I've changed
And I can't find my way
Back to the person I used to be

I have fallen out of love with you
What more can I say
I know it's a cliché
But it really isn't you
It's me

I'm lost
And I can't find the path
Back to the life I used to have

(chorus)
My head is confused and I no longer see you
You are just a blurred image lost in the hue
I've drifted away and severed our line
I no longer need you
I no longer want you as mine

I was on my way to school
My father’s friend drove by
Stopped his car, opened the door
And gave me a lift to the school gate
He smiled at me, I beamed back
Encouragingly, gave me a bundle
Money for my pocket and needs

This man is not that handsome to me
His big belly, baggy trousers
And a big bulge on the neck
Makes him resemble Orangutan
From some jungle in a far away land
And married to my mammy’s friend
Ask me, what makes me want it with him

burn it red like a sunset bled on paler skies

burn it orange like a metaphor, a flame in my pocket

no saving grace of snuff out,
this pyre will burn for ages.

burn it yellow like the eyes of a nocturnal predator

burn it blue like the broken hearts, the tears, the empty years

this ragged intake of oxygen
fuels the fire, higher, higher.

we the people
are not represented
by conservative or liberal
Democratic, tea-Party Republican or Libertarian agenda
it is not American as apple
pie to drive a wedge between
rich and poor, killing the middle class
by the ruling class,

fat wallets anonymous
contribute to campaign strategy
and borderline poverty

American TV is bought and sold
and then there's the devil to pay
as long as corporate greed is
aided and abetted by the dualistic party's
conservative mantra:

does it hurt to be
a thorn
on the rose?

I do not know such
things,

sometimes the
sting of words
rains tears in my eyes
and my lips start to bleed...

sun drenched veins on the leaf
surge through apple-buttered skies

words fall to the wayside,

roads we have yet to travel
to roses we have yet to touch.

Heat of summer
wrapped in beach towel humidity
and winds that burn
this sun that blisters

their lives in boxes
and I propped up at the bar
the barmaiden charms
and double black russians
and beer

I pack their lives in neat boxes
and packing tape
as if I could fit into a box so tidy
my corners full
my edges perfect

It ain't nothing but a chicken wing
Scarce as hen's teeth
Too many cooks spoil the broth
Keep your nose to the grindstone

It’s all good
hot to trot
Keep it on the down low
love is blind
A necessary evil
the lesser of the two evils
All hands to the pump

Acid test
A mile a minute

Silence is golden
Free as a bird
like a seven year itch
I’m game

Rotten to the core
Knock it out of the park
Knock the cover off the ball
a rolling stone gathers no moss

Those belfry bats swing your moods,
leaving the stink of mind produced;
and here we are,
paddling in your shit again.

Faded circles of bourbon stains
dot her weathered nightstand’s surface
like stars speckle the midnight sky.
Each remnant commemorates her
quest for sleep, a prop of courage
consumed to help forge another day.

Bras, slips, heels and flats
pepper the carpet
reflections of impediments
that fleck her soul.

Harbored distortions from her past
forgiven by those who know her
forgotten by others
festers in her frontal lobe.

the night is a blueberry poem
written by the waning light

if i could have had a bluer day,
imagination would be freer
than it is and wild horses
of chestnut and black beauty
would have ridden me into the meadows
of sunset

i would have drawn the shades of darkness
and let the vision of You sleep where poems
do not go hunting
and do not hunger,
for Thine is the kingdom
here on earth.