Just Groove

Life 
is a scketching pad
You
are a drawing pencil
draw the prettiest picture
or the ugliest scenario
the choice is yours
so choose wisely

Everyone is preparing for the future
the future is today
tomorrow doesn't exist
except in your imagination

These words are without end
these feelings have evaporated 
into rain raining
on your closed window

We, yes you and me,
are scientists attempting to predict
the future and alter the inevitable
as we embark on the march of life 
that gradually turns into a race
some walk, some dash, some enjoy the view and remain,
some sit and complain, some never even move!

THE WORLD IS ONE BIG RECORD
AND YOU ARE
JUST A GROOVE

The Fiddler and His Lady

He made his fiddle a lady
in the exhaled haze of a Dingle pub

As the drums and strums 
danced the clack of Keryl's spoons
the old men scratched their violins
But not Maguire's lady

She cooed and sighed 
as his chin so gently rested on her body 
His peaceful touch drew across her
like a warm breath through hair of silk
Then the rogue Jim made her weep

til she bit us with her pain
and a drip of tears seasoned the Guinness

But he knew his lady so well
The instant he smiled and her hopes took wing  
She laughed like he'd never made her grieve 

Her chorts so loud they drew a curious boy 
who jigged on the stains of the floor
She giggled at the jests of Macguire's bow 
and the boy floated above the hardwood 
his feet occasionally tapping the floor

At closing time 
Jim laid his lady in her worn velvet bed 
and locked her away 
as if she only wanted to sing to him
He hugged her under his arm
protecting his rare lady from the damp chill
of the Irish summer night.  

do they?

it's the pebbles 
that make life insurmountable

boulders 
we expect
but too much gravel 
we trip on 

when 
it's so black all day has ceased
when life is as bleak 
as bleakest jet
i lie back 
look to the core 
of the charcoal night

i gaze deep 
into the soul 
of the ancient pitch
and ask "do
the stars still shine tonite?"

No Tomorrow

I have no tomorrow
but I rejoice
I know that life is but a candle flame
that can be snuffed by but a wisp

I live life as "last times"
the last time I'll see a friend
the last time I'll kiss my children
the last time my love and I entwine

each last time is a gift
one more gleaming chance
to hear the quiet groan of a lumbering sunrise
to sip the last drop of a melting sunset  
to pocket a falling star 
somewhere in the coat of your soul

I've seen fate 
and it is but a rice paper partition
between boisterous life and voiceless death

every conversation final
make sure all is said

every question concluding
ask what you really want to know

every moment dying
cup it tight
and peek in to see the flicker
of a firelfy called life

The Bubble

All of life 
seemed to be in the tiny bubble 
he had just blown.  

His little breath gave it life 
as it grew and lifted 
off the wand.  

A twisted rainbow danced 
in the thin soap sphere 
as it rose.  

It glided 
out a window.
It sheened in the sun.  
And floated into the bluest of skies 
until it vanished.  

I know now for sure 
it died 
in a sudden burst
not far from the window.

but as a child 
you could 
never convince me of that.