A (wise) man of two faces
Musings, commentary, and the occasional parade of novelty.

Updates Monday - Friday


The storm rages
like an angry god;
drops of Jupiter
hammering the world.

New gods lie
in temples and churches.
Old gods dwell
in the heart of the storm.

They rage
and break upon the world.
They roar
and the very sky trembles.

They rage and roar
and laugh and cry
and bridge the gap
between man and storm.

School daze

They dance and flutter,
like leaves on the breeze.
They ribbon ‘round the May pole
and under the Harvest Moon.

Oh, those reminiscent days…
when life was simple
and love was all you needed…

How I love you,
my yesteryears.
How you glow
with prideful colors.


Your pages whisper words unspoken by your lips
while lacking the language softly spoken by your curves
whose depth falls short of your thoughtfulness
which could never compare to your simple honesty.

Differences in grief

My friend lost a child,
a little, brown-eyed girl.
The people mourned with them,
and brought flowers over,
and shared in their tears.

Every year they visit her grave
to honor her memory.

My friend lost his business,
a little grocery store.
The people called him weak,
and mocked him incessantly,
and he cried himself to sleep.

He hung himself last year;
no one brought flowers.

Into that long night

Ere the midnight creeps on by,
ere the storm comes blowing by,
ere my dreams traverse the sky,

ere exhaustion shuts my eye.


Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The smithy’s hammer
and burning forge
shaping iron
into blades
into mail
into war.

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The fact’ry hammers
and fact’ry workers
shaping steel
into ships
into tanks
into war.

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The assembly line
and machinery
shaping plastic
into chips
into bombs
into death.

Nameless Fate

The future loomed beyond the horizon
like an angry, unknown god
through whom all roads must pass.

The humbled cup

The empty chair waits
but it does not wait alone
for hungry plates and untarnished silverware
sit by sets of thirsty glasses
at place settings who ring tables
echoing with the half-remembered laughter
of a family that gave up long ago.

The Sorrowing Sentinel

I’ve long-since found
my happiness in things:
bigger and better,
novel and new.

Now I find myself
lamenting the absence
of meaningful things
like friends and confidants.

The few I’ve found
have wilted in my hands
until all that remains
are silence and an echo.

All of the “Why?”s haunt me
from my quiet phone and calendar.

Cornered courage

I ran from my demons
until I could go no further.
Then I sought them out,
confronted them each in turn,
and named them the cowards they are.


In our wanton hubris
and brutish ways,
we cut at the world;
we leave it bleeding
and weeping for us.

Hindsight embers

Your rose-colored memories
have faded away,
lost their luster,
and now the remnants
sit like ashes
waiting to be discarded.


Life goes on -
through strife and sorrow,
floods and famine,
and hellish heat.

Life goes on -
through bitterness
and endless tears
which o’rflow the rivers.

Life goes on -
remember this
through wretched days
and haunting nights:

Life is persistent.
Life sustains.
Life does not give up.
Life remains
and goes on.

Love is a Many-Splendored Thing

We danced in the rain
and made love in the dark.
When we were done,
you broke down and cried.
You told me your secret
and I loved you all the more.
Thank you for being my girl
even though I can never be yours.


There are as many
definitions for poetry
as there are Poets.

All of them are right
and all of them are wrong.