There are some songs 
which reverberate causing goosebumps
because I think they
resonate with every cell
making them stand up
like an audience inspired
clapping and hooting whistling
and then there are
other songs that promote
thought quiet thinking thought
that washes over me
like I’m a beach
being languidly lapped teasingly
taunted to go deeper
but I think that
my favorite song of
all is the symphony
which I hear when
my head is cradled
in your arms and
chest the distant drum
of heart and the
soothing syncopation of your
heart giving you life


Experience teaches one life
We all do remain
like children or puppies
uncertain of things until
we learn that this
is hot or that
is sharp and sex
isn’t required for love
nor is love required
for sex we learn
what hurts long before
we remember what doesn’t
But in the end
what experience teaches one
about life is that
without it we’re rocks
learning nothing more than
being in the way


When young we dreamed 
we dreamed of things
and places and people
we wished to have
and go and be
We played with toys
that somehow filled time
and fit with fun
And then we grew
out of our toys
and into our lives
replacing things and places
and people with well
things and places and
people feeling comfortable there
But as those same
began to lose stuffing
and adventure and desire
we searched for our
own youth in toys
New things and places
and people that distract
divide and ultimately destroy
Toys are best left
in hands of children
for a child’s mind
is one of innocence
and glee and giddiness
whereas the adult mind
is full of corruption
and chaos and compromise
Not a very promising
place for a toy


Am I too old 
to find love again
Is the discovery of
love reserved for the
young and foolhardy who
skip leap and bound
headlong with nary a
care about tomorrow or
is love reserved for
middle age like a
table for two in
a fancy bistro next
to a window offering
sights of Parisians passing
while sipping a Cabernet
Where do the old
find love once again
Perhaps love for people
like me is found
on narrow orchard paths
in late Autumn amidst
plump apple trees basking
in what’s left of
summer’s warmth and remembering
what foolishness love was