leading alone

i’m afraid of leaving

and leading alone

following that Freedom

that encompasses

everything that i want

but seems the

farthest away from my grasp.

Courage urges me on

and Fear remains elusive

Guidance comes and goes

yet the vast unknown

overshadows my faltering steps

as i stumble after Chance.

wretched troll

wretched troll
with your slimy scroll

why must you tell me
all that
i must never know?

Meticulously you have written my cursed fall
your flickering tongue my rueful name repeatedly calls

why must you speak of
all that
I must deny to know?

Gleefully my heart, you continue grasping
your vile words in my ear, stay rasping

why must you sing of
all that
i must fight to know?

trampling my fresh grave, you twirl and dance
ramming dirt into breaths of chance

why must you prophetize
all that
i must die to know?

more than enough

though i feel the points and juttings

as i toss and turn and knock about

my fingers still seek and sink into

the weighty dough

and though at times i peer at spindly

i beg the Fleischer

and promise soft to pay him dearly

and even sometimes i breathe in

and glimpse reedy

but there is no question

of how

at noon’s call

how needy

how so very, very greedy

it gets…

and though you tell me

to really see

and to see what you see

i see only me

and that

i am more than enough


Is it Age which has tarnished this man?

loosened his tongue?
lessened his morals?
degraded his respect?
diminished his kindness?

Has wear and tear and time done its deed?

No….only that irrepressible bitterness of life
and its thorny, barren path.

Do i hate this one now?

No, not hate…after all that has gone by…

struggled and survived.

No, not hate…no, not a lot…just a little.

Ungratefulness is a nettle-laden venom
inflaming all those who are no less weaker than you.

see how selfish one is to remember:

only his errors, his faults

his stumblings-grumblings-bumblings

his wandering and oft lost thoughts…

see how my finger points…how my words sting,

even when inside i am only hurt because
i let the finger point and the words sting…

what a waste

what a waste
disgrace embraced

touched the top
wary of the rock bottom
yet here i lie in limbo…
…slowly dying within

suffocation always reveals the coward in you
instead of giving in
you run full circle
back to the miserable beginning

contemplate release
relish in its reason

its                            space



contemplate inaction
as you wade shamefully

Hell awaits yet another of your stumbling blind journeys.

Lunacy’s call

Wrote this one, after falling asleep with my blinds open, and waking in unmistakable fear with the moon shining full on my face. Was that the cause really? The confused mass of images, an overall sense of suffocation and dread, the pervasive white sheen to the images seen seemed pretty convincing then. My creative concern remains about rhyming structure not stunting a poem’s flow.

From my bedroom window pane
spied I something that
kept me from sleeping sane:

waxed and waned before my eyes
silver dollar gleaming in the sky

sparkled strangely twice than thrice
slanted grain of bitter rice
would lunacy’s luridness entice?

milky blinded wandering eye
with pallid brightness slowly did it cry
shimmering sickle, heavy eyes did pry
sobered dreams calmly defied

relentless rhyme upon my pen
sightless goddess do not seek me again

following with her unblinking gaze
tempting weakened minds with searing craze

do not stalk with me with your lantern white
I plead of slumber hold me tight

twinkle twinkle fickle moon
let me be Madame La Lune.