The Poet Laureate of the common man. His current publications, scheduled readings, daily dalliances, links to his books and whatever seemingly clever thought Bee wants to share

I’m not sure of anything anymore and I keep on cascading like the bore I am.

I know I like the voice inside my head. I’m as equally certain that this voice likes me less and forever nevermore.

He was convinced that the very success of a culture was determined by the conflicting beliefs of the people in their pursuits of happiness and thus, pleasure. The way he saw it, if everyone agreed on one single truth for happiness in a civilization, that civilization was doomed and damned. Some would say that his pleasure was derived from articulated apathy. Others said it was from his narcissistic vanity and his need to be redundant. None of them were right. He was as sure of that as he was in his Epicurean beliefs.

Not gonna be…

Anyone but me.

Not gonna be…

Anyone but me.

Not gonna tell you      somehow.

Not gonna tell you      someday.

We all gotta go

Our own way.

We’re just lint in this trap anyway.

Not gonna sell you      somewhere.

Not gonna sell you      anyone.

We are nouns, but not places or things.

We are people, we jingle and we mingle as we smile and grimace,

But I promise, we aint no tambourines.

Not gonna be that way,

Not gonna be that simple.

I           have     a          name,

I’m not simply a he,

Not      merely a she,

No mere dick, not a simple bitch,

Not some penis, no mere vagina,

I           am       me.

Let       us         be     clear.

We aint no tambourines.

Not gonna be…

Anyone but me.

Not gonna be…

Anyone but me.


My papa died before I was born

In some swindle gone wrong that belong in a Johnny Cash Country Song.

The only thing he left for my mama and me,

Was a big ol’ southern mansion—inherited, a heap of debt,

Delusive Moments

Having my book in print and not really knowing how to get it in circulation and in the hands of readers, is a lot like a gorilla with a smart phone. You’re damned to figure how he has it and sure as shit, he doesn’t know what to do with it and it is likely to be mixed in with some of his feces and flung at the crowd.

find it on Amazon or createspace (title number: 4642371)

New little poem…

When I let her dip through my hands,

I believed it was in the course of caressing.

But when she slipped off and through my fingers,

I wasn’t relieved and of course there was no guessing

That she was passing on, our passion shared like sand

In an hourglass, slipping to the collection end of the ampoule.

Grain by grain, the future became the present and traveled through to the past,

Right out from my grasp, not long after the last climax gasp,

Thinking of it all, I clasp at my straw like hands and say,

“What the hey?”

We were best known for our powers of assimilation, skill for persuasion, and a distinct fondness for destruction that was coupled with a fascination for things with a high likelihood of failure. It was an interesting mix, interesting for its tendency for the dramatics. It was almost as if we were set up to teeter on the edge of failure and chaos. At any one moment, we could go flailing headlong into war or into the folds of kinship. Things could just as easily go the one way as they could the other and they often time did just that. It was a reality that was stranger than fiction that nobody read all the way through. No one really finished it, they just assumed the end.

A letter to the woman that’s gone

After lathering me with sensual attention, you showered me in compliments, only to towel me off with dismissal and refreshed to mine own detriments. So I’m writing you this epistle and I’m trying to keep it simple.

I’ll start by speaking of timing. Timing isn’t about being proper or ready, it’s about recognizing things at their zenith—the true peak of potential. Relationships are eruptions and the big ones require evacuations of reason. Timing isn’t about things fitting easily, it is about recognizing the beauty and glory in a challenge and how it is worth every bit of effort. It is futile to expect the complimentary pursuit to come along when you are prepared—that’d be too easy and fate is no floozy. The best things in life will take the most effort and the test every strain of patience. “You don’t get to chose who you love or when you die, believing you do is suicide.”

Next I will speak of attraction. There are many facets to this kinetic force—it is no mere farce. There is a balance to it, weighed by the eyes, judged by perception, and it can pass if it doesn’t get the proper support. All the same, with the proper nourishment, attraction can last forever. Attraction is a plant that needs a good gardener. Attraction needs support, nourishment, care, attention, growth, appreciation when it blooms, nurture when it is dormant, and every now and then, it outgrows its container and it needs a transplant; most important are the roots. If the roots are strong, that attraction can survive the harshest winters, the hottest summer, the wettest springs, and the frostiest falls.

No later than now, I will speak of chemistry. When it comes to human interaction, this is no simple equation. Einstein, Newton, Edison, and Oppenheimer could get in a room together and sooner accomplish cold fusion than explain the complex relation amongst humans and still leave room for confusion after all the equations, apples, light bulbs, and bombs they drop. It is not about understanding. It isn’t. We can only strive to understand. It is like the relation of man to God. So long as we are living, we will never fully understand. But, as long as we are living and penitent, we will strive to understand. That is chemistry, at least at the atomic level. Electrons and protons syncing without our knowing as we strive to understand, as we search for meaning, as we quest to get the tops and bottoms of the attraction. We need to connect and spend a lifetime enjoying the attempt to solve each other.  

I think it is important to mention personality. Personality is the particular glue that bonds people. Abrasive, elastic, addictive, adhesive, sexual, rural, urban, narcissistic, abusive, reclusive, shit, the list goes on. There’s someone for everyone. The point, hope, and goal is to find the personality that gets the best you out of you as they make you the happiest you you could ever be with anybody. That’s romantic, genteel, surreal as Dali, but nonetheless a realistic aspiration.

Lastly, on love. Love is something out of a letter from Paul to the Ephesians, yet more than biblical in proportion. It is all those charitable truths, but it needs to encompass more with the insatiable thirst of lust, friendship, understanding, attraction, and timing that the best comedians could ever hope to have. Love is just that easy. Love is the one perfect thing we ever can hope to have and find on earth. It is an immaculate sunset consummating with a winged narwhal riding a massive wave as an island volcano does the spitfire artillery shell thing with magma and the mums and palms are abloom. When we find it, it is our duty to showcase it, share it, reproduce it, harvest it, and above all else, nurture it. Picture it—so picturesque.

That was me trying to keep it simple—I could always extrapolate.

Peace be with you and best regards,

Humility is the quality of the distinguished.

In the end,

We know that we are where we are

Because of our failures.

We are great today,

Because we fucking fabulously failed yesterday.

You never get places doing things right consistently.

That’s right,

You get somewhere meaningful by overcoming failure.

Success is that simple, it is perseverance.

It is picking your bloodied self up to a standing eight count and

pounding your fists against your chest.

Success is smiling at the person or thing that beat you.

Success is survival in the face of all due doubt.

Success is thriving in the darkness when all the lights turn out.

It is refusing to drown,

Not bowing down to death and more or less,

Not relenting your position.