I don’t know about you,
But I have reached a turning point.
Yes, it’s not the first time for sure,
But each time it becomes more clear
Sharper and deeper,
And this time it shakes me to my very core.
I know I am not alone,
Although it may not include you at this moment,
I know it will eventually,
Because the turning point
Is one of human destiny,
What defines a human
What defines the next step we each take
On the ladder of our own personal ascent.
Mount Analogue comes to mind
A place imaginary, a book unfinished
A symbol of something sublime in all our hearts.
Let me repeat that, in all our hearts.
This is the turning point we all face
Sooner of later
All of us, together at last.
Hell yeah! And
Amen.
(9/11/25)
A point of time alone I mark,
And shine it best I may,
And plant brave flowers upon the way,
Before I must embark.
The goal is to score a goal
Go for goal and earn three points
The world stage football festival seems cold
Thou art giant among Aficans
Set the pace and surmount Mount Rwandan
The rest will bow down
The lighthouse
alone on the hill
just a tree at its side
its beacon
that light
It casts a long light
in a long blink
and then it's gone
in a spin
to mark the shore within
It sits on its own island
only accessible on low tide
the path a bridge
mercurial moat that hides it
The building is lit at night
as well as its beam
presenting an eerie glow
In the fog it seems
Almost haunted
romantic
so substantial
It's survived tsunamis
wrapped around its base
which left no trace
as they ravaged inland
A sight to see
A hike I intend to aspire
up those circular stairs
to peer out through that light tower
The lighthouse at Battery Point, Crescent City, CA
My Faith is challenged
when new ideas I’m conceiving,
Believing is mile one
on my highway to achieving.
Nothing good occurs
if I’m content to merely stand still,
Only then do things happen
if I’m praying in God’s will.
I hear every noise and the house stirs
as he lies in bed. His door is shut
but I smell him on everything
he’s touched in the loft.
I listen to the sound of the house
as it breathes.
He allows minutes on his lap
each morning, pats my head
and brushes me away.
Then he is gone.
O how he forgets he’s mine.
He says he’s doing errands
but he forgets what’s important—
Me.
I go downstairs to check
on the others as they
sleep through the day.
I go upstairs and sit
on a box at the top
of the steps.
The room is an empty chamber.
We’re spinning in circles, more of the same
induced to cut loose from this coiled regime
As our heads are enveloped with this unending earworm:
the land is burning, hope is going, when can we get out?
Dining on our daily portion of despair
suicides ripple through, crippling the status quo
We hear an ever-crescendoing whisper to a roar:
the land is burning, hope is going, it’s time now to get out!
Answer what informs your constitution,
Gain it back–traverse! And disperse it even more
Respite seldom hinges on overcoming what’s to come—
when the land’s burning and hope’s going, it’s the time to get out
I used to be
an enthusiastic lad
an energetic gad
about town
but time and tide
let me down
can't do the things
I used to do
who knew
it would come to this
with aches pains
spasms and strains
I'm running out of steam
it seems or so I've found
soon they'll plant me
in the happy hunting ground
with no midnight oil
or candle ends left to burn
then at last I'll be past
the point of no return
When storm clouds gather
overshadow the sun
and darkness overwhelms
has me on the run
I look on you as the lodestone
to a sense of calm serenity
see you as a compass of my own
to a place of quiet tranquility
when hard times follow
in the wake left behind
and troubles overtake
only to remind
in a yearning world
with all its sadness
and is out of joint
on a burning world
in all its madness
you are the still point
Without geography
The USA is this world
Others, mere planets...
Japan is in Russia
Brazil is in China
China is out there in the world...!
Geography is a personal study
of the USA... Others are satellites
EN POINTE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon a dimly lit state she stands
en pointe, defying gravity.
Time pauses, suspended like
dust motes dancing in the spotlight.
She holds the moment
like a fragile glass ornament,
balancing herself on the edge
between her grace and strength.
What thoughts swirl in her mind,
as the audience holds its breath?
Does she ponder the road that led her here,
the sacrifices, the bruises, the pain?
Or does she simply bask in the glow,
the blissful beauty of the moment,
where she is both dancer
and the dance?
The curtain rises; her spirit soars
anchored in the grace of holding on,
the beauty of standing still,
en pointe.
So nervously, upon this earth I tread.
Don't let me, again, go out of my head.
My fragile mind persisted yet unbroken,
ignoring all harsh words as they were spoken,
until shattered with a sickening shriek.
Done in, I was, as I heard a mushroom speak.
No longer Bible does appear
The guarantee of truth
In court
No longer the presumption works
As guilty they're fact
No longer Jury can decide
I am off the Law Enforcement
For the Computation
Of the Military Pact
The Hitler broke the Diplomatic the Convention
Your tactical is tact
Your focal point
Do concentrate
You must be targeting your fire
Horizons your event
What's your intention's the desire?
You might be doing firearms for sport
But not for the collection of your arsenal
Civilian Defense?
Why selling rifles the assault
So freely as they are specific instruments of mine
There is military, there is civil sports
There are the rules of safety handling arms and fire
Control your own arms today
As war of Law now works with neuroscience
Cartoons for kids today exist for business so they would be buying
You said I never tried enough,
But I thought showing up was love.
I held your hand through quiet storms,
But never knew how deep they cut.
You wanted words —
I gave you time.
You wanted truth —
I gave you signs.
You asked for more than I could name,
And all I gave felt just… the same.
I saw your tears, I heard your cries,
But all I did was memorize
The way your anger masked your ache —
I thought, “She’s mad. I’ll give her space.”
I didn’t read between your lines.
I thought we’d heal with passing time.
But silence grew where warmth had been,
And now I hear you… in your pen.
The book you wrote — it speaks of me.
A ghost of what I tried to be.
You say I vanished, broke your heart…
But darling, I was torn apart.
I wasn’t right, I wasn’t kind —
But I was scared and misaligned.
And when you said you'd tell them all,
I built a wall. I let us fall.
You called it love. I called it pain.
Two hearts that broke beneath the strain.
We both were right in our own way —
But I regret I walked away.
Disturbed by the interruptions
He would be disrupted by my
Skill
Thrill of collaboration
When ones partners are
Determined and real
In that self satisfaction
If achieving a goal
What's in it for me
Ain't gonna work cause
We are not in control
Tallow shall disguise the
Earthy taste of the ostrich
and garlic and onions
Shall compliment it's already
beefy taste
the mushrooms and wines shall
Subdue the gameness
and crumbled bacon shall
Enhance it's taste
Cerleies and salts
With sun-dried peppers and
Sun-dried tomato's shall
Crust the external show'd
Display
We shall cheer with wines that
are appropriate and garnish
Shall accompany the display!
An anchovies and lemon sweet
caper sauce was an alternative
To the cowboy gravy show
I adored them both
But wanted the
Wagyu burger
I longed and lusted for it
One of the lady body guards
Bought six burgers
Up to the room after
The ice cream and cake show
I knew her Friend from Canada
He had been a Bouncer at my
Club in lobster town Maine!
Hollywood thumped with disco
I danced to a
Slutty Opera Tune
I love my wife
Aria Concerto
She make love just
Likes she dances
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