I’ve been writing poetry since the age of 17. I know, a young + hopeless romantic fellow I was. Those early explorations were certainly informed and inspired by music (particularly Led Zeppelin at the time. And later Dylan, Cohen, Springsteen, Cash, Mellencamp, KMax, etc.) In a way, I’ve come to realize that my poems are my lyrics. My songs. Like George Costanza always wanted to be an architect, I’ve always wanted to be a musician. The problem is, I’m musically declined. But thanks for daring to click on this page. I get it. You have to be in a certain mood to take in poetry…let alone appreciate it. Maybe that’s today for you.

Poems for Visionaries (2004). The little book that opened up a lot of doors. Goes to show you never know the outcome or unexpected surprises that happen when you put something out there.
Remembering Chris (2004). A collection of poems written in the wake of the passing of a friend. Chris Bennett was a one-of-kind rebel soul. This was a Christmas gift to his family, some of our closest friends.
Postcards From a Stranger (2005). An eccentric and unusual book of poems. Kind of a best-of from the early years.
20 Bits and Pieces of Fragmented Disque (2010). My friend gave me a CD of twenty instrumentals and unfinished songs he was working on. No lyrics or vocals yet, only the song titles were established. I thought it would be fun to write a poem to each of the supplied titles. Another Christmas present.

And now, a few poems…

Gonna die with my boots on
According to
Reverend Wheeler Parker, Jr.—
Death is the sacrifice for eternal life
The transition
The graduation
The price you pay.
Like the mother of Emmett Till—
I want to die with my boots on
I’m going somewhere
Some place beyond
After this life is over.
When I pass through death’s door
Help me to be ready
To move toward the light
Be brave and strong
Finish well, fear not
And have my boots on.

The Golden Age (to come)
He strolled out on stage
Looking for the world
Like a Brando
Or a Paul Newman
Or a James Dean
Unique
Rebel
Misfit
Is there room for us anymore?
Outsider
Artist
Observer
Still carving out their own path
What is the golden age
If not what we make it?
Keep shaping, forming and molding
Your vision—
How far will you take it?
For the new future unfolding.

A Lantern
The small window in the downstairs bathroom
Is cracked open, inviting in the light of day
Casting diagonal shapes on the wall
A thought—
Arriving like a brilliant streak of lightning
Flashes past.
Words are like magic—
The poets rush to write them down
Before they evaporate, never to return
Some will get it
(Understanding the urgency)
And others just won’t
You blink and you miss it.

Denominational Homelessness
Denominational Homelessness
Makes you a true Pilgrim
In Progress
Full abandonment
But not forsaken
Majoring on the majors
Clinging to the succinct simplicity
Of the Apostle’s Creed
This is what I believe
An Ancient-Modern
In soil and seed
A monastic mystic
A ragamuffin at heart
Devoted
To this good journey
Captivated
By Truth, Goodness and Beauty
Knowing that the hope of the world
Rests on the shoulders
Of a homeless man.

Gainesville Native (T.P.)
Gainesville Native
With fatigue in his eyes
World weary
World wealthy
Dirty blonde hair
Perpetual cigarette
Burning it down
Suspended sun over Malibu
With a sepia-wash of Southern California smog
White porcelain coffee mug
Always within reach
Fifth cup of the day
Fuel for songs
Vise verses
From the quintessential American songbook.

Fire in the Distance
I scan this wasted landscape
So many people tying to escape
Disappearing somewhere in their mind
Feels like darkness all around
The human race is alone
In 2020.

Peace of mind is hard to find
Total bummer of a year
Getting lost in my imagination again
The record player spinning in the background
Late at night
These bandaged wings still take flight.

Scan this desolate wasteland
Is that a fire burning off in the distance? (Yes it is)
Could it be small hope
A spark of inspiration in the dark—
A lamp to light the way
In this bizarre season of confusion.

Erwin McManus
Says that nothing is wasted
Starts a company, does the opposite
When everyone else wants to run, hide or quit
Now is the time to create—
In crisis.

Be Moved by Beauty.

Scroll to Top