Before words could go free,
there was a Stranger In A Strange Town...

Deja Vu

No matter what I do, it's wrong,
The more I try, the more I fail,
I'd not felt that way for so long;
Is it really time to bail?

I never thought I'd wonder that,
Could I have been so wrong again?
When every effort just falls flat,
It might be time to accept the end.

I wrote the words above night last,
When you said flat out, "no matter what",
Which means, to me, the die is cast,
No hidden "ifs" nor "ands" nor "buts".

Now you say you said it merely,
To "get a reaction". Really, dear?
How am I to react sincerely,
To being told we're finished here?

I've been down that road before,
I'll not walk there another day,
Those kinds of head games close the door;
They're not the kinds I want to play.

So there's my reaction to what you said,
You let me know if it's what you meant,
If not, I'll clear it from my head,
To make room for your true intent.

The Last Cut (Closing Time)

The first cut was easy; he'd been asking for it for years.
The second cut was disappointing, but better than nothing.
The third cut was a little messy until a pro cleaned it up.
The fourth cut took a lot of work, just about worth it in the end.
The fifth cut was the quickest and most direct of all.
The sixth cut came much sooner than had been expected.
The seventh cut hit a snag, but made it through okay.
The last cut was the deepest, bringing it all to an end.

Looks like freedom but it feels like death
It's something in between, I guess
It's closing time



Driving through the rain in the middle of the night,
Do we take the highway to the left or to the right?
Our journey interrupted, detours all about,
I wait here in the car while you get things sorted out.

I look around the parking lot and mostly I see red,
You've gone off to the other side you say in words unsaid,
"Peek-a-boo" I answer you in words that go unheard,
Though our plans have changed they haven't been deterred.

How much longer left to wait I do not even know,
Until you are beside me and then off again we go,
'Til that time I'll toss and turn and wait here in the car;
There's nowhere else I'd rather be than wherever you are.


A million tales, a thousand yarns, one giant ball of thread,
The greatest pantry ever built, each morsel ever fed,
Preserved for all eternity, the living and the dead,
The stars that help to mark the way, the posts read and unread.

We thought forever it would stand, for all time it would last,
Bringing forth to future eyes, these views into the past,
Until one day the note appeared, into the void they'd blast,
All that had been ever there, and readers were aghast.

"How could they do this?" many asked, the answer never came,
Just vague remarks on focusing, and cop-outs just as lame,
And in the end a lesson learned, a new rule to the game:
Don't trust the plex with anything, 'tis all prone to the flame.


I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had,
We lived happily forever, so the story goes,
But somehow we missed out on the pot of gold...

I was going to do this, I was going to be that,
I even made a bet that I would eat my hat,
If I didn't achieve a particular goal,
For which I am probably now too old. 

Life is what happens to you, while you're busy making other plans...

How profound, I thought, when I first heard those words,
Way back when, when my path had just started to stray,
From the dreams I had held, and the plans I planned to make,
That gave way to the struggles of living from day to day.

The thousand dreams I dreamed, the splendid things I planned
I always built, alas, on weak and shifting sand...

Every now and then, something would seem to inspire,
I'd step up to the plate, and work hard enough to perspire,
But sooner or later, I'd run right out of steam,
And in the end, there'd be just another failed dream.

Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were

Of all the wrong turns I've made through the years,
I knew exactly which one was the worst,
Of all the things I left back in that place,
The one I left with's been my curse.

It's hard to hold the hand of anyone
who is reaching for the sky just to surrender...

Once I looked up where an eagle soared,
With shining eyes and wings of gold,
But that eagle's long gone, and with it my will,
So I empty another box of red swill.

You could've done anything, if you'd wanted.
And all your friends and family think that you're lucky.
But the side of you they'll never see
Is when you're left alone with the memories
That hold your life together like glue...

Every failed endeavour, each abandoned dream,
Got easier to swallow, than the one before,
It seems once you get used to things,
They don't matter any more.

This is the day your life will surely change.
This is the day when things fall into place.

I sang that song a thousand times,
And each one I knew for sure,
That this time was that special one,
Whose power would endure. 

Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last

So here I am, at last to face,
The real truth of it all,
That over and over and over again,
What I'm best at is dropping the ball.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half...

And suddenly it occurs to me,
That if I'm in my middle ages,
I'm only halfway to the end,
And I've still to write half the pages.

A new day has begun

And so this ends on a positive note,
Despite the despair and dismay,
For it's just the way I've always wrote,
I don't know any other way.

All is lost
If one abandons Hope

With a little help from my friends: Dennis, John, Roy, Neil, Leonard, The, Robert, Andrew, and Klaatu.

Fitch The Homeless: Old Fart Limericks

There once was an old fart named Jeffries,
Who said, "We will not sell to hefties,"
So folks bought his old clothes,
To hand them out on skid rows,
Thus expanding his image so deftly.

There once was an old fart from Fitch,
Who had an unusual pitch:
"If you're not cute and thin,
Then for us you're not 'in',
And for you we just don't give a stitch."

There once was an old fart named Mike,
Who said "Uncool kids I don't like,"
Sounding quite like a snob,
He made it his job,
To tell buyers to go take a hike.

An old fart who looked like old Biff,
Thought he was all full of spiff,
But his clothes were too small,
To be welcomed by all,
Now his sales have jumped off of a cliff.

Silly Poems I Posted On Facebook For Her Birthday (II)

Now you've reached that special age,
The one where time stands still,
When birthdays do not add a year,
But stay under the hill.

A woman, it is said in truth,
Ages like fine wine,
Except that wine does not remain,
Forever thirty-nine.

Some gals are so afraid to age,
That overnight their hair turns blonde,
As if they could just stop the clock,
With the wave of a magic colour wand.

Grey hairs may sprout, skin may sag,
A wrinkle or two may appear,
But you're only as old as you feel,
And you feel pretty young from here. 

I'd hoped to post some more in rhyme,
But just didn't have the time,
So all that I have now to say,
Is "Hope you did enjoy your day."


I sit at the same laptop that I sat at on that night,
(Although two keyboards later) and I think that I should write,
A poem, a song, or summat™ , to mark the great event:
The beginning of the ending of existence so misspent .

Yet if I could write a note to me and send it to the past,
(Three years to the hour) I think that I would pass;
What could I say that possibly might could make any sense,
To me that eve without a clue of things that would come hence?

And so I sit here, writer's block to save me from myself,
(The former me from me of now) and leave upon the shelf,
Any words that might go back and change what time would bring,
For through it all, the good and bad, I wouldn't change a thing.


Head hits the pillow, peace is not found,
Mind full of chaos, thoughts spinning round.

Not moving forward, no going back,
Look for the light switch, all looks so black.

Floor turns to eggshells, walls closing in,
Deafening silence, beyond the din.

Struggle to let go, words don't go free,
Choking my heartbeat, can't let them be.

Questioning things that, I thought I knew,
Can't tell delusion, from what is true.

Confusion abounds, so long ago,
Since last I've felt that, now where to go?

Head hits the pillow, tired as I seem,
I hope now to sleep, perchance to dream. 

...faded like the Beatles on Hey Jude...


To the ancient Romans, I + I = II,
And "II" is just  
Two "I"s stuck together. 

But we are not ancient Romans,
And "2" is not just
Two "1"s stuck together.

And though both "1"s be odd,
They balance the "2"
To make it even. 

Thus "2" is more
Than just two "I"s;  
It is "We".