A chasm, bottomless.

Reaching out,

In the cold and dark.


For comfort, for support.

For presence.

For sacrament?

For something, someone.

Something old.

Someone who knows me,

Deep down.

Someone who loves me,


Despite my flaws,

My shortcomings,

My mistakes.

Hold my hand,

Gentle spirit.


Living is good. Living with wishing grows old. Wondering is confusing. Caring is nice. Downtime is a relief. Little ones are cute and sweet. Unhappy little ones can be stressful, crying and screaming and all. Cold takes its toll. It can be overwhelming. Sometimes I just want to get under a warm blanket and go to sleep. Sometimes rest is what I need. Honestly, I’m not lazy. I just get anxious when things are busy, or crowded, or loud. I like to have my old dog or my chubby cat cuddling with me. I’m starting to get old too. My idea of a good time is not as excitingly sounding as it used to be. I like a comfy chair and a good book. A hot iced cinnamon sweetbread is nice too.




Fills the room,

Then the house.

The fire is not

Extraordinarily high,

And the chimney flue

Is open.

So, why, the smoke?

After a few hours,

The smoke alarm

In the hallway

Comes on.

I turn on the exhaust fan,

Above the stove.

I open the front door,

With the window up

On the screen door.

I open the door to the garage.

I turn on the ceiling fan,

Sucking air up.


The blasted smoke alarm

Turns off.


We’re not toasty


Time to put more wood

On the fire.

A Fire in the Fireplace

A fire burns

In the fireplace.

It is hot.

It does not burn

My dog,

Who lays near it.

It does not catch my house

On fire, no, it is safe.


On second thought,

We haven’t had the chimney

Inspected in several years.


It’s time,


Past time!

The fire warms the room,


It even warms the house,

Takes the chill

Out of the air,

As my wife says.

The fire was easy enough

To get started,

With those chemically-treated

Fire logs to get it going.

Just light the corners

Of the paper package,

And it blazes away.

Simple enough.

Not sure if those are bad

For chimneys or not.

We get firewood


To our house.

They back their truck in,

And carry the wood

Into the back yard,

And stack it up

Next to the fence.

Makes it nice

When you need some wood.

Far Away

There are no words

That come to mind,

Seeing things pass by—

Another day is gone.

My sweet is far away.

I hear her voice,

But she won’t stay.

She has other things to do today.

Many moons will rise and fall

Before she comes back to me.

Many lonely days will pass

Until her face I see.

When she returns,

She will find me

Exceedingly happy,

Joyful, thankfully.

The End

Stretching out

Into open space,

Reaching for…

I know not what.

No, I don’t want to watch


I’m not interested

In being entertained.

I just want to be stimulated,


A song to sway with,

Would be cool,

But not just


My mood is low,

My mind is going

On a journey,

To and fro.

Where I end up

Is any guess.

Where I go

I can’t confess.

Do you really

Want to know?

I am sure

I’ll make up my mind


I’ll choose wisely

And sugar free.

I will coast

Across the water,


I’ll find a personal


Can’t you see?

Yes, that’s it.

The end.

Darkness Falls

Echoes of grief

Creep into dreams.

Clamoring bells

Blast a hole

Into my memories.

Strange sentiments

Hover behind me,

Whispering temptation

To ecstasy.

To bite off a piece

Of reality—

That is my sentence.

To grab ahold

Of something nasty—

So close,

And yet,

Too far away.

To break through

Into another dimension.

To rage into the night!

Oh, so sweet.

So I lose my grip

On the pain

That haunts me.

Another journey.

It all seems

Plain to me.

So I surf right through

The Milky Way,

Cackling an insane laughter.

To be the one and only

Tortured company.

Let it burst into

A broken rip current.

Let it feed

On blood and gore.

Let it be—


Can You Doubt It?

Pools of blood

Gathering beneath

The hanging body.

Breath goes out,

But doesn’t come back in.

Skin separated from the bones.

What is the truth?

They’ve washed their hands

Of any responsibility.

But can they wash away the blood?

Nightmares come

To remind the guilty.

Can you grit your teeth

And bare this torture?

Can you escape the horror?

This man was truly

From God.

Those who witnessed,

Cannot deny it.

Those who saw him later—

Walking, talking…

Breathing, eating—

Cannot shake the image

From their memory.

Restored but still wounded.

Put your finger

In my wrists and in my side.

He is alive!!!

Changing Gears

Sometimes there are reasons

For ways I think and feel,

And sometimes it just hits me

From out of nowhere.

I can’t plan a day ahead

Without being surprised

By something that happens

That changes my focus.

Being bipolar means that

Sometimes I am at the mercy

Of my mood. But that doesn’t mean

I’m helpless. I just have to

Constantly be aware

Of everything that affects me,

Inside and out.

It is a challenge,

But it’s possible.