Death Metal

The crunching chug
– a – chug – a chug
overdriven guitars
massage earphoned
ear drums keeping
perfect one two
three four repetition
timed with bottom
dropping big bass
kick drums pounding
alongside screaming
slinky string solos
punched periodically
with throat ripping
growls and grunts
an odd instrument
in itself completes
the final assualt

Coming Forth — A Tribute to the Band “Slint”

Slow slithering lines meander
leaving breadcrumbs of ideas
behinds as they slowly work
to a sudden stark shattering
and climb slowly back down
into a quiet contemplation
before slashing raw again
the slow slight peacefulness
with jarringly sharp edges
of middle-class bent anger
and suburban frustrations
boiling always just below
the surface of everything
just waiting always to burst
and forth comes the rage
and angst and stark fear
of sameness and bland
dreams of middle America.

Season — Augmented Spoken Word

Hey all,

Check out my spoken word work:



For those that like to read along:








Broken brown bits,  crisp
crumbles of last year’s green
and several dozen types of leaves,
crust over spring growth.
Like asthmatic ash from Vesuvius
Killing whole swathes of grass
roots and all, thier blades useless
reducing lawn to soil and mold
A graveyard of a landscape
ripe for the visagoth weeds
and hordes of invading seeds.


Ruckus winds rustle up dust and pollen

Much to my red-eyed stuffy nosed chagrin

Blowing snow mold from greening grasses

and picking up Spring’s pouring puddles

placing them in soft slow cumulus clouds

that patrol above like sentinels on watch

over birds scouting for nesting real estate

and us walking the recently unclothed yard

hunting sprigs and signs of future flowers

amidst the detritus of falls fallen waste

welcoming a storm’s whisper in the billowing

breeze, thunder being the trumpet blast

heralding the warmer season to come.


Late Summer


Drowning in throat coating dust
dragging deep dry breathes
thick through burning nose
down into long lashed lungs
on arid August afternoons
with lawn long gone brown
the sandy soil scorched naked
wind whipping up small dust devils
plastering particles of sand
to sweat soak on skin exposed
to reddening low slung searing sun
and one can only sit stone still
waiting for the inevitable window
shaking thunder storm to clear
the air and the damned drought.


And the sun surrenders dropping down in water
sky turning shades of fall foliate

The leaves themselves rustling muted and thick

laying in wait as insects hold their breath
upon the whisper of a storm tiptoing toward us  in the air

even the massive mirror of lake sits stil waiting,  a pebble tossed wouldn’t upset it’s calm.
the fish too admire it’s beauty and do not to jump
for bugs on the surface.

A Fire takes root
warming the night
Fingers of flame reach low hung branches
Logs groan and spit heat
Casting errant embers like molten bullets

Among us

As we watch moths,kamikaze to their deaths with unnervingly  grace into the dying flames



Fall fell sudden

Like a broken arrow

from an old archer’s

time worn palsied hand

Leaves crisp aqnd brittle

as rattling ancient bones

tumble around desperately

In the yard Catching

on the lawn or a stick, a puddle

a fence post, reaching for any thing

that holds.

And at night…

Through the leaves and
trees – The cool full
moon does not shine on
me as I sit or maybe
stand by the faltering fire pit
that is full of darkening coals
grown old and cold as the
late September night
and the coals also
do not shine on ….

Through the leaves and
trees – the old and cold
darkening coals do not shine on
me as I stand or maybe
sit, back turned to fire pit
that is full like the cool bright moon

Grown old and cold on this late September night.





Breath hard and heavy,
stumbling still sleepy,
along an old overgrown road,
cutting through dark woods,
tripping over logs long rotten,
now frozen stone solid

toward deerstand lashed

in marraige to old oak.
The November morning grey
seeps into pre-dawn gloom
as I sit in the soft slow sway

of my metal perch

watching shadow-like trees stand
against sharp freezing air
Frost tugging at tips of toes
damp in booted thick socks
a nape of neck breeze tickling
down the back chilling deep
in spite of my thermal shirt
Fingers pulled into palms
tips tight tucked away
against early winter’s
urgent and constant cold

soon we will cacoon against the season

in anticipation for of the next turning of the cycle





























Kite — A Poem about Feeling Hopelessly Stuck


A kite in the tree

the crab apple tree

Want to get it down

the kite is stuck

and you only shrug

Say “Let the dog in”


This is your life

Charlie Brown


A Monarch in the tree

the kite is a Monarch

Stuck in the tree

In the crab apple tree

Still you only shrug

Say, “Let the dog in”


This is your life

Charlie Brown


Look at that kite

Up in the tree

This is important

The kite stuck in the tree

Again you only shrug

Say “Let the dog in”


This is your life

Charlie Brown


But Chuck is stuck

Up on a tree

He is no Monarch, no kite

in the crab apple tree

Finally you only shrug

Say, “Let the dog in”


This is your life

Charlie Brown.


A kite in the tree

the crab apple tree

Want to get it done

The kite is stuck

Finally, you shrug

Say, “Let the dog in”


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Pittie Man — A Song about a Dog


This song was written about our pitbull named Petey– he’s kinda of nut job, but a lovable nut job and we suspect he has dealings in high finance somehow….*don’t ask, inside joke*

Either way, my wife suggest I take a line I would sing to him now and again to the “Nowhere Man”.  So I went for it.  As you can tell I am not much of singer…or at least not a very practiced singer as this first thing I have ever sang…sung….singed (whatever).

So here ya go, enjoy :

Pittie Man!


He moves really slow

Cuz he has no cares

Wearin an oversized shirt

Cuz he’s got no hairs


He’s the pittie man

Doin things pitties can

Has a pittie plan

Written in color crayon

Don’t know how he wrote

Cuz he’s got no thumbs

And when he eats his chow

He leaves lots of crumbs


Ask him anything

Like what do you think

And you’ll hear him sing

Bout blub financial things


Free form

Caught — On a musical Experiment

This a poem, primary about a song I am working on (which you can hear here ), but also about thoughts in general.


like a question forming

itself into a firm shape

to be quickly kicked

sidewalks off kilter

then smeared slightly

until obscured behind

itself it peeks through

then hides amongst

the grey caught

until everything lifts

and the question


Psychedelic guitar work with computer help!

Added another song to sound cloud, check it out….not the best a really high volume.  It’s pretty shrill in areas, I gotta figure out how to pull that out a bit.

But it’s a full song…I will probably work on it more and remove and re-add versions to sound cloud but this is my work today.

It’s called Through the Gate into Bliss, check it out HERE.