Earth

Atmosphere rises from the green and separate layers to hover

To reveal more or less and cover

She lays on her side

Voluptuous woman all relaxed as she meets the water

She'll change color as the sun sets

As we rotate around our star

She'll change for the ages

Unimaginably so

Dust blows

And she adorns herself appropriately

Boatyard Blues

Stuck on the hard and watching the fresh breeze build from the Northwest I contemplate the daily fees I accrue as I wait for parts, paint to dry, and the endless teak I'll will sand and varnish only to have to start at the beginning again as I finish the last. I tell myself I will sail again. I will surf again. I will love a human again...but today and the days to come I am a prisoner. A prisoner of responsibility and choice. I will inhale the toxic dust and immerse my hands into poisonous thinners and cleaners. I will make myself into the size of a bilge rat and crank on bolts that have not moved in 30 years. I will love my boat. I am her cellmate, her bitch. I will grind her without protection......for my eyes because there is no room for glasses in the engine compartment...only room for my one hand and her shaft. For her freedom will be my freedom. I will toss her salad and spend all my commissary and give it to her. I will sing the boatyard blues and caress her keel and paint her bottom. I belong to her.

The Free Agent

Law and order is beyond the scope of practice for the free agent

She leaves that to the masses

The free agent of the mind does not comply to policy

Voted on by the classes

She understands

Patriotism of the lonely stands for one thing only.

The truth seeks out the free agent of thought

To rest calmly in the heart of understanding

To sleep as a giant

The free agent is home to opposition, the enemy of state

Fate...

It is the the "Golden Rule"

The rule of hypocrisy

Questions democracy

And knows the answer

That fear and hate by the majority is cancer.

The free agent of truth knows these things and practices bravery

Fights the mind of slavery

And understands that peace is the equilibrium to war...

Not more war

I'm Okay

I drink too much only to narrow my mind

To say inappropriate things and jump to conclusions

Aside from that I'm okay

I'm a selfish SOB who's out of control when he thinks he's in control

I confess too much only to clear my head for totally selfish reasons

To apologize and move on

I'm okay

I hear the movement of people and footsteps in a lonely house

With the windows open and a cool air to carry the dog barks and passing cars to my ears

I'm okay

I'm breathing and caffeinated

Eating and warm beneath my clothes

With cold feet and hands

I crawl on ground that owns me

I'm okay

I change my ways and am drawn by means unbeknownst to me

I am judged and concluded

Better and worse than the last

I'm okay

I will do something for the first time over and over again

And stay fit to be snotty when it counts

I know who I am

...and I'm okay

Raider Fan

I'm a Raider fan...

I don't flat brim my hat or wear baggy pants

I put on clothes that fit and I look good when I can

I can mix 2 stroke oil with gasoline by eye and get the 50 to 1 ratio right

I keep my mouth closed when using the weed whacker

I can weld, mix cement, plumb a post and rotate my own tires

I'm a Raider fan because I'm faithful

Because my dad was a Raider fan

Because I grew up in the East Bay

I take care of my business, own my own house and pay my bills on time

I treat my family well and love them...yet

They make fun of me for being a Raider fan

It does not compute to them why I am a Raider fan

My son early on realized that he was better than me by simply being a Ravens fan

WTF!

I'm still a Raiders fan

So please, Raiders, restore my dignity in the eyes of my son by kicking the Ravens' asses

Door No More

Broken and busted, swept up and packed neatly into a box

Moments before it slammed shut it was just a door

It's a door no more

Now it is something else...

Pieces and remnants

It's scrap wood...kindling for starting fires

A relationship, a fourth, fifth or sixth chance

I don't know, I lost count, I lost my way

I must say the cedar fresh sent was lovely as I smashed it, cut it and gathered up the pieces

What a beautiful solid door that was

I bet one can't find a door like that anymore

I wonder what something like that costs?

Maybe I could build one...or maybe the person who choose to slam and break it could build one

Come to think of it, I'm  too tired to build one

And I like the idea that there are some doors that just shouldn't exist

Like the one's for shutting out the whole world

The Big One

I can't say I've seen a lot, nor can you

I've seen a lot of the same over and over

A face or two

Insolent behavior and opulent decor

Things we wish not and vote for

It is a reality of repeats, inescapable defeats 

Disguised and painted to look different like victory

Flavored novelty and change... it's irony

Wisdom and truth is always the same

The Big One I like to call it

It's the keeper of the space in between

The ruin comes when we look for a change of scene

Enjoy the view

...the one in front of you