"Arcane"

Confusing, aren't I? A little bit of a mystery.
A question mark to some, an answer to few.
Hard to put together, hard to clearly see.
My meaning can be obscure to many, mostly you.

I'm an arcane human, but we all flirt on being eccentric.
Divided by emotions and feelings that tear at our souls.
Dancing with all the changes that make our lives tick.
Such as science and history, with religion filling the holes.

Undefined; to be an unwritten book.
A law without principle, a rule without a guide.
An example of freedom for those who dare to look.
To go against the grain, to roll against the tide.

A secret, a foreign text, a language of the dead.
I live my life without trying to stay inside the line.
But sometimes I play by the rules laid out instead.
A mystery to you and me, someone you can't define.

"Reach Out"

Can't you see your fellow man needs you?

Can't you see that some need love from beyond the blue?

The bright, clear skies extend beyond our souls.

To other people with torn jeans and shoes full of holes.

No matter where we sit-here we still choose to stand.

As the billions inhabit on each and every mass of land.

Reach out and touch a friend.

Volunteer to the blind or find a noble message to send.

Give yourself in service to inner city kids.

And auction off your clothes without asking for bids.

Be a role model to the homeless and poor.

Maybe find a way to the soup kitchen door.

Do what you can and don't earn a cent.

Because your free time to others is time well spent.

"Coexist"

Why do we resist...

when we can learn to coexist?

We scream at the birka, the sacred cow, and the temple of light

We don't seem to agree, instead we wanna show off and fight

I don't like your music, age, or color of your skin

Also you're form of origin or the gods you believe in

You, my dear man are using up my social security

You, my child, don't understand how my brother's Ultimate Sacrifice won your security

A Star of David necklace and a skinheaded neighbor

Don't let go of history as the hate grows from door to door

A teenage mother-to-be aborts her child

As her pastor father shuns her to be exhiled

The dreamer, the creative are told to hold back

By the realists of the world with imagination they lack

Lesbians and gays marching down the street

Are told to reroute the parade away from the city's elite

Missionaries and Witnesses casting a holy shadow

While we screen our calls and look outside our window

Why do we resist

when we can learn to coexist?

"Coexist"

Why do we resist
when we can learn to coexist?

We scream at the birka, the sacred cow, and the temple of light
We don't seem to agree, instead we choose to fight
I don't like your music, age, or color of your skin
Also your form of origin or the god(s) you believe in
You, my dear man are using up my social security
You, my child don't understand how my sacrifice won your security
A Star of David necklace and a skin headed neighbor
Don't let go of history as the hate grows door-to-door
A teenage mother-to-be aborts her child
As her preacher father shuns her choice in exile
The dreamer, the creative are told to hold back
By the realists of the world with imagination they lack
Lesbians and gays marching down the street
Are told to reroute the parade away from the city's elite
Missionaries and Witnesses casting a holy shadow
While we screen our phone calls and look outside our window

Why do resist
when we can learn to coexist?

"The Hammer and the Nail"

For all of life's questions,

the answers can be found in the tools.

Yet for some reason all the knowledge

in the world is of no use to fools.

We seek solutions with only hammers

to strike down the nail.

But not all the problems are the same,

so the solution will fail.

Why can't we adapt to each

situation with an open mind?

Is it our need to rush through the day

searching for things we can't find?

So we take this hammer and nail

and smash it into the ground.

Have we ignored our questions

of life this time around?

Isn't there an easier way to figure out

how to solve?

Maybe we need more tools to help

come to our resolve.

The more skills we have,

the better prepared for life.

Things like saws and scissors;

screwdrivers and maybe a sharp knife.

Be wise to which tool you use

since you can hurt someone.

Remember, we are sharing in life's problems;

it is an equal share for everyone.

=10 Back

"Blank Slate"

Blank slate...empty belly.

Bring it out...return to center.

Grounded legs...flexed feet.

Spread toes...lengthen spine.

Blank slate...empty thoughts.

Breath in...breath out.

Extend your spine...be inside.

Be in your body...be in your mind.

Blank slate...lift your chest.

No competition...conscious breath.

Gaze ahead...stay fluid.

No tension...soft tongue.

Blank slate...go deep within.

No day is lost...each move you win.

Light smile...light heart.

Today is here...back to start.

=10 Back

"A New Revelation"

Here's a new question...
A new intervention...
Something never said before-a thought to rebellious to mention.
Are we destined to a veil of recession?
A slow procession?
A false intention?


The more we think outside the scope
The more people can't really cope
The world is revolving much too fast
We do our best to make the days last
We all dream of a world that's free
But all we do is fail to agree
We all get the live we choose
But it's nothing you can lose


It's your life, right?
Can it be yours, tonight?
A new book is being written, in plain sight.
A new revelation, a brand new light.

=10 Back

"8th Floor Poet"

Unemployed, reinvented

Have no other choice while incarcerated

I started out trying to live the best life

But all I got was a sharp knife

It cuts and it bleeds through the skin

All the nerves are dead within

It can't stop me

Won't hold me down

I've got a brand new invention

I'm the 8th floor poet in this town

I have no anger to share

because this world need more of us to care

I make no apologies for my word

The world knows I gotta be heard

I live on the 8th floor of this estate

But we all live on the ground to this date

...so what's the story about my poetry?

just some licks and kicks written by me.

I take my time and I do it well

I dump my garbage out and endure the same smell.

I got my wool sweater and my pink wristband

I've got callused blisters on my left hand.

A product of rosin, tape, and bowling balls

kicks, burns, scrapes and 10 foot falls.

I can't get a job but I'm more than a stat

I just sit and breath on my yoga mat.

I might be livin' a suit but I was born free

just rockin' to Third Eye Blind and Rodney Yee.

Got a brand new soul, my heart is light

I live in Worcester, Mass-I don't swing to the right.

I might just be the poet on the 8th floor

right now, I am nothing less and nothing more.

=10 Back