Death

begets a birthing

The cycle

to repeat

Its journey

long and twisted

Meandering

like a creek

Death

starts out an infant

Learning first

to crawl

Arriving

at its end point

To answer

— natures call

(The New Room: September, 2026)

Stillness

is a bridge

Emptiness

a chasm

Stillness

is a blessing

Dharma

to impart

Stillness

overtakes you

When your world’s

in spasm

Stillness

is the magic

Deep within

— your heart

(The New Room: September, 2026)

Oh,

to be

remembered

Oh,

to memories

serve

Oh,

to cheat

the reaper

Oh,

to strike

a nerve

Oh,

to light

the candle

Oh,

to be

a spark

Oh,

to live

inside you

Oh,

to smite

— the dark

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

Scars

remind us

that the pain

was real

Memory

hardens

what time

can’t heal

Ingrained

within us

they serve

to warn

The past

unheeded

is soon

— reborn

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

The emptiness

between

all thought

is a siren

Life

 only gives birth

in cogent

reflection

Her wasteland

is dark

if she traps

you outside

Distilling

the distance

between

body and soul

Neither coming

nor going

existence

implodes

Neither coming

nor going

the schism

explodes

Neither coming

nor going

all motion

is dead

Neither coming

nor going

only madness

— remains

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

Some things

are better

after

the fact

Like Woodstock

the Edsel

song lyrics

retracked

Some things

are better

when time

is removed

Alive in our

consciousness

forever

— renewed

(The New Room: September, 2026)

Entrenched behind

his verbiage

Each word

becomes a shield

Armor studded

hard to pierce

In phrases

— not to yield

(The New Room: August, 2026)

Poetry contests …

skew the way

hoping

 for a win

Ink

that never  

truly dries

lost within the din

Words not felt

but chosen

to stay

forever cold

Spiraling

to depths unknown

in darkness

— bought and sold

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

Unless

I join you

in your decadence

we have no real connection

As Kirouac

you mirror

and Burroughs

you acclaim

In self

abuse

you wander

in dread of every mirror

True dilettante

of life’s betrayal

in squalor  

— where you hide

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

The aging

of our memories

Each year

a thought turns grey

Till all that’s left

is time bereft

And darkness   

— leads the way

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)