I have sold two books now. Wow, Truly it is hard to believe I have ever sold a poem or a book. It is hard to believe I even have poems for sale!



Pointless is how I feel this will be. I have lived a very painful life in many ways and cannot believe that I will ever really find a way free. My poetry is a way to vent out and find release from memories. I write for me and really no one else. If no one ever really likes it I can live with that.

 Lost this was, somehow a forgot draft, lost.

Dreams in the night

The Rider

I enter in a large white room
high is the ceiling
straight are the walls
round are the corners
door lies across on the other side

in the center I see
a large black hat
square in shape
drooping it is
upon the head
of very thin man

a guitar in a case
lies across to his back
a long wooden bow
across to his front
a single long black arrow
with long black ribbon fetching

he reclines upon skeletal chopped bike
black is its color without any chrome
resting on its side stand
tilts to the left

seeing him I circle the room
going counterclockwise about
following the wall around
the door on the other side

passing him as he
straightens up and starts his bike
begins to go backwards
clockwise around the room

as I entered the doorway
into a hall that spirals down
his black arrow passes under right ear
continuing on and strikes wall

turning counterclockwise
I spiral on down
close to the wall
continuing on down

he follows me down
turning clockwise coming on
and with every turn
the long black arrow
passes under my right ear
ribbon fletching fluttering behind

Spiraling down we go
turn after turn continuing
I going forward
as he follows me down
and with every turn
the arrow comes again

as I downward go
my counter clockwise turns
stop on a landing
cannot go on

he following to me after
in his clockwise turns
continuing backwards
his arrow still flies
continues on down
no landing for him

upon the landing I sit
watching him continue by
going continuing down

hearing a voice say
I must turn and go the other way
if not to continue down
if I would go up

Autumn leaves

Men’s words grow
and live their season
then dry and fall
to blow upon the wind
across the land
sometimes are found
looked at with wonder
Beautiful to behold
golden and rich
till they fade
and dust blow away

leaves of gold
made of man
words inscribed
bound with rings
passed hand to hand
words are added
studied and loved
carefully crafted
for another day

when words of man
blowing on the wind
fading turning dust
are looked upon
with wonder
treasured and kept
pressed in pages
of a book

words unread
from leaves of gold
truth unknown
beauty unseen
love unknown
that’s lasts all time
life’s unchanged
souls untouched

words blowing
with the wind
across the hill
till they fade
words of men


blue sky overhead
sunlight shines all around
clouds do float upon the wind
water flows and fishes swim
trees and flowers do abound
mountain peaks cold
and warm desert sand

wind does blow on all the land
rain and snow falls all around
rivers flow to lakes and sea
forests grow on the mountainsides
grasses grow in meadows below
and wide plains were grains grow

deserts are upon the land
dusty planes where the wind blows
dry dead seas where nothing lives
stinking seas of salt without life
ashes black were fire spread

the world is like a treasure house
with many shelves which to hold
all the things that man may need
yet all the shelves are not full
nor are they all equally filled
certain shelves to each belong
holding whatever they may

different talents each may have
different abilities which to do
suited not to what they have
wherever they may be
what ever maybe there

some have much
and others do not
some have nothing
there is no reason
for how it is

some have not what
they need to live
life’s of ease
life’s of joy
others have more
than they can use
life’s of luxury
life’s of excess

often those with riches do
have the power which to use
to take from them who have less
building excess
ever more

there is for each and every one
part of earth’s wealth untold
all might have an equal part
living life’s of equal joy
sharing each and every one

equal light on each to fall
equal water to each to go
equal chance for everyone
everyone a chance to dream
equal life for everyone


A little while back I wrote some very different poems from what I normally write. I was using Dragon to free up my writing from trying to spell words since I have ADD.
And then I sent these poems off to a journal. Now I don’t know if I am more afraid they will use them or reject them.
If they use them then I will need to write more like them. And if they don’t use them then I won’t know if they are any good.