Adrift, floating through the fogginess,

Watching the world move around the stillness.

It brakes and accelerates;

Detonations and rampages,

Waves of calm tempered with walls of distortion.

The crisis just beneath the surface.

No name.

So tangible.

So unknown.

Just out of reach,

a brush of fingertips against cloth.

The itch to spread near and far,

to set oneself afloat amongst the sea of possibilities.

Beset amongst a field of questions with no answers,

Released unto a world where you have nothing to ask.

The thrumming anxiety beneath the skin and veins,

the numbing realization of emptiness ahead.

It hones two edges, the bliss of the unknown,

the fear of not knowing.

Set adrift amongst the vast parades of knowledge,

with no one to guide you through.

The first step falters,

the helmsmen tilts the wheel,

an airman eases the throttle.

Each leading father into the fog, hoping to fid the treasure within.

Set Adrift.



It is a scary thing; not knowing.

Not knowing what you will do – how you will do it.

Not knowing. Forced to smile and convince others you are confident;

despite what lies ahead.

How can you jump into a churning ocean?

How can you fall through the sky? Not knowing.

A Day

Clean Water.

Fresh Air.

World Peace.


It’s all there.

But we need them.

The problems.

The issues we face.

They’re terrible and harsh,

keeping us on pace.

If we were a utopia.

Where would we be?

Out hunting and gathering.

Coming home to a tree.

Our meals over fires,

our hearts in the open.

Killing to live,

Alive to be killed?


We’d advance. We’d make.

We might kill each other.

Though we’d soon have enough.

No, I don’t want these things.

We’re already on our way.

I ask for a day.

A day of nothingness.

A day where everyone has a chance.

A breath of air, untainted, unlined.

It could be simple.  A day in sun and snow outside.

But for some, it would mean not having to hide.

Hide in fear or pain.

Or searching for loved ones in vain.

A day is long. But bitterly short. But you should have one.

One just for you.

One for you to cling to.

When you need it most.

So many have suffered.

So many feel pain.

And it will not. go. away.

So I ask for a day.

A day.

A place to toss fears away.

Just a day.

It’s not much, but it’s enough.

Once a year, maybe more

For those whose suffering lie in and out of doors.

Or neither.

Just a day.

Everyone needs a day. A day where no pain is spread.

Just a smile on a little girls face.

A laugh from an infant.

A loss of tension in the shoulders of parents.

Just a day.

There’s too many in this world.

Too many worries and fears.

Too many lives taken, too many tears.

So I ask for a day.

Just a day.

Sticky Sticky

Sticky Sticky, so pink and fluffy;

Melting in your mouth, on a hot summer’s day.

The roar of a ball park singing, and sticky sticky dances on your tongue.

Sticky Sticky, sugar sunrise,  spun sugar, cotton candy.

The names of Sticky Sticky all sweet, but never Sticky Sticky.

Sticky Sticky tastes like a mouthful of soft sugar, the first brief taste – melted –

leaving you wanting more.

Sticky Sticky is sweet, oh how sweet,

but Sticky Sticky wants to stick.

From your nose to your toes it will stick.

In your hair and on your hands Sticky Sticky finds a spot to hold you.

Sticky Sticky tinges your hands pink and orange, the smell of its sweetness,

the sugary tang in the air making you smile and laugh.

Your hands are damp, with the pink spun sugar you know so well.

Each finger licked clean under the summer sun,

Still, Sticky Sticky finds its way to hold on.

As you stand to watch the ball soar,

Sticky Sticky is on your elbow, or your knee, or even your cheek.

You laughed, surprised; or not so surprised.

Long after the game is gone and fireworks lit,

Sticky Sticky lingers.

In the car, at home, Sticky Sticky is on your elbow and knee.

Sticky Sticky is sweet and soft, but its not the taste that lingers, not even the scent,

No, Sticky Sticky has a name.

It has a place in the hands, elbows, knees, and cheeks

of children, parents, and teens,

all laughing with Sticky Sticky on the hot summer day,

pink fluff on their hands, baseball in their ears.

Sticky Sticky knows how to stick.