I do not understand
why two men can embrace each other on a mat, but can’t touch anywhere else.
why putting a ball through a ring can make or break someone’s day.
why men are praised for carrying a ball across a line while they smash others.

But most of all I do not understand
why those who don’t see the sense in this
are ridiculed, tormented,
humiliated, and insulted
just because they don’t want to follow the mindless masses.

What I understand most is acting
Losing myself in a character
Playing with the heartstrings of an audience,
Drawing them in,
Making them become one with me,
And loving me for it.

Why?
Why can we be
so stupid,
When we should be
wise?

Why?
Why do we succumb
to greed and avarice
When it stands against
Logic and Reason?

Why?
Why does that
Filthy Lucre
have such great hold
upon our hearts?

Why?
Why con we not
follow reason, wisdom,
when faced with temptations of
Money and Power?

Potatoes

Silently, slowly
We reach with our leaves

Tall and green
They are what the world sees
Regards as beautiful
Showers with praises

But they are frivolous
Lacking all substance

Deep in our roots
Lies the truth
The real substance
The pure us

Out of sight
Unkown to any but ourselves

The leaves about us mean nothing
They can be large and green
Even when our true selves
Are small and shriveled

There is only one way
to really know us

Look past the leaves
Reach into the deep rich earth
And pluck us up
With a gentle caress.

The Girl With the Golden Hair

I long for the girl with the golden hair.
Her open arms relieve my pain.
For only she can see my cares.

At home I sit and weep on the stair
Until my cheeks bear my tears' wet stain,
and I long for the girl with the golden hair.

Together we make quite the pair,
Many of our thoughts and actions the same,
and only she can see my cares.

When we are together men with envy stare,
For she is abeauty and I am plain.
Oh, I long for the girl with the golden hair.

She fills me with light of hapiness fair,
and from my sould removes all strain,
For only She can see my cares.

And when I am wrinkled with worry and care,
And my mobility relies on a cane,
I will long for the girl with the golden hair,
For only she can see my cares.

Libby

The Village of Hicks
Timber Cutter, Ore Digger
Player with Cougars and Grizzly handler
Quiet, Content, Peaceful
Town of the Open-hearted
They tell me you are close-minded and I believe them, for I have seen
You cling to logging while it drags you to your death
And they tell me you are uncultured and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen
Shakespeare slaughtered and buffoonery applauded.
And they tell me you are poverty-stricken and my reply is: On the faces of
Women and children I have seen wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this,
My town, and I give them back their sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city full of such charity and friendliness
In the midst of unemployment and poverty.
Safe to roam the streets and leave your door unlocked
Late into the dark of night
Living despite disaster and economic collapse
Continuing to exist.
Friendly,
Peaceful,
Beautiful,
Quiet,
Rising, falling, and rising again,
Under the asbestos, breathing through a mask, thriving amongst the pines
Joined with the bear, the deer, the eagle, laughing in the face of inevitable death.
Laughing the quiet, content peaceful laughter of youth, home again after along day
toiling in the sun, proud to be Timber Cutter, Ore Digger, Hicks, Player with Cougars and Handler of Grizzlies.

Desperation

So oft you were my inspiration,
my support,
yet that I cannot mention.

Will the barrier between us
e’er be dissolved?

The one point of contention,
so simple to remove,
yet I’ve worked at it harder
than all else in my life.

I need your help,
to dig from the other side,
not to shore up against
my work.

Then, with the wall gone,
I can loose my tongue
and confess my love for you.

Romance del Libro Viejo

Me llama, mi libro viejo.
El forro, triste y gastado
de uso, cubierto de polvo.
pues, antes no era cansado,
era para mí, un escape.
A libertad, de un esclavo
me convertía mi libro.
Caballeros y caballos
viven aquí, y regocijan
en mi mundo imaginado.
Felicidad, y aventura
también existe lo amargo,
vida, muerte, amor, y pena
brujas, y dioses romanos,
desilusión y esperanza,
todo eso, un mundo lejano.
Me llama, mi libro viejo,
y ya, me estoy preparando.