Category: More Poems

A Week In Nassau

January 25th, 2018 — 12:46pm

Got here.

Raining pigs and elephants.


Lost a few thousand

in a few minutes

went outside

to clear my head and

bought a $25 ice cream cone.


Took the limo home

and chatted with the driver

about how cold it was – 14 degrees

they’d closed a school Freeport!

how life was so unfair

so shitty —

we laughed the whole way.


In the door.

Glass of water.

Crawled into bed

sick as a dog

— the FLU …..

Spent 5 days

in my room

rolling around, moaning

waiting for some brave sod

to come in

and put me down.


Nobody did so

I got up

went downstairs

and looked outside

at the emerald blue sky.

I couldn’t believe I was still here.


It was all worth it

this trip.

What doesn’t kill you

allows you

to do it all over again.

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Nobody owes you anything

December 27th, 2017 — 10:08am

Nobody owes you anything

not the bank

that won’t extend your line of credit,

not the snot nosed kid

you used to be,

not the tooth fairy or Santa Claus

not the girl you gave your heart to

not the President or your dad’s estate

not the bars you so well indulged

and which now won’t allow you in


not even the poker dealer

who always tosses you

7 deuce with a smile.


Nobody owes you anything.


Not your folks who didn’t push you enough

into this too soft world,

certainly not this

pale blue dot that

gives you a roof over your head

and the right to be here,

certainly not time

the gatekeeper and

most democratic of sliding doors,

certainly not bare bones life

to which you aren’t even

an after thought.



Nobody owes you anything.


Get over it.

Close your ledgers.

Melt your tin trophies.

Get off your ass and

grow some balls.


the finish line is also

a starting line.

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November 29th, 2017 — 6:59am

Now that I have taught

my tongue

to speak what is in

my heart.

I now must find

the one who will listen.


Now that I have looked

long enough

to finally see.

I now must find

the one who will understand.


Now that I have walked

this valley

and reached the


I now must find

the place I started from.


Now that I have learned

to love


to lay down my arms.

I now must find

the one who I can hold on to.


Now that I have drank up

life’s bounty

and eaten my fill.

I now must find

the will to feed others.


Your life, my life, his life

is never finished

merely abandoned.

Know what you do not know

and you will complete

the circle

and stand where

you’ve always stood.

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The place where I come from

September 16th, 2017 — 11:48am

In North Ontario

the place where i come from

the grain grow high and frames the sky

the clay has been there forever

that’s where I’m gonna die.


The place where i come from

the roads are straight and go dusty ‘n far

mile after exact mile

you’ll know exactly where you are.


The place where i come from

the breakfast joints are always packed

there’s talk of the hockey games

there’s talk of weather and winter comin’ back.


The place where i come from

the women pull their men in close at night

hangin’ on, survivin’, hopin’

things ‘ll work out right.


The place where i come from

there’s fights outside the hotel every Saturday night

the women wear too much make up

and are never seen in white.


The place where i come from

has a muddy river running through it and train tracks too

old farmers fill the old age homes

they ain’t got nothin’ left to do.


The place where i come from

your piss will freeze before it hits the ground

in summer the flies block out the sun and

the land forever, will never let you down.


The place where i come from

black bear, moose, beaver in every lake

men sit on summer porches

cursing about the money they didn’t make.


The place where i come from

you can spit and grow a beard

wear big rubber boots around town

the mud falling off, from the land you just plowed.


The place where i come from

the winters last forever and you can hear wolves howl

there ain’t nobody to hold yur hand

there ain’t no fancy footin’ allowed.


The place where i come from

a man can build his own place at his own pace

paycheck by paycheck,

a man can mill his own dreams

in his own bed, in winter’s solid embrace.


The place where i come from

has 4H and no nine to five

nobody need ask no one what it means to be alive,

they eat their eggs broken n Jesus still saves

n the big trucks keep driving by

not a honk, not a wave.



The place where I come from

there’s crows high in the sky and big birds fly

they just fly right on by


The place where I come from

every guy has a pickup and the transports roar by town

the place where I come from is where

nobody is bound …..

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Ways To Eat

August 5th, 2017 — 10:53am

Some men eat everything

on their plate.

Some men come late

don’t even bother to phone.

Some men eat alone.


Some men eat everything

then ask for more.

Some men just ignore

tongue tied the need.

Some men for money’s sake

eat little, eat greed.


Some men eat greens first

the meat fast.

Some men don’t eat

meat at all.

Some men just fast

fishermen who last

and catch nothing at all.


Some men leave a little

on the plate.

Some men can’t wait

eat in the car three bars.

Some men metaphorically eat stars.


Some men take dessert.

Some men take two.

Some men just desert the table

the moment the main course is through.


Some men sup

from the bowl.

Some men slurp

or even burp cuz

the eatin’s the goal.

Some men sit quiet

waiting for the dinner bell’s toll.


Some men eat for

the taste of it.

Some men just out of habit.

Some men would never eat rabbit.

Some men don’t give a damn

about it.


Some men eat to soak up

the alcohol.

Some men just to be tall.

Some men eat to entertain


Some men while waiting for wives

at the mall.


Some men eat to pass

the time of day.

Some men want but can’t

find another way.

Some men say prayers.


Some men eat their fill.

Some men test their will.

Some men smoke after their meal.

Some men eat only monkey and eel.


But every man eats

every man completes


in a million myriad ways

food, the fulcrum of our days.

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June 30th, 2017 — 3:38pm


is not a general thing.

It is not a state

it moves

and is digested

like salad leaves

off the plate.



is not what is.

At rest it disappears

it is the eye of interest

a going there

a doing that

a mind that remakes all

an embracing even of that

which against us might just fall.



is not a thing.

A car, a child that is mine

it is what can be

what might we always find

never looking behind

it is that fear unfounded

because the eye is up ahead.

Happiness a kind of compass

memory unbled.



is what is alive.

That is each moment more

in interest

in possibility

how in thought

we can walk through

every door

pushed by the question

what is this life for?


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You’re Never Gonna Win

June 28th, 2017 — 1:44pm

You’re never gonna win

not even if you

practice all day,

not even if you

get that nose job,

not even if you

win the lottery or

hit the triactor.

It’s just not gonna happen.


Entropy has us all in her

dirty hands.

There’s a loose nut in

every assembly line.

There’s a self-destruct button

blinking on and off

in everyone’s heart.


Best to not swim upstream.

Learn to love the toast on the floor,

jam side down


your ship always will be

going back out again


you’re never gonna win.

Get used to it.

There ain’t no Oz, Dorthy.

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Poetry by the numbers

June 17th, 2017 — 2:49pm

There is more plastic in our oceans

than fish.

More guns are fired each day

than kisses given.

We kill over 250,000 living organisms

each time we exhale.


100% of us will die.

Despite appearances

there is no tomorrow.

The day is sufficient

unto itself.

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One Way Street

May 19th, 2017 — 12:54pm

You only get one go round.

No take 3 steps back cards.

No reset button

No buy one, get one free.

No spin again.

No time machine, no encores

Not even a U turn.


So you got 2 choices.

  1. Enjoy the ride and hope against hell there’s cotton candy and soda dished out by bosommed blond maidens after


2. flash your fleshy bottom at the fair master constantly turning the crank and making things move forward, round ‘n round.


You choose.

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May 19th, 2017 — 12:48pm

They’re always askin’ me

“When’s your book coming out?”

and I tell them

“Next month. I’m working on it.

Next year. You just wait ….”


The postman, the neighbor, my bartender

the neighbor’s kid, the barber, my alter ego.


I should just come clean

say what I mean – “Never.”


Books are overrated.

The minute you finish one

the thing is dead, rotting

and then what?


So the notebooks and scratchins

pile up in the back closet

and the word stays alive in me

as I, like any good poet

find better ways to lie.

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