Here I am, I don’t have followers
I have sanguine blisters and
indecisions stirring in my reckless mind
I’ve stood in the corridor of my considerations
and wide eyed aspirations
I’ve been guided by intolerable vices, a stench of trivial knowledge and sarcasm
I have concoctions growing in my garden
I’ve borrowed money from my child like brother
to rent a house not far from the Porcupine River
We use to play like thieves, run like dogs,
and wrestle in the amber mud for hours
I live in a two bedroom apartment,
One block away from the Midtown bakery
On Sunday’s I can smell the Apple fritters
I’ve worked at the local grocery store since I was fifteen
“Lucky” isn’t a word in my vocabulary
I bite my fingernails as I ponder in front of my 1971 typewriter
From 9pm to 10pm I’m a rapid reader
I fell in love with Mark Twain and the storytellers from the innocent wild
Stuck on the lucid and elusive chapter ten
Captivated between the commas and engaging dialogue
I cough at the errors and sniffle at the page count of my thrill seeking novel
I stretch out my imagination like a rubber band
Manuscript growing like a an oak tree
Here I am, born an offbeat writer
The people who know me stand distant
Afraid to crawl inside the brain of characters
I left my day job at the age of forty two
Perspiration and diligence were on my side


My books are available here.

She use to be my enraptured muse
A mystical raindrop that drenched my entirety
guided by purity, kindness and authenticity
unveiling the sentiments in navy ink
written in the coveted firethorn notebook

In the afterglow she disappeared
Stillness was the enemy

She use to be the prayer between both hands
A snowflake cleansing my weary tongue
navigated by a sweet hummingbird whistling
displaying the verses with a keen eye
penned in a diary surrounded by flames

In the afterglow she vanished
tranquility was the rival

She use to be my northward carnival
A buzzing gypsy crooning in my orchestra
maneuvered by truth, sympathy and light
revealing the lines with unseen impressions
authored in a journal of mysterious flare

In the afterglow she escaped
serenity was her shadow boxer

I couldn’t make her remove her beloved wings


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(1st Verse)
I want you to be the rain in my Indian summer
I want you to be my queen of magic under the covers
I want you to be the sun on my darkest day
I want you to be my symphony on center stage
I want you to be my candlelight in the dark
I want you to be the butterflies circling around my heart

CHORUS
Come on baby,
I know you can feel it too
I can see my life with you
Come on baby,
I want to feel you in my arms
I want to wake up knowing you are my lucky charm

(2nd Verse)
I want you to be the light breeze in my storms
I want you to be my blanket to keep me warm
I want you to be my laughter when I want to cry
I want you to be my forever engraved in the sky
I want you to be my shining sliver wings
I want you to be my everything

Bridge:
I can see us walking hand in hand
I can see you being my woman and me your man
I can feel something growing stronger each day
I just want to love you in every single way
Come on baby, I know you feel the same

CHORUS


My books are available here.

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.

(1st Verse)
I’m an exhausted lover on the inside
A part of me just needs a friend
I need something that I can truly feel
There is a part of me that can no longer pretend
I need someone that can care and not just take
I need someone that can’t be fake

CHORUS:
I’m tired of building shit on quicksand
I’m tired of treading water, can you reach out your hand
I’m tired of falling and hitting face first into the ground
I’m tired of screaming on the inside where no one can hear a sound
And you know who you are
Just like me, I’m crying within these invisible scars

(2nd Verse)
I’m a broken man who needs some understanding
A part of me needs someone like myself
I need something that I know is real
There is a part of me that can admit needs some help
I need someone that can care and can give
I need someone that knows how to live

CHORUS

And I can hear those words loud and clear
And I know deep inside you have the same fears
And you know who you are
And I can feel the doubt and danger
And I know we are distant strangers
And you know who you are
And I’m writing verses with you in my head
And I’m like you, lonely in this bed
And you know who you are

CHORUS


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.