If my dying words go on misunderstood,
what will they think and say of me?
I was misunderstood in life, as well,
and now forever misunderstood, I’ll be.

Words are mischievous little foxes
and so are sentences, too.
Sometimes the foxes act differently
when watched by me instead of you.

How bad can misunderstanding be,
when the understood is not that great?
It’s so easy for us to overlook degree
when we attempt to communicate.

By degree, I am a bit too cold
and my words expand in space,
but maybe when I’m dead, or old,
my meanings will align some place.

The Way

I laugh with them;
I dance with her.
The fire burns;
the faces blur.

I flap my arms;
I start to drift.
My hand reaches
and tries to lift.

I fly backwards;
I fight and twist.
My eyes open;
they don’t persist.

I sit up; awake.
I stay up alone.
The fire burns;
the way is shown.

Distant, Guarded Man

Tonight, I was waiting in
the check-out line of a store,
trying my best to not just look
at the products or the floor.

Two women joined the line
and behind me, took their places.
A daughter and a mother, I thought,
with happiness on their faces.

I am often much too reserved,
so I wanted to give them a smile.
I managed only half of one, unseen,
but it still felt good, all the while.

Next time, I’ll step it up a notch
and give a warmer one, if I can,
for it’s quite unseemly of me
to be such a distant, guarded man.

Sapless Passerby

Weeks ago, I was walking
with the river to my right.
Headphones sang me music,
as my eyes took in the sight.

I came upon a young couple
who fished with a 3-year-old,
and I turned my eyes away
from a family and the river; cold.

I didn’t want to be awkward;
I was only a sapless passer-by,
and just as I thought I’d made it
the little girl beamed out a hi!

I waved and smiled back
and said to the child “Hello.”
And I felt a little foolish
for the kindness I oft forego.



Not happy with today,
nor excited by the next,
I know I should be positive,
but I’m already vexed.

It’s not a massive deal,
and I know I’ll be just fine,
but I hate having sold my day
for a price not worth my time.

And tomorrow, too,
will likely be the same,
unless I taste the moments
that in life are always game.

I only ever write a thing
to increase my rising power,
so I’ll do what I must do,
and spit out this mood that’s sour.


Nature’s not my favorite thing;
I care not for the birds that sing.
I like the forest well enough,
but my mind’s on other stuff.

People, also, aren’t that great,
but most of them, I tolerate.
Some of them, I even treasure,
but I’m too far away to measure.

Thinking, though, now that’s my thing!
If my mind’s a kingdom, I am king.
I’m right at home, in my grand castle,
Nature and people can be a hassle.



Late one autumn night,
I heard some cries outside,
and was therefore beckoned
from the thought-woods I reside.

Onto my deck, I stepped,
to investigate the sound;
two raccoons attacked a third,
and the third was losing ground.

The victim scampered up a tree,
with an attacker right behind,
one attacker stayed on the ground,
none paid me any mind.

Down an ever-thinning branch,
the victim crawled to live,
pinned by two attackers
on a branch about to give.

Then, they noticed me all at once,
but only two could become more afraid
so both attackers ran off in fear
while in the tree, the victim stayed.

For minutes, we each were still and stared
into each other’s bewildered eyes
And I questioned if the raccoon
could also hear my cries.