Inconstant Man

Like the ebb and flow of rough water on fragile rock,
I am approached by Inconstant Man.

Growing and increasing,
we tackle the earth in a crushing bear hug,
squeezing our unforgiving morsels out of its green, giving life orb;
owing nothing, but lending all.

Lending all
because in some way
it will take it back.
We will want to take it back,
and nothing will be left but our memories,
Creeping and crawling through dank, dusty drawers
in our forsaken houses,
standing in burnt fields,
on an empty, estranged earth

which we sat on with our mind-numbingly dumb asses,
our shit spewing over and into crystalline rivers and brilliant forests.

Inconstant Man,
who once valued every grain of sand,
every molecule of supremely superior life,
Builds marring pockmarks upon the cherubic cheek of this planet.

We will fill the air and soil with our vomit
And claim we have
“done well” and
“changed lives” and
“lived successfully”.

But what is well, and changed, and lived
when what we leave is a small, stone-colored earth
in the midst of a universe of awe?

Our arrogant faces turn to numerous white bones,
Almost all the same besides our teeth,
but who will know when our dental records fade and fray with the rest of our civil society?

We are Inconstant Man and we consist of an inconsistency so inconceivably large, so insanely insatiable, that we are blind to our own inconstant
And that is the only thing that’s constant.



On a Misty Moor

"The Cliffside"


In the shadow o’ the moors

There’s a mystic wind

blowin’ round.

Shapin’ colors, shiftin’ wings

Bringin ’round all sorts o’ mysterious tings.

But somehwere

In the shadow o’ the snow

There’s rain.

The rain is shiftin’ too,

Beatin’ barrels cross your bow

Sendin’ birds and bugs a’driftin’

But through the trees it’s just a’siftin’.

And somewhere

In the shadow o’ the rain

there’s sun.

Spillin’ cross our soft moors

Feedin’ the plants

All the roses in a row

All the animals; an’ us.

Just watchin’ us a’grow.


A Spot of Red- (Originally written May 1st, 2012)

In a sea of Dark Gray

a sea of nothing

There is

                           A spot of Red

A bushel of flowers-

A pick up truck-

A pot of roses-

But still-

                                   A spot of Red;

A spot of Heart

A spot of Love

A spot of Courage

and A spot of Hope

In the sea of the dead

One brave soul

Dared to paint-

A bright






Of Red.


“Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong,”

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Images courtesy of:

Mary AD on


Know How


“Pray not for safety from danger,

But from deliverance from fear,”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson


Image 1 courtesy of

Image 2 courtesy of


Pray Not