witness
She’s reclusive and friendless
She’s a sky without any clouds
Sing me a song for change
Sing me a song for healing


My books are available here.