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

Updates Monday - Friday

Social network

The digital age,
a fingertip connection,
and hearts miles apart.

Naming names

you broke my heart
and tore me to pieces
but now I’m strong enough to say
your name.

Mad world

The noble demon
carrying his honor
among God’s liars.


The voice whispered,
"You should have kissed her
But you lost your head,
you froze instead,
and now you’ve missed her.”

Face across the room

You seem familiar,
but I can’t remember where
I’ve seen you before.

Under the hood

The day is filled with
the hustle and bustle of
just what, exactly?

To the left

I’ve lost the light
guiding me tonight;
I can’t find the way
and I’m starting to stray
to the sinister.

Gilded cage

When was it perhaps
that my comfortable things
became my prison?

The coin

More, better
Saying, praying, replaying
Pennies in the pond
Paying, staying, surveying
More, better


The handsome captain
His uniform freshly pressed
The blood scrubbed away.


I don’t know the way,
but I won’t let that stop me
from even trying.


I can feel the spirit;
listen - can you hear it
singing in the breeze
and whistling through the trees?

The breath of life
untouched by strife,
a sunlight without shade,
a great sorrow unmade.

Resonating within my heart
bringing into tune each part
of the greater symphony
laying dormant within me.

Bringing forth at last the song
that’s dwelled within me all along.


My heart is steady
Everything where it should be
Just as it should be.

Poem titles

I was writing a poem earlier today and having a hard time thinking of a good title for it.  I started thinking about the way I name poems and when and why I sometimes leave them nameless.  So here are my thoughts, delayed by a few hours.

"Sometimes I do not name poems.  I typically do this for one of two reasons:  either I cannot find a name that suits it, or I believe that naming it would diminish the poem.

Naming something defines something; it gives it boundaries.  It’s like cutting down trees in a forest and planting a sign that says, ‘This is the road to Abenforth,’ or, ‘This is the road to Tristal Downs.’

But somethings I can’t find the right words.  And sometimes, it’s like staring at trees glimmering in the moonlight.  And I just can’t do it.  I can’t cut down the forest; I can’t plant the sign.  Sometimes I try, but I just can’t do it.

Some forests do not deserve to be cleared.  Some lines should not be drawn.  Sometimes there is more wisdom in the mystery than there is in the revelation.  An unnamed poem is like a question:  it makes us think; makes us ponder.  A well-named poem will do the same, but that’s a different kind of thinking.  A name sends us wandering down a road; the unnamed leave us in the middle of a field.  The path is unknown, and in the end, we make our own journey.

And that is why I like my few unnamed poems.  Because they aren’t unnamed, not really.  Every person who reads it will try to name it in their hearts.  Others will perhaps be like me and be at a loss for a name, but some may find names they like.  So instead of a single name, that poem is gifted with a multitude.

And I rather like that.”

The Worldsong

I catch the beat
walking down the street
and I’m surrounded
by the sounds and
I can’t help but tap my feet.

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