Rollo Piccolo

Rollo Piccolo had a dream

to live a life without the scream.
To play no games that cost a lot
to love us all, some hot to trot.
So Rollo Piccolo began a search
then found himself inside a church.
He prayed out loud for lasting peace
he asked his God for lives to teach.
He listened closely
he looked for signs
he tried his best to hear God's rhymes,
but Rollo Piccolo had to learn
the search for self could cause a turn.
It didn't matter if as he searched
he came to realize it caused his birth.
For Rollo Piccolo was on a quest
to find himself, to peak the crest.
Then he would know
the long sought view
Was known to him and known to few.
Rollo Piccolo learned by surprise
and when he finally opened eyes
he saw the view he searched for long
was his reflection, not from some song.
Then Rollo knew what his life meant
no search, no God could he invent
he just dreamed of answered prayers
while his reflection just stood and stared.

Learning

I can still smell your hair
See your eyes, hear your laughter
And hope I'm not wrong
To trust in near after.

I'm not missing
Still living
Still growing
Still giving.

Life goes without us
It moves as it must
It turns all directions
It thrives on mistrust.

And people move forward
Or sideways, or down
Blind to instruction
And living makes frown.

It's no wonder I'm lost
And confused and ungrateful
I don't understand
That I'm truly unstable.

I let life defeat me
It's breaking my soul
And before it's much longer
This human grows old.

Now I know life's age
Is only a number
But it seems I get tired
Just counting from under.

I keep right on going
Count to ten when I'm asked
And look all directions
While I dream of the past.

My life is of learning
I'm taught as I'm showed
Understanding is risky
I go on as I'm told.

So as I keep walking
And hope for a run
I know the faster I go
The closer I'm done.

You see I'm still living
I've learned from my wonder
Real life is from sharing
And taking of plunder.

I'll ask all the questions
And learn from the answers
And use what's been learned
At my turn at this cancer

Still looking at you
And holding and smelling
And thanking above
For a friend that's good telling

And I'll share all my plunder
And wonder and blame
And hope that life doesn't
Extinguish our flame.

Wind

Life in wind

moves over under

it closes doors

from sight and wonder.

Trees dance their dance

when wind walks by,

birds take to wing

when wind lifts high.

Waves boil and toil

when blown apart

and sailboats fly

wind gives them heart.

Fire grows as the wind blows

some people drift

wherever wind goes.

When wind is mad

it can destroy,

a single eye for all to fear

can make your world

turn into tears.

No man made thing

can survive all

that wind can bring

before it's fall.

In animals it points to prey

with us in place

it shows the way.

Then wind is breeze

it cools in summer

or brings back memory

of life in slumber.

Wind brings peace

to lonely souls

and reminds all

that where it goes

it lifts life with blowing seed

spreading growth

where there is a need.

Wind is life when moving mills

helps us all move through the hills

and flags do show

that they belong

when wind gives life

to flutter song.

The wind is here

to make life clear

to bring us scent

that is not near.

It freely offers to cleanse our world

with blowing dust and mighty twirl

and when it's done with work it's given

the wind anew is always driven.

Like our lives

wind sometimes floats

perhaps one lesson

is not to boast and if we follow wind's direction

without control, without reflection

then bend we must

like the great trees

or wind will treat us

like the leaves.

Blowing freely

with no direction

intent on moving

without connection.

 

 

 

 

 

Vision

Is vision done with eyes wide open

that bleed for sight and guess the prize?

Or is it view of justice hinted

while trying to deduce the lies?

Is vision sensed by hidden charms?

Felt by touch of heartfelt tremble

scratched and screamed up spinal nimble?

Brought to life by outstretched arms?

Is it tasted

bought by breath

Or suddenly

a dream that's left?

Is woman's sight

that much more splendid?

Ask any child who takes a risk,

or makes a fist,

at curfew missed.

Or any husband telling lies

or holding back.

Or anyone that’s

hiding fact.

Is vision sought in blast of light

seen in sun's rays

brought on by fright

or only seen in darkest night?

Is it a whimper

a touch of cold

or does it rush into thought

bold?

Does vision come while at death's door

when in the light

for evermore

as living stops to travel on?

Is it a whisper heard by few

or listless thought ignored by two

can you recall when déjà vu

or does sight hide away from you?

Is vision present in view of palm

Or in the lawn

Or on a wall

even when it's seen by all?

Does it come as Virgin Mary

on angel's wings

with songs of fairies

upon the cross

in prayer unbending?

Do wolves howl

brought round a fire

when living button

is devoured?

Or is starving

in quiet thought

sitting still as blankness sought

bring clearest vision

of all mystery?

Is sight open

to us all

while taking flight

or at a fall?

Does it hide

in life’s wide open

awaiting clearest view

unspoken?

Or do we see

as need determines

and sense the truth

when left unburdened?

Goodbye

When you are near

I sense an ending

Though your life once

Seemed to abound.

I see your pain

Where once was smile

And breathless times

Do bring a frown.

With that pain

Though seldom spoke of

I wish that I

Could see it gone.

It seems that life

What once remembered

No longer lights

To show you dawn.

And sadness comes

When guard is down

To feel your journey

Is ending now.

I do not know

What can I say

No knowledge known

Of world beyond.

Those lessons learned

While living life

Are left to you

To see them gone.

And my help,

my deep indulgence

Is offered now

to ease your tear.

Won't say goodbye

Won't wave

Won't cry

No solace offered as end arrives.

For moving on

Is greater still

Then being close

With body ill.

I hope you know

What caring's here

What I can't do

Is born of fear.

For when you leave

To find that high place

I'll stay behind

To wander here.

And as you soar

Above the rest

My secret thoughts

Will become clear.

So as you leave

New journey starts

I'll shed a tear

And wish you well.

Your new start

Is ending old

And journey's end

Starts newness bold.

Good leaving friend

May journey stir you

I'll join you when

My time has come.

Then lessons shared

they will continue

as new life’s road

walks into sun.

You See..

I don't do this so some will notice

I'm not trying to make a statement.

There are ways to stay in view of some

but I have concerns about the placement.

 

I am used to reading, seeing, hearing

I have no thought of it on purpose

as the darkest clouds begin to fall

they wreak havoc on my surface.

 

There is no need to say hello/goodbye

we don't listen with a passion

but ignoring all that come close by

may require more than action.

 

You see,

 

I talk to those that never hear

I speak to those arisen

it may not make sense to some around

hearing does not require one to listen.

 

Some may hope and some may feel

some ignore the truth around them,

as long as we keep fighting us

we deserve the condemnation.

 

We battle peace, we battle war

we fight the weapons we long for

and all along the only strong

are those that die without them.

 

arguments tell all the tale -

- our inability to settle,

and so we fight, release the blight

that will be our final battle.

 

All gracious thought is ever wrought

with wanting too but never..

We stand our ground with human frown

and call it a great adventure.

 

We must try and learn from prior burns,

what we have is what is given.

If we could speak instead of tweak

there may be no need for heaven.

Compass Lost

I no longer have my compass

there is no direction known

I travel through my life as always

but now I seem alone.

I wonder if my time has come

then realize it has not

the thing I thought I'd traveled to

is still in front of me not lost.

I know I've moved with open eyes

and walked a well known path

but now I often wonder

if that walk was meant to last.

There were many forks ahead of me

that I approached with caution

I took the lane I thought I should

clear direction wasn't often.

Now I wonder if I turned

when I should have traveled straight

did I miss some brilliant words

that I'm now realizing to late?

Then I ask the question

if the direction's can't be heard

then why I am so lost at times

things that subtle are absurd.

Thinking back on all the times

I asked "is this the way?"

There was nothing that I noticed

That was yelling "hey!"

And since no one took my shoulders

And turned me to face right

I took the necessary steps I thought

To avoid the fright.

But looking back upon things

I may have been mistaken

For fearing what's in front of you is one thing

Fearing the unknown is another

One seems to make some sense to me

I can make no sense of the other.

There is no use in wishing

I could begin again

I'll make sure this compass

is not wishing to the end.

 

Taming Improvisation

With a note that I'm assuming

living life is improvised,

from day one of this great journey

I began believing all the lies.

I have to really wonder

if rooftop cries are truly meant

to voice improvised frustration

of tattered plans that we lament.

I endlessly make scribbles

in my attempt to take control

but the slightest change in timing

erases all I think I know.

So I must relate with boldness

while believing I'm in charge

and close my eyes to reason

while I make life's living large.

Because taming the mighty 'improv'

while believing it's unreal

is like holding back a river

with a single apple peel.

No matter how you see it

if you believe the peels a wall

either way you improvise

you'll still be wet after your fall.

Now some may call this dreaming

or living on the edge

and in some ways they're thinking's right

and I'm still standing on a ledge.

So how to tame the improve

is the question of my day

do I just ignore the facts

and go out to always play?

Or do I check round corners

over shoulders, under beds

to see where the next shoe will fall

to wait on life with dread?

I think it may be neither

fear and dread are not the answer

enjoying the adventure

as it comes is life's enhancer.

So let's go about our business

be a part of all we can

and love the fact that no matter

life is going to scrap your plan.

Improvisation may not be tamed this way,

it was doubtful after all

but at least we can enjoy it

as we ride the peel over the falls.

 

Luminescence

There was a dream of flowers brightness

darkness gone, stars still aglow

in a place of perfect timing

luminescence, a wondrous show.

Beauty comes from inner working

reverent flame grows as it's stoked

from our love and kindness given

we do shine, love is invoked.

Needing, caring, holding dearly

brings out our best, the dark retreats

and the glow of all around us

can bring a touch of kind relief.

But darkness never leaves our border

it stalks us all with cruel intent

our inner light needs supervision

to keep its glow, to not relent.

Luminescence is our secret

the inner truth that leads the way

brought about by magic workings 

or a gift for which we've prayed.

Either way what we do outside

Can show our souls to all that seek

It is our choice to blind the darkness

Is it our choice to be the meek?

Crimson Rose

The rose embraced the lattice

as it climbed to reach the sky

it's subtle shade of crimson

to be adored by tearful eye.

As the rose did reach for glory

the warming sun gave its caress

in the earth it's seed was planted

coolness lingered, gave success.

Of the earth the rose protected

the flower knew the price it owed

to share it's beauty and it's essence

to offer love then watch it grow.

There was always hope for beauty

but the blessing came at cost

to touch the rose as it did grow

brought pain that was not sought.

There were scarred ones ever present

whose search for glory met the thorn

these undeserved jumped from stem to stem

their lack of loving brought them scorn.

So as the rose grew slowly

those that looked on it in awe

were given gifts of kindness

the scarred ones hearts did never thaw.

Then the lattice ended

no more room for rose to grow

as the flower reached the top

the stem did halt it's steady flow.

At that there was a sight to see

all that looked upon did sigh

the rose began to bloom at last

as all watched with steady eye.

As the flower opened

it's beauty seemed to tint the sky

all those present stood in silence

while unmatched beauty came to eye.

There was a scream of pain and loss

as hate and horror left the others

the haunted cry for understanding

was met with the touch of brothers.

As the flower showed itself

it offered peace and love

it's beauty and its essence

swept upon them from above.

all who thought, and dreamed and loved

were blessed with peaceful calm

and forgiveness for the scarred ones

came upon them all in song.

The lesson of the rose is known

there is pain in loving others

there is scarring from the thorns of life

there is joy in loving brothers.

So when you sense its essence

and you look upon it's beauty

remember you are not alone

living your life fully is your duty.

 

 

 

If I Could Write Songs

I wish I could write songs

about lovin' and leavin'

or finding a place 

that kept me believin'.

To shape words to music

and see them all bond

to watch someone's soul go 

from lonely to strong.

I'd tell stories of heartache

About tears on my pillow

And coming home changed

from a war fought with heros.

If I was meant to write songs

about big rigs on a highway

I'd make sure that the music

matched the words I wrote my way.

I'd try not to write 

of the flowers in spring

unicorns and rainbows 

aren't really my thing.

I would write of honky tonk bars

and good whiskey

of beautiful women

at least one full of mystery.

Of course I'd remember

the big fight with my lady

and how in the end

she still drives me crazy.

If I could write songs

that all could sing softly

I hope you'd remember

that the writing was costly.

The Staircase

The staircase was, in ancient times

a way to reach divine

to greet the sky and wonder

to leave earth in search of thunder.

Then the gods were harsher

they punished every sin

so when you walked the stairway

your life started to begin.

As the stairway made it's way

from ancient to refined

the steps that showed the way to life

became a dream in human minds.

Slowly dreams became the myths,

the legends told in rhymes

the gods were known in stories

but all prayers to them were crimes.

So as legends whispered partial truths

and wandered lost in time

humanity roared about it's life

and spread their unblessed rhymes.

Then the gods gave up their strength

they turned from twelve to one

and legend says this one true God

gave up his only Son.

But others held their own beliefs

that God had blessed another

great battles raged between the two

they forgot that they were brothers.

The staircase was, in ancient times

a way to reach divine

but God looked down upon the earth

and decided it was time.

Since man could not accept it's fate

and live as brothers should

the staircase was destroyed by God

and faith was left for good.

The staircase once had given men

the means to walk with gods

but men were bent on ruin

and their lies were wrought with fraud.

For loving one another

as their God had told them to

was replaced with hatred

and mistrust became the rule.

The Ugly Three

Coulda

Woulda

Shoulda

the ugly three

show you what will never be

the anthem of your life should be

I am striving to be me.

Making mistakes can help us see

how living life is meant to be

my mistakes show that I'm not still

my motion comes from seeking thrill

if I wasn't moving forward

I would have no thought of upward.

'Coulda' can be inspiration

to look at life and see what could be

then move in time to make it 'will be'.

'Woulda' is avoiding answers

I see the need

and then ignore it

it will stay with me forever

reminding me I think I'm clever.

'Woulda' is what could have been

but 'shoulda' is my mortal sin

I was not there, I could have tried

it shows me what was meant to be

and tells me it will never be.

'Shoulda' stains my soul with loss

it is not there but is my cross

it will never, ever be

but it is always haunting me.

My anthem is that I'll be me

with all that is and isn't seen

I will understand the plan

and find my place upon this land.

Have some challenge I surely will

finding answers will be the drill

when I look to see the sun

Ill no longer feel that I must run.

Of course I'll do what is not fun

from time to time, take as it comes

but looking back is not the way

avoiding life not here to stay.

So 'coulda been' is not your tune

and 'woulda been' has left the room

and with the other two now gone

'shoulda been' is just plain wrong.

There is no silver bullet shot

that cures life's ills or lack of thought

the secret is to understand

there really is a master plan.

Then you can do all that you must

and have the answers tossed with trust

because the sin is not to try

to see what is through a blind eye

To never answer when your called

To never feel that your enthralled.

Bells

Bells!

There was the sound of bells

I don't know where it came from
or whether it was up or down
all I know is what I'm hearing is surley not a drum.
I heard bells damn it!
At first they were beside me
then above me, then below
I couldn't really see them
But I heard them, or did I
I don't know?
Whatever thing was ringng

seemed bent on my destruction

for hearing all and seeing none

was not conducive to my function.

After a second day of this

and then a third, and then a fourth

I made my mind up to ignore it

and it worked if I was walking north.

But I was walking southbound

with bells ringing in my head

so I tried walking backwards

but that filled me with great dread.

Once walking round in circles

seemed to silence all the bells

falling down a lot however

felt like slipping into hell.

I also found that lying down

would clear my mind completely

but traveling upon my bed

was not accomplished neatly.

Then I found the answer

it was hiding in my brain

flying high above the clouds

kept me unseen and not insane.

So now I put my cape on

and got comfortably unseen

I try to fly around the world

wearing my suit of pink and green.

Then the bells do all stop ringing

and my head isn't so hazy

and I can stay in bed a while

cause sometimes flying makes me crazy.

Dorothy of Oz

I saw a picture yesteryear
a grainy older photo
and in it was a pigtailed girl
of thirteen years not older.
She wore a yellow dress of cotton
a dress that looked it's age
and in her eyes were darker times
from when she met a Sage.
This girl had traveled far and near
according to her picture
and from the yellow photo seen
her eyes had lived a nightmare.
Upon a street of gold she walked
delusion followed closely
she spoke to those who would not speak
and listened to them, mostly.
She believed in magic
and saw beauty in strange places
wonder, fear, and pain were hers
mostly seen on witch's faces.
Once upon a time the wind
had battered round her head
then it was to sleep she went
her family feared her dead.
So she wandered in search of fame
using poppy as her savior
and as she walked on golden road
all she passed were asked a favor.
Most said no as she strolled
but three gave her a listen
one for courage, one for heart
and one who's brain was missing.
The time did come, the road did end
the girl found imagination
and as her end seemed guaranteed
the wind brought her salvation.
So Dorothy flew from Oz that day
now you know the story
and every time I see that girl
I wonder...

My Master Was A Poet

My Master was a poet

she I did not know

long before when I was born

her magic it did flow.

I read her words when I was young

they flowed along the page

she told me of a different time

a wondrous, ancient age.

My Master was a poet

from her I've learned a lot

I've learned to write of living

and of loving as it's sought.

From time to time I've wondered

if our spirits may be kindred

so after doing so much searching

my discovery was splendid.

My Master was a poet

her blood runs through my veins

it's been two hundred years or so

her spirit still remains.

I've searched details of images

I hoped to find some hint

of if she may have wondered too

how my time is spent.

but there is no recollection

of when our souls have passed

I only know someone is near

as I struggle with my craft.

My master was a poet

her words still mark the page

and as I type these simple thoughts

her hand reaches through the age.

If I listen closely

I can hear her quiet whisper

my master is a poet

and with whom I draw this picture.

Outside In

Looking in from the outside

watching my pride as it wanders

my likeness in mirrors

gives me something to ponder.

Faded memories can't catch-up

to my life on the run

and thinking more closely

Just isn't much fun.

My life on the outside

walks a fine line

between genius and crazy

I switch all the time.

I'm grasping for straws

with a branch overhead

and I wonder if my life 

is better off dead.

I can make sense of the lunacy

that's all around me

I don't know if that's crazy

or my view seen profoundly.

I don't wish for forgiveness

or a turn of the table

I just try to make sure 

how I live isn't fable.

For those who know just

where they'll land out the door

I am grateful your lucky

keeping your feet on the floor.

I prefer floating where I can watch madness

as I'm thinking of you

I avoid so much sadness.

Then we will be even

brothers in arms

you'll keep your daydreams

and I'll keep my charms.

When it's time to get lucky

you can look up and see

you might have bad timing

you'd be better off me.

For I may be crazy

or genius or both

and you are there planted

Standing still like a post.

So please go on with your riddles

and your laughter and song

and I'll keep on acting

as if I belong.

Both of us will be

in our place, in our time

but floating above all

lets me see I'll be fine.

Willow Way

There is no sunshine on the green

no teardrops in one's eyes

the magic is down Willow Way

bringing certainty to surprise.

In the rainfall is a weeping

makes the road seem thick with pain

on Willow Way the magic stays

and avoids momentum's gain.

There is no surprise in waking eyes

that believe the world is magic

there is only fear in shaded tears

that rain from those woke sadly.

If I could see as far as free

I'd look behind and wonder

and when I awoke, before I spoke

I'd try to stop the plunder.

But, it may not be that I am free

I too take breath in sorrow

and since that's so, I need to go

down Willow Way tomorrow.

But first I cringe, I seek revenge

for losing all that wasn't

some spoke the words that were not heard

our hearing really doesn't.

No one knows what will unfold

it's not ours to help determine

but thought of bad may not be sad

if we listen to the sermon.

Willow Way keeps words at bay

the time to hear is past

and as we walk upon its path

we make changes that will last.

We are free to see each tree

and feel it's magic speaking

down Willow Way forget to pray

the lessons in the dreaming.