During this late time of year
Everything both far and near
Carries scars of frost and freeze
Even frostbite from cold breeze
Most if not all leaves are shed
Blown from trees to forest bed
Evening sunshine brings no heat
Rains too often turn to sleet

* haven't seen an acrostic for a while

Who’s that fellow that came, you know, what’s his name?
The one who was quite underweight
He came round last week, with a zit on his cheek
And he mended and painted our gate

Come on, you should know it was you had to show
Him the things that were needing repair
He was ever so lean and not very clean
And was toothless with bright ginger hair

He had no teeth at all he was ever so tall
And was scrawny and lanky and long
He’d no meat on his frame but was awfully game
And for someone so skinny, quite strong

I've marked myself up;
the evidence of two years passed-
but i can't see how time keeps on keeping on
when there is so much want between two places, so far away.
two places, tethered by a feeling
only known to one.
But we were just so close.
If i could reach out just a little more, i could touch your hand,
but it seems as though there's a mountain between us.
i don't know what love is,
and i do know that this feeling hasn't yet reached my toes.
maybe with time it will,

one day to tallahassee
two to yosemite
one to portland
day n a half to denver
border to border
coast to coast
big thumb

eight fucking days
contemplation
along I-35
70 out o kans's city
that reeks o carcass
rot n dog food
okie even worse
       seein images
       masks n
       license plates

On southern wind this early morn
comes a chill late autumn rain
tapping castanets upon my hat
in monotonous refrain.

Each time a drop hits colored leaf
it knocks it loose from summer home
sending it to join its kin
among the dampened duff and loam.

The ground beneath each different tree
is covered in its own bright hue
and flattened further by the rain.
A quilted multi-colored view

Life finally tuned..

There’s a space in my mouth where
a tooth used to be I can feel it with
the tip of my tongue.
There are sounds on my mind
where no sounds used to be
especially when I was young.

There’s a giant belly down there where
no belly ever was I can barely see
the end of my toes. There are things I do
now that I never did before like squirting
medicine up inside of my nose

it was my haunted eyes
and pale skin
"Little white bastard"
I had no name for the three
months my mother cared for
me
the near fatal crash in the
station wagon at the crossing
the broken lamp in the operating
room

they gave me babies to hold
and objects of the dead when
I returned and I listened patient
feeling the touch of that shadow
across my soul

A sparkle from an eye,
As the other winks approval.
He sees you and is happy,
With all the work you do.

The festive spirit,
Lives inside of you.
Giving from your heart,
Is what it means to you.

Happy you are,
For family and friends.
Even of those,
From way back when.

The merry man's wink,
Is all you need.
Happy holidays to you,
Your whole life through!

They refuse to change their stance
Many more Shakespeare’s are needed,
If poets need to flourish

Remove the don’t do this,
Don’t do that tags,
No blog poems,
No comments to be converted into poetry
Are all indicators of idiosyncratic?
Cradled and saddled
As well as saddened minds
Albeit
I am sorry to say so…

A poet in order to survive
Should be like a vast desert,
A vast ocean,
Spread across eternity,
If you want poetry to survive
In today’s limited environment

Statistics.

Statistics don't lie
though the truth is relatively
forgotten in revisionist history.

There were no weapons of mass destruction
no one cut the puppet strings
until someone pulled the lever and he
dangled in the air, breathless and motionless.

Casualties.