The sky cries with stars from it’s eyes. The tears pass through the bright ribbons of purple, red, and green as they pass by into the night. And as I sit from atop my castle the world’s stirs and yet I am still. The ivy and stone from which I sit is my throne, the seas and sky my kingdom. My castle is in ruins but it holds true. The waves crash at my feet far below they are my armies. The ribbons sway and glide across the teary sky and shine bright in my great hall. I am the king of all that I see. My distant islands and the mysteries beyond them. I am the ruler of my domain yet possessed by the earth. King of the ruins of ivy and stone, illuminated by the northern skies. My words come from me with an icy breeze. I am the North.


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Excerpt from journal – Ending trip from Newark to Buffalo

Seeing a clouds shadow from the ground compared to a clouds shadow from the sky are two vastly different things.

I wonder if Kerouac would have flown more if he had the chance.

Probably not,

McCandless didn’t.

Everyone needs to love something,

or at least be loved.


I meant to write this before -

I have trouble writing when asked to write,

or even when I want to write.

It’s something that just comes,

like rain,

when the  day before I had planned for sun.

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The day will come.

When love is war
And you don’t want it.
Across the ocean,across the land
A cross.
The day will come when every technique that you were going out with works.
You conquer love.
The day will come when they don’t see you blush.
Try a love that don’t hurt.
Try a simple miracle.
The day will come even when your not here.
Get garlic because a day will come when well…you know, go get the silver cause you know,
Don’t bell at the dark hour or uNless you know.
The day will come your in line for something free because well you know.
I’m done loving unless it’s words.
Like properly.
I dedicate this to you EVIL LOVE.

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The Poets Wept

The poets wept
The drinkers drank
The stars bled
And the rest fled

What’s left here in the end
Is simply the best of the worst
The unknown dreams of the ones who didn’t care
And the ghosts of the dead

All the bridges have burned
With no hope no religion
All money and only fame
Everyone else elated on the med

Stuck in a loop of a neo revolution 9
Making sense of rubbish in gibberish
A doped up generation coddled under mother’s care
Taking in everything that they are spoon fed

It was always going to end like this
Ashen skies and blood red seas
Walking skeletons and fat pigs
Divided by cracks created in dread

The dread of what was always to come
but no one listened to what the fools said

Because the poets just wept
The drinkers just drank
The stars just bled
And the rest just fled.


Filed under Mr. Stacker

Haiku: 33

Nautical miles.

you left a lump in my throat.

Ending horizons.


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Refrigerator Magnet Poem: 20



by | August 8, 2014 · 11:00 am

Age Should Never be Just An End Point (it’s a privilege)

You haven’t seen my girl.
She’s much to old for me.
But her eyes are the prettiest and the youngest I’ve ever seen.
Little pools of placid blue with just the right depth of wisdom.
They always take me in with such warmth and need that I’m in no hurry to put on my clothes again.
She warms my soul.
I warm her body.
That’s all either of us need.

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