playing with words again

Scream no one can hear

Come undone no one can see


Dream screams; no one hears,

they’ve lost their ears.

Stab wounds, there is no blood,

no scars, no love.


Why, why, why.

Do you think you

need to know why.


Spread your arms, flap and run,

perhaps you will take flight, like a penguin.


I am a balloon. I float above the town, a renegade.



Beer, wine and a bottle of whiskey.

Marlboros, a joint, just you and me.






No smiles, just tears, no hope, just fears. No, no, no, no, no…


featured image by BLT

Still Trying

So often I want to write but I find myself without words.

Then there is the constant nagging of my brain telling me I am not using proper sentence structure and I better at least make sure I am spelling every word correctly if I can’t remember where to place my commas.

It is hard to believe I used to ace spelling bees and always pulled an A in English class. Oh how I loved English and the rest of it was all a waste to my brain. Geography, Algebra, and French class were momentary memorization and nothing more. (Algebra wasn’t something I could memorize and and it was the worst grade ever in all my years of schooling).

So, my commas will be overused, my thoughts erratic and my writings ill composed and yet…

I march on, my brain as is, still trying to write and express my thoughts with words.

scattered thoughts over nights and days

conversations with myself are now commonplace-

I am no longer bound to the human race.

I speak out loud to no one there,

I used to wonder; now I don’t care.

I should whisper, at least, in case someone would hear,

but I don’t care and there is no one near.


(this one is a mess)

Need to find a way to do the normal day

but I can’t find a clue and my mental screw

is loose; check it with Mother Goose, page 52.


and the pieces of the puzzle belong to someone else

but hey a piece of sanity is on the topmost shelf.


my mental screw is loose

my neck is in a noose

Bullwinkle is a moose

a gagging of the goose.

(and again)

I need to find a way to do the normal day

but I can’t find a clue, and Mr. Body has turned blue.

If only life was fair or like a musical called “Hair”

but life is like this though

I am a mutant and the world is a whore.