Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

so long ago the kingdom

15 April 2014



I cling to my rights to sing this song,

words I’ve known by heart

far too long.


A pallid glory, performance art

as shadows scurry,

and depart.


love can become its own drudgery,

given, not received,

mere theory.


as children, we’re brought up to believe,

visions, fairy tales,

never grief.


pay our debts, for all the ways we fail,

these liquid towers,

oceans sailed.


second sight, impregnable power,

as the black crow flies,

dancing hours.


spiral kinks, remembering goodbyes,

that lump in your throat,

green, yet wise.


a simple spell, uncrossable moat,

underbelly shows,

cast your vote.


dragons fall, a brother’s broken nose,

make your bed and lie,

as myth grows.


each tossed pebble ripples by,

nothing left to say,

eye for eye.


these games I no longer care to play.



15 April, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


26 January 2014



It is hard to be different,

harder to be treated that way,

but which is hardest to accept?


We don’t always mean what we say,

our actions are not meant to wound,

there’s simply no right or wrong way.


So, just ask before you assume,

each person is always unique,

imagine if we didn’t presume.



26 January, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


03 September 2013



I steal words and claim they are mine

with subtle sleight of hand,

and weave illusions of design


as if it was all planned.

We only see the polished act,

we never understand,


the alchemy before the fact,

the parts before the whole.

I must confess and break the pact


I made once with my soul,

you see the words were never mine,

I simply played my role.

3 September, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


21 August 2013



I write ancient history in a future tense

a prophet of sorts with my own bias and slant

an apocryphal gospel of malcontent


I rewrite the facts the way that I want

living alternatives one at a time

sickened by myself as a sycophant


but this power I shall not decline

‘though it remain merely a fantasy

self-deception is most often sublime

21 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

saying goodbye

12 August 2013

saying goodbye


saying goodbye, hardly ever my choice,

which somehow makes it easier sometimes

to placate that angry inner voice


saying goodbye, beyond all of the rhymes

can still rip away a part of my soul

in love there are no victimless crimes.


saying goodbye will always leave a hole,

no matter which person says it first

in some small way we are always less whole.


saying goodbye sometimes seems like a curse

but it can be a blessing in disguise

when hindsight proves staying could have been worse.


saying goodbye can often make us wise

because letting go is all we can do

when we can no longer live with the lies.

12 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , , | Leave a comment

I’ll never tell

04 July 2013

I’ll never tell


I climbed the Weeping Willow tree,

in my uncle’s backyard,

it hung its branches hiding me,


as if it were on guard.

I climbed as high as I could climb,

it wasn’t very hard.


I nestled on a perfect limb,

and there I fell asleep.

Softly whispered clandestine rhymes,


what secrets did you keep?

I gave you mine, but never learned

what makes a Willow Weep?

4 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


22 March 2013



"What don’t I write about?" I asked,

hoping for an answer this time,

a glimpse behind my masks.


Sex, politics, religion, crime …

I only play it safe I see.

I claim so little that is mine.


Comfortable in philosophy,

the stories that I have to tell,

I do not risk much I concede.


Maybe I need a deeper well,

or just more courage to explore,

get a little closer to Hell?


Maybe I am just feeling bored,

drawn to all that I have ignored,

wondering what’s beyond the door?

22 March, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


13 December 2011



Brittle desolation, a personal retreat

punctuated by Black-Capped Chickadees —

silence in solitude is not what I seek.


I hold on too tightly to things I should release

but I’m learning to listen and learning to see

and once in awhile, I remember to breathe


away from distractions, the noise of the city,

my soul opens up in ways I do not understand.

it’s enough to be without drowning in self-pity,


escaping responsibilities that life demands.

I’m recentered, grounded, refreshed, and connected,

a wanderer trapped within this empty wasteland.


a fifteen minute walk from what I would call home

reminds me I needn’t believe that I’m alone.

13 December, 2011 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

pink rhododendron

20 May 2005


pink rhododendron brushed across the sky,

deepening to ominous shades of red,

threatening rain, yet impotently dry.


bird song calls me from the warmth of my bed,

an invitation I cannot refuse,

I listen without knowing what is said.


in this pre-dawn quiet I hear the Muse,

before the noise of life crowds its voice out,

and for a moment, I don’t fear these blues.


but the rain never comes to end this drought

and inspiration quickly slips away,

overshadowed by stormy clouds of doubt.


and like the birds, silenced throughout the day,

I wait for sunset, for something to say.

7 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , | Leave a comment