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Of the Homesick Traveler

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Here now stand I on dark and lonesome shore,
my only wish this wandering to leave,
and ah! how numerous the miles cleave
myself to home, return do I implore!
Am I a peaceful home to have no more?
And for my homeland far do I now grieve.
It gives me heart to dream and still believe
past seas and forests, mountains and the moor!
Oh what I'd give to leave this exile wide,
Lo! Chance to back return comes unforeseen,
Unto the land my heart owns e're pristine!
and homeward bound my ship goes with the tide,
now setting sail pray I as joy knows how,
and little though it seems it be enow.

The Rescue

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Clouds, dampness, rain on covered ground,
Water streaming me by, desperate fighting.
I say, save the queen, save the queen, and tightening
My grip as not to drown, I'm going to pound
My wings in the dirt without making sound.
A work bee's life may be short and frightening,
But satisfaction replaces whining.
I must survive and flap my wings till found.

I hear voices coming, they are so near,
My screams go far, please undo this torrent.
Little feet are running my way. They're here!
A small hand reaches down, steals the moment.
The feeling of safety brings me to tears.
Homebound I fly, and into the forest.


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Bowed under the weight of a wounded man
Carried from the wide jaws of death. His eyes
Hollow from the horror of a war-torn land,
His mind numb to the soldier's dying cries.
Red blood, stagnant mud, bodies crippled and maimed
Witness: man's inhumanity to man
Is it the politicians who should be blamed?
Remembered after an eighty-year span
He's now the hero of Gallipoli,
Who had to make the perilious journey,
Down exposed rocky gullies to safety
Brought the burden of endless casualties.
His name in the annals of history
A donkey awarded for bravery.

Death's Knife

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Over and again I find myself in
This world that does not make any sense.
But, I come to it again and again,
This world that strips me of ev'ry defense.

I sleep each night in my bed of shelter,
Wondering what the next day will bring me.
I dream and hope that my hate won't swelter,
I send my deep and lasting love to Thee.

Living brings only sorrow and hatred,
Death breeds peace and calm and eternal life.
Death clears the obstacles that I must tread,
But how can I escape life's ready knife?

When life breeds sorrow and sadness of death,
I will look for your ever gentle breath.

A Night to Remember

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Darkness had filled the newlyweds hotel room.
The moonlight, like a knife, cut through the dark.
Alone, they had thought, were the bride and groom.
Their names I think were Patricia and Mark.

They had fallen asleep without a care.
Dreaming that night without the slightest fear.
What he had done, it was not even fair.
The breaking of the glass they could not hear.

He was standing there watching them sleeping.
What he had done to them should not have been.
Some can still hear it, the song he would sing,
In the hotel room where it happened again.

People who do believe they will not dare,
But those who do not are in for a scare.

Past Poet

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Past poet, like a furnace your eyes burn
Bright like the Tiger's, your ink sears my soul,
As the black Raven on Athena churns,
White elephants talk of hills like they're moles.
The words that you have spoken unto me
Gives neither sight, nor touch, nor sleep nor death;
Instead, on fair lines blackened, cunning be
The bare untruth bestowed upon my breath.
Life has yet to embrace me with this prize,
So of your verse I do let my tongue chime
When me they see; I make myself with lies,
And hope my wit learns well from my false time.
Let me pretend I am what I am not,
Untruth when truth will never be forgot.


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I know that some will disagree with me,
Though little in life renders more delight,
With nauseous thoughts theyįre unable to see,
The great joy brought from the feeling of flight.
To soar above the trees as an eagle,
So high the view of Godįs great earth below,
It gives one the thought that he is regal,
As he towers oįer the problems so low.
One flies on wings and the wind that God sends,
To look at His creation from aloft,
Peering on to see what is the Earthįs end,
To fly above the clouds so light and soft.
And he might discover a great release,
And know how good it feels to be at peace.

Sonnet XXV

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I. The Offering

Love, which summons from unseen augured thought,
Stealthily their Elysium was built,
Through tempests passed and battles bravely fought,
Grandeur unveiled, spun in Clotho's quilt.
Whence in rhymes which Fasti thus supported,
Noble knights jousting in bannered esteem,
Thus troubadours in ballad recorded,
Life's regard expediently redeemed;
Abreast eternal two poets collide,
More than appears and more than accorded,
Verse to verse Love encountered a reply,
Passions bestowed, charity concorded;
Bared endowment and a temporal boon,
The promise that Love's forbearance end soon.

When the Sky is Falling

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When the sky may be falling, have no fear
For the wind will then whisper in your ear
Proclaim, then, the truth, and do not deny
No crack voice but once in your reply

Answer to he who shall ask of thee
"In Mary, the virgin, do you believe,
Which to whom some say He was once conceived?"

Heaven is yours if you shall then reply,
"Jesus is Lord! Creatures, praise Him on high!"

So when the sky is falling, have no fear
For with you now and always, He is near
If you shall die by these or any means
Remember just this one thing: He will reign
And come back to rule the world once again

Little Angel

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The day you were born was the best day ever
It seemed to have taken awhile
But, it was all worth it when I saw you smile
The angels above held you forever
In the sky and heavens above the world
You are the most beautiful, little girl
Your sparkling blue eyes gleamed at me
To help you through everything you will need
My soul is warm and complete with happiness
Watching you sleep and filled with such sweetness
My hopes and dreams I have for you
May every one of them come true
My love for you will never diminish
Every second with you I will cherish

The Toenail of Victor Emmanuel II

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Mounted in Gold and Presented each New Year's Eve to the Lady of the Moment

Though Vic the Second was the first who gave
A part of himself to Art, those motley blues
Set off by golden filigree confuse
What once were plain parables of the cave.
Like him, sincere informalists who crave
The immortality of Art excuse
Their vulgar lapses of decorum. "Who's
To say," they ask, "how artists must behave?"

The poetry of fact need never lie.
Could metaphor, however wild, disguise
A demi-hoof that mocks a gilded shoe?
O lyric bed-sheet ripper! If verse should try
To whet thee, wrought but half-wild in surmise,
The Victor would be art, the poem you.

On Selfish Whim

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On selfish whim I hold tight to your heart
and offer crumbs to stay your tender flirt.
In truth, I wish to consciously avert
an earnest practice of your lovers art.
For if a flash of sloth sent Cupid's dart,
the "L word" from my foolish lips in blurt,
I cannot promise you would not be hurt.
Better to avoid the intimate start,
and save us both the misery of fact;
we are mismatched by nature for the role
of mates intent upon domestic pact.
We do not share an all-important goal
of mine to Live Life Large Inside, and act
on need for true companion to the soul.

Christmas, 2000

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The chaste stars that mark your advent season
Have witnessed all the martyrs in the way,
Not blinking seen, not wondering lacking reason
The slaughter of abortion in this day.
This is a new age: our simple pundits
Forecast the olive branch will all replace
The arrows in the claw, and lawless tyrants
Will get democracy and civic grace.
I say other: as men will not repent
A millennium of lust and luxury,
I turn my face from feast towards days of lent
And pay no heed to pagan prophecy:
The past is not ahead, my King has come,
And time to live in Him until it's done.

Leaving Your Mark

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What will people think of you when you die?
Will they remember your kind attitude and friendly smile?
Will they find out about your neverending lie?
What will happen when you're put on trial?

The impressions you leave on this world are your choice.
It's all about how you approach your life.
If you enjoy each day and always rejoice,
You'll surely be known as a great friend, an excellent wife.

Do you choose to help others and give it your all?
Do you count your blessigs every day?
Will you be remembered by the "unimportant" and "small"?
Are you leaving a mark in any way?

So go through life remembering these things,
And help with the problems life will forever bring.

The Game

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The player was ready to kick the ball
The other team waited to receive it
He gave it a very powerful hit
Coaches were screaming to give the right call
It went high but they knew it had to fall
The player caught it like he had a mitt
His main blocker threw a very good hit
It looked like it might be the teams downfall
But the player ran faster than a speeding train
He ran to get the game winning touchdown
The other team had other plans instead
All of a sudden the player felt pain
And the player was knocked hard to the ground
They lost the game and he wept in his bed

Sonnet IV

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Beyond the sky above there is the stars,
beyond the stars there is the dark of space,
what lies beyond? we cannot seek that far,
if only we could journey to that place.
Is heaven what is past the outer shell?
Or is it something we have conjured up,
if so, then where lyeth the gates of hell,
dare we to even take from in that cup.
Beyond our fragile skin there is a heart,
beyond our beating heart there is a soul,
what lies beyond? we cannot seek that far,
but the myst'ries of life do make us whole.
There is an infinite of space within,
To equal that outside our mortal skin.


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Angels play melodic songs to cherish
The charm and grace where you have left your mark.
Tangled weaves of winter webs may perish,
And sunny days will quickly turn to dark.
Sudden numbness comes, would you e'er leave me
Upon a broken bow of love's ill fate?
Many windy storms have died down, unseen,
Have ill-respected time and entered late.
Imagining your vision I've no loss
For words, or thinking then to your sweet voice.
I've pondered many paths your love may cross,
Who was to know, mine only, your heart's choice.
Imagine love how you will for all time,
As you read, my love, this sonnet of mine.

Oro Negro

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A whole new life beyond the door
Seen through my eyes of wonderment
Where a cultured man is no more
Than a child full of excitement,
Wishing to become one of them overnight.
To live the life that they love
I question if my own blood is right
As my senses tempt me to move.
I've always wanted so badly to blend in,
And forsake God's given ethnic label,
But it's not so easy to begin
When years of hardship turned stable.
I know one day I can be that one
Who undoes the work that God has done.


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I don't know why you do what you do to me.
I sit here thinking of you,
I cry because I don't know what to do-
Your love is so blinding I can't see!
You sit there and say let it be
Why do I always play the fool?
While you go out acting so cool
Why can't you let our feelings be free!

I see the way you act when we're alone together,
But you are so different around your friends,
You blow me around as if I am a feather!
That's when your smiles, wave and touch ends
You are as cold, warm or unforgiving as the weather
Each day I pray that heaven will your true love send!

Undying Love

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Delicate maiden with eyes stormy gray
Awaited her bonny sweet lover true
Upon a great cliff of sandstone and clay
He said to meet under the sky's dark hue

The gorgeous sun set slowly in the sky
Her vigil long but she did watch and wait
There she loosed a long and painful sigh
Alone she cried and cursed her wretched fate

Then an ivory white dove here did perch
A small letter with dark ribbon was tied
She did read it and it made her heart lurch
There it did say her lover true had died

And then she did perform her last great feat
Into the sea she leaped; her death to greet


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You must have truly thought I was a fool
You show no emotion or remorsefulness
You surely must grasp your actions were cruel
Though hard, I'm forced to care less and less.

When I think of how much time has gone by
Since I first became emotionally attached
I regret the many times I would try
To make my heart believe love I would catch.

Your devotion was just a deception
Reeling me in just to throw me right back
Like a fish in the ocean, I had a conception
Your bait was your lies, my trust where I lack.

My confidence shattered by your defeat
My pain, your conquest, your mission complete.

"Choirs silenced to hear you whisper words"

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Choirs silenced to hear you whisper words
Nightingales, speechless when you sing your song,
Your freedom overpowers that of birds,
You're like a magnet, pulling me so strong.

Your eyes to me are like obsessive art,
Your picture perfect face locked in my mind,
Your love, blazing infernos in my heart,
Your weak spot, is something I must find.

Just case it up, this broken heart of mine,
And patch it up and let my mind to mend
I'll chase you on this never-ending line
I'll walk your path, until I find the end

If any try to steal you I will shove,
An ocean can not douse my flames of love.

On the Inappropriate

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That one should see the worth of writing a sonnet
seems to me a kind of native wonder,
to speak the matter as though nobody had ever done it,
in an artificial form. Gives you pause to ponder.

It's the making of decoration from unlike or intractable,
indulging the American impulse to diddle or putter,
justify what we know to be unsalable and impractical:
a portrait of a prize steer carved entirely from butter

I once saw displayed at the Iowa State Fair,
velvet Elvises, armadillo purses,
fur-lined toilet seats, mystical signs in the air,
the inappropriate appropriation of verses--

Chaucer, groping for a new rhyme for "art,"
paused, strained briefly, produced "a fart."

True Sight

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The sky is drenched in a black endless dye
True world, my sight, distorted masses blurring
Not rims of glass nor plastic covered eyes
Under my true sight no stars are passing

Why did my eyes lose the gift of true sight
You enter my mind like you always do
I finally see you in a true light
I was never me, you were always you

I still do love you as I always did
I can finally see all of your faults
My true thoughts and feelings were always hid
I never said "back up" or even "halt"

I know that this is how I am to be
I can see how the world meant me to see

What I Know

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The laughter echoed, dancing all around,
Spinning, slanting, weaving out of control,
To splinter the delicate frame of sound,
To arouse the depths of the mortal soul.
Seeping through the skull like sand through fingers,
Piercing the defence of all sanity -
In the mind and memory it lingers
Defying sense, hope and humanity.

Call me crazy; call me mad and insane -
Put on your plaster mask of pity; show
How you care so of "the poor lady's pain."
You can try to understand - but in vain.
You do not know what I know; what I know
You will never know. What a damned shame.

Dirty Dog

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He scratches in his corner, looking worn,
then licks his crotch, determined that he'll ease
the itching that's disturbed him since he's born.
He's elderly - needs treatment for the fleas
which he would have, were not his owner's brain
too occupied by conflict's legalese.
Divorce is here, and it's been said again,
"If you're to see the kids, that dog must go!"
When children's lives are torn apart, sovereign
are needs for comfort, such as children know;
the cold, wet nose and moist hot tongue combine
with fervent, wagging joy that says "hello!"
Around his shaggy neck, kid's arms entwine.
His unhygienic therapy works fine!

The Brain

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Blood-fed and bouyed by the spine's glassy seas
A squat tyrant fills an arterial throne;
Thoughts hum and sting like a hive full of bees--
Gray ghost fat cooks in a thrown pot of bone.
This socket of self, canteen of hell
And sparkling slop, idea-stained wine--
Core of existance closed up in a shell,
So gross and so secret, sealed without sign.
You wiggle my hand, dump language in ink,
Sweeten my dreams with neurotransmitter jam--
You order it all, where I shit, what I think:
You're the plump spider that weaves what I am
As you nestle against the skull's leaking holes
And construct out of terror a series of souls.

34. February 3rd

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I love the sonnet, so blustery free,
laughing in its chains, strong in its voice full
of icicles, steam, crocodile eggs, me,
voluptuous, concerned, impregnable,
expecting visits from monsters, roots, gods,
terrible in their urgencies, cold tides
harrowing boats, docks, doctrinal frail clods,
enterers of exits: we: race of prides.

Such contrivances we envision, putting
one over on ourselves every time, yet
nimbly enough for our limited view,
not needing true perfection, faultless footing,
even if we don't let rats/insects get
tomorrow. I hate the sonnet. Don't you?

The Match. . .

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It was the final match of my career,
And the team was desperate for a win.
My match was closing in on me so near,
And what the team expected was a pin.

I was shaking and I was on fire,
And my heart was beating at its will.
Then I realized it was my desire,
Of winning this match that made me so ill.

I stepped on the mat and shook the guy's hand,
The whistle blew and my ill was gone.
I took the first shot and made the guy land,
And that is when I knew I just won.

The team jumped up and shouted for my win,
And realized I was good for a pin.

In Praise of Safe Edges

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A little living on the edge can be
a whipped cream dollop topping apple pie
or Angostura bitters in a sea
of gin. The sin of all you verify
as skin-of-teeth or just-in-nick-of-time
qualifies as simple peccadillo.
Nudging small-fry limits is no crime.
Your day-late bill, missed appointment, wallow
in the bed till noon, illegal parking--
healthy portions. Great, some blood-rush, tremor
for veins too clogged by good behavior. Sparking
via variance is just the number.
Rebellion--yes! That quenchless ember!
Praises to each modicum of laxity,
odd revel, deviation, hour of gluttony!


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The darkness invades as I drift to sleep
The night owl calls from the shadows of dark
I'm trying to count all the flying sheep
But that stupid dog has such a loud bark.

The clock seems to keep losing the hours
as I lay in bed while I toss and turn
It's getting close for the time to shower
My eyes are heavy, now starting to burn.

I stare at the wall, the ceiling, and floor
My eyes are adjusted to this dark room
There is the window and the closet door
The clock counts the seconds ultra loud boom.

Insomnia's terrible through and through
I'm really used to it, it's nothing new.

"Always they said it will be soon enough"

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Always they said it will be soon enough
I couldn't wait for that day "it'll be cool"
But then came on winter and it was tough
all of a sudden we missed so much school

For us who were mad, home we had to stay
Why were we mad because we had no lights
It was mostly dark, so for most we lay
With no lights people and O.G&E had fights

Then I had to say thank goodness for sun
Like the rivers running the snow had melt
For now, we could all have a little fun
You really couldn't imagine how I felt

But when I got to school, guess what I heard
We now go to school 'til the twenty-third.

Love City

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Hey, Margaret, I'm leaving today
I've put a not right over your desk
Preferred not to tell you so don't you come ask
Or drop some tears just to make me stay

Hey, Margaret, I'm already here
Far from you, downtown Love City
I'm cold, but I don't need your pity
If I felt that before, you wouldn't be near

Hey, Maggie, now I miss you a lot
I can't live without you, like once I thought
Please rush to here and comfort me
Forget what I said, we're meant to be

Will send you a flower, for your heart to glow
You know their power, only in Love City they grow

She Doesnįt Know Who She Is

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A girl I like who doesn't know who she is.
Little do you known she is here right now.
Is this that feeling? Is this that great bliss?
How do I let her know I care? Well how?

A friend of mine will tell her how I feel.
I donįt know what to say or what to do.
It's hard to believe that she is for real.
I don't know if this is love. Well do you?

She has the nicest legs that are like silk.
She has beautiful hair that isn't nappy.
Her voice is refreshing like cool, cold milk.
When I am around her I feel so happy.

I will go now and tell her how I feel.
I will prove myself because I'm for real.

Mystique trip

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I went down to herveys in Shepherd`s Bush;
Off I went down to see the black eyed peas.
It was in the days of my ganja rush.
I know I suffer for doing my art,
Keen to gain the favour of my loveheart;
I beg before her, the muse, with word pleas.
Think this reeks of sentimentality -
Well what about some synchronicity?
I wonder who will ever be wedded
To Fred`s sister and be with her bedded
In the state of the bride and the bridegroom
And then off with her into the skies zoom.
She does work at some like Akademi
And her name is Victoria Hervey.

Woe to a Lover

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Woe to a lover, his fate filled with doom
emptiness filled world, heart filled with sorrow,
for love brings us nothing but tears and gloom
patient broken heart, till it be ‚morrow.

For once I too a fair maiden did love
her love could to no other be compared
a beauty enchantress sent from above
never a maiden have been seen as fair.

Left me did she, no farewells we did make
tossed aside were the vows we did take,
how could I know that your love was all fake?

Alas my protest with open ears hear,
That love brings nothing but gloom and a tear.

Twin Wrecks

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Twin wrecks in a river close to the sea
long beaten by storm inflicted mayhem,
smiling and young you accompanied me
as I walked the bank to photograph them.
A pair of vessels that once freely sailed,
now gray and sagging forms for worms to eat,
reminders of marvelous schemes that failed,
their graceful hulks still wondrous in defeat.
We sat and watched in silent reverie,
an ineffable awe sealing our lips,
as smaller craft passed quickly out to sea
before these two great heaps that once were ships,
our common wish that we could look as fine
in the later stages of our decline.

Just Philip Morris Talk

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Hey, carbon monoxide, what do you do?
Well, I make the blood turn very blue!
They let me in, I'm comin' galore
And all they want is more, more and more!

Hey, tar, what do you do?
Well, I make the lungs turn very blue!
Runnin' through them, I make 'em choke
With all the delicious smell of grey smoke!

Hey, nicotine, what do you do?
Well, I make the brain turn very blue!
For a little while, I make it pleased
But when I'm over, grey matter's so deceased!

We are the trio of the strongest pain
But you won't survive us, so have it again!


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When June arrives, I'll mildly wash the grains
of weathered paint on father-crafted oak,
remove the April pollen, autumn stains
and rust from bolts - replace the ones that broke
from generations bouncing on his knee
in summer when the grass was freshly mowed
and all the dandelions he could see
were pulled. I'll find a cart and gently load
the seasoned piece then wheel it to the spot
where he and I would spend the afternoons
discerning shapes from clouds beneath the hot
but soothing sun along the Bay. If June's
unfinished chores permit, perhaps we'll share
another Sunday in his summer chair.

San Francisco Bay Blues

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I've got those blues from the Cisco Bay
It's where she left me, where she went away
I'm now at Fisherman's Wharf, cold and sad
'Cause the only one I love hurt me so bad!

I now have a terribly big free time
I'm so poor, don't even have a lousy dime!
My heart is trembling like a small baby
I'll go to the seaport and get better, maybe

I see couples together, embraced so fine
If she don't come back, gonna lose my mind!
If she ever come back to stay, it's gonna be another brand new day
The sun will finally shine again at the San Francisco Bay!

I'm sure it's gonna be a brand new day
Walkin' with my baby by the Frisco Bay!!!!

Bleak Likeness

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The sky is mute-has faded into gray;
The air, now cold, is chilling to the bone.
The sun, withdrawn-concealing every ray;
I live this void oft feeling I'm alone.
The ocean, calm and murky-silent swells;
The sand upon the beach is icy grain;
The only treasure present-broken shells;
They symbolize a hindered, solemn pain.
And yet these things are merely fantasies;
(My self-deluded, consolation ploys.)
I use these comfortable analogies;
For candidly, I hide these secret joys:
I think of Linda's captivating eyes;
Her face, her mind, her body fuel my lies.

September 11th

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Sorrowed anticipation fills the air
A million people's cries are heard tonight
Tears drowning them, they can no longer bear
Fears, darkness, their soul is no longer light
Hearts are aching, torn away from their chest
It looks like a window to a hurt soul
Clouded with regret, is it for the best?
Torn families, destruction was their goal
Sadness is standing atop the mountain
Living a life without any oxygen
Looking at the water of the fountain
Thinking why it's so bad in this region
When not even one person seems to hear you
May it help to know that I am sad too.


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I walk around the boardwalk, thinking,
As the cool sand runs between my toes
Thoughts go through my head, and I'm asking
What was it that made me want to throw
Away what I had so good, and then I
Remember all those things that did it
And the answer hits me as to why
I tried to die, it's hard to admit
But I finally did, and now peace
Fills me as I lie here in the soft sand
As I breathe in the smell of release
From all those problems that had me banned
From everyone in life that I loved
But it's over now, and I'm where I belong

I turn around and start to head back
As the sun goes down, leaving the beach black.



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