# #betrayal #life #forgivness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #poetry

where do we stand

My heart is so tired

My mind is constantly spinning

All of these thoughts on my mind

I'm afraid to show you the real me


Maybe that is how I lost you

It's not the same

We both feel it

I held back my thoughts 

past trauma has shown me to regress

I am afraid


I am afraid to love 

I am afraid to be loved the right way

I anticipate the worst


I want this

I can't tell if you do to 

I want you

Do you want me too


Why do I feel so lonely

Surrounded by you

never truely seen 

I can put on a face 

You believe what you see

you think i'm happy

really every day I am fighting back tears

trying to tell myself i'll be fine

while i'm slowly dying inside


I want to have this conversation

I am terrified 

you make me feel like a burden

you make me feel like you have something better to do 

guess i don't mean much


i'm not sure what i'm doing here 

i'm not sure why we can't communicate 


i want better

Can you deliver 

I can't wait forever

I'm loosing myself 

I need reassurance 

I need the discussion

where do we stand 

The Strokes

Landslide came into my life without notice, 

I myself am lost, not in moor, 
not in cloudland, not in fog, not in haze,

not in markets, but within my 
own polluted sketches. 

Excerpts from my poet friend, Nabin Chitrakar’s poetry “Formless Canvas”


In the circle of time 

changing continuously in every seconds 

is the poetry –


The poet’s no conscious of

When? How? Where?

crop up as if shaken

all at once by the earthquake

the mind stroke to his poetry in a second.


The spirit of the poetry encountered 

the blood corpuscle of half of his body

ceased to streaming, bending into fragility.

The remaining other half 

gushed in its veins naturally.


Then the posture of his body

half immovable and

other half movable

being altered instantly in its body

confronted the torture of no limit.


Neither my mind sensed

Nor your mind aware of it.


But it looked baffled

in the tears of

illimitable and immeasurable

hazy in its eyes.

In the mind of the poetry,

the inert part of its body

obstructed the motion,

the sensed part of it

forced to resume its motion,

the result of which yielded  

the awful agony and anguish 

that savoured syrupy in its tongue

chewed up the immovable

to restore its ability of moving  again 

in very efforts of the poet.


I’m too confident

Like you do.


The poet will indeed hurl

the sense of immovability

caught in his living.


Riders on the storm

Riders On The Storm






at the saloon he blew his top that day a brave soul caught beneath the undertow


we filed into the road on horse back with our gun in the back


heads were swearing up in down as he frowned didn't want to be around


got spurs on my shoes with sweat on my hat the brow permeates an odor


whiskey woman have take me by the hand it was the time we took our stand


so we made our way out on a barrenn path together as riders on the storm


it was coming quick but we kept treading along singing our song


we were back in the saddle again with very close knit friends


a snake suddenly crossed our path was headed side ways


on our way to inter pass number nine with our steel wheel reserve


the storm kept on brewing but we knew what we were doing


folks in these sticks live as hide away hicks getting lost in its fix


a slip of the hand let me help you understand we were a wolf pack head together






was it a mirage we looked ever closer as our horses investigated the odor


we were headed south and the interpass was near a friend took a piss in some clearing


there in the distance stood the sign of inter pass nine we were finally there


one toke over the line sweet Jesus we made it home fine


we were the riders on the storm like a dog without its bone


now was a time of celebration for we made it to our destination


we needed to take a break on a long awaited vacation


just then an evil man pulled out his gun shot some of our men dead


what was going on inside his head had a face full of lead


yet we got revenge and shot him down


never again will I be so king to a stranger in exchange shot us blind


Sad Eyes



there's a highway bound for glory


just the beginning or the start of its story


we search for truth out of a garbage can


one blade of grass swaying in the wind


where do I even begin again


there are lines being drawn in the sand


when will we ever understand


the Willow tree sways in the wind


golden nuggets of thoughts to gather


prepare for the great here after


as the sound of glass shatters




Sad eyes look the other way


stay inside never to come out to play


we built are city of rock & roll


through the roll of the dice


with the beat of the tempo


telling me where it is to go


yet deep inside we want to run and hide


to afraid to expose our true selves


perhaps you want to put that book back on its shelf


when will we ever learn


one soul soars while the other will burn


its a choice we make whether we win or lose


now which pathway in life will you choose ?


We May Never Pass This Way

We May Never Pass This Way




the close of the day


out on the patio


we stare at the wall


covered from the mere notion of regret


there is a deeper meaning in this place


to equate logic for fear


for I shed a single tear to help numb its inner pain


harken onto the moment in my thoughts


crumb cakes with granola bars left for snacks


the garden you had pulled the weeds back


the fertile soil permeates the fragment of its land fertlization


we humbly tred upon solace the thoughts will last


shelter lies dormant amidst its beckoning plow


still I need a shoulder to cry on


the Martini that you drank last night at the bar


sdt pitter patter of glasses clasping together


snap shot moments in my head




golden nuggets of wisdom that come from a higher source


the scope of the sun has tainted my inner vision


a soul vexed in its derision


we may never pass this way


time goes by so very fast


all those good moments you hope that they would last


no other better way then to bow the knee to pray


others might insist it ought not be that way


yet for today send a chill down the spine


heads today are in the walking blind


make sure you don't ever be left behind


The Dead Were Not Actually



many moons ago


let the real truth be told


the undertaker would attach a bell on the toe of the dead


right before they were actually embalmed


if the bell would ring


the dead were actually alive


many times before those alive were buried dead


until that glorious bell on the toe


There was a tale of a tramp that visited my grandma


it was thought that he was dead


until the bell rung on his toe to let them know


although those many years have passed


still having a great reason to grasp


my grandma would share he story


although today there is no longer a bell


I have such a great story to tell


The Leatherman

many years ago let the truth unfold
one man who lived as a hermit
wearing nothing but leather all around him
had walked many miles in New England
he had thoughts of wild excursion in the sun
but what kept him alive was his deep quest for knowledge...

he survived many years ago
had a stone cave in Watertown, Ct
when rarely seen out in public he would often grunt something with French dialact
looking for every sort of food he could find

his only means of transportation was to walk to his destination...
he was sometimes miles in the woods far from public roads,
Way out in the middle of no where

he created a human obstacle course that was his very own...
many miles he would then roam
on his various stops people would often leave food,

Always seemed to be in a very good mood
walked his trail until the very day he died
the tale of the leatherman has arrived.

The Living Dead

if we look inward we will soon discover
a whole host of treasure to recover
some have invested in images that plague the inner soul
the are among us yet they are not of us
they are the living dead with thoughts inside there head
hiding out in the silence of the inner torment
they can't help you cause they can't even help themselves
there the blind leading the blind and soon will fall into a great ditch
just like the night of the living dead
there hearts are torn to self, sin & Satan
eyes with spots having holes
long hanging viscous fangs that bite dripping blood off of side
they all run away & hide behind the false hidden garb of compromise
can't they see through all those vain twisted lies
does this come at any big enough surprise
shallow peaks long in the silence of the underground
demonic forces wrestling for there soul
shallow pools of gloom in a saddening exploit of a soul vexation
there afraid of fire I found that out
there's a radio in the truck
I jumped into listen to it
there must have been tens of those things grabbing to hold on
still we must be on are guard every minute of there tormented souls
by now there are no more screams maybe 50 or 60 of those things standing there
I just wanted to crush them scattered in the air like bugs
a word to the wise always no where you are stepping