Friday, February 17, 2017


"Rich people pay other people to listen to them."
wow! love that line! 
from Jonathan Kellerman's book, 
The Murderer's Daughter. 

half a hog does not a wholesome pig make.

There is no solitude anymore. No, none. 
Even in death there are vultures,
keeping one's corpse entertained. 

in desperation, when all else fails, peal and apple. 

Saturday, February 11, 2017


he had devil's own smile, he did.
and some of what he did,
could suggest devilish behavior.
and slick and slippery, he was.
and he was a foreigner;
and we all know hat foreigners are:

pigs shit like there's no tomorrow;
then they roll in it.
isn't that just wonderful?
I have known pigs, I have.
but we won't get into that. 
that was another place, another time, another world.
have had enough of pigs.
won't be going back to that place, time, world.
have had all the pig shit I could stand;
at least for this lifetime, and
far off into the far off unknowns. 
and, no, have never slept with a pig.
at least quite certain I have not.
however, parts of my younger self
remain just a bit foggy.
i better stop this, before I start
remembering things best left foggy. 

Have just finished a great book: The Shadow of The Wind,

Wednesday, February 1, 2017


to simply say it is cold outside,
does not come close to describing
how cold it is outside.

let's start with zero degrees, Fahrenheit.
now, with our starting point zero,
our days a few degrees above lustrous zero,
and our nights several degrees below.

and to make things, even more interesting;
throw in some wind and snow.
ho, ho, ho! now we're talking cold!

here is South Dakota, and north of here,
even colder! ho, ho, ho, ho!

my philosophy is:  don't have any.
philosophy only confuses the issues,
muddies up the works. 
who needs this? certainly not I. do you?

mentality of a cult under guise of happiness forever.

hate will eat your face off; it has been said.
protect your face with love, love, love!
no one needs their face eaten off by  hate!
love, love, love, live it up with love. 

when sins of the father go unpaid,
those sins fall to the son.
and this trend continues, unabated,
until those sins, at last, paid for. 

one man's exploits are his woman's headaches. 

Saturday, January 28, 2017


A grim vault of sorrow
reflecting a sorrowful morrow.
a world of ice and snow
chills a body to their soul

As a drifter drifting
as a song uplifting
no stranger to melancholy
as choir voices rising

concede nothing to fate; nothing.
we each breath we take,
we make our own fate.

Monday, January 23, 2017


frolicking snow flakes
winter's wondrous show
a child's wonderland. 

insanity is everywhere these days.
all one need do, look and observe.
look and learn, then run like hell,
that insanity shall not overtake us
and drag us down, down into pits of hell.

flame delights the moth
flame burns the moth
the moth is foolish

thousand millennia of constellations drifting.
melancholy feeds into our demeanor,
and succulent rides a white horse.
none of this has any bearing on price of tea.
but if succulent rides your way, send her home.

Saturday, January 21, 2017


absorbing all love has to offer
with an openness love accepts
without restraints of the heart

we all need heroes. melancholy is mine. 

life rolls over us, and we think nothing of it.
life rolling over us has become the norm.
we accept this without a whimper.
we have become a sorry lot.