Hitchhiking without a direction known It's not on the map and is seldom shown Looking for God and if He's in charge It's as close as I come to living large
Some things are like bags of tricks Impossible to handle and harder to fix Traveling fast without much specificity We hold on for dear life and its possibilities
There is not much to like when you're dead The same things go bouncing in your head It's damn near impossible to smile without stars We're all here by mistake; just ask the scars
The best of life is lived in our memory Sometimes, it's dressed up like our family But mostly, what we have is what we got And most of that is better off forgot
The world's a little crowded with pride As we try to forget what we cannot hide Everybody is busy looking for that something That mostly, sure enough, adds up to nothing
There is not much to like when you're dead The same things go bouncing in your head It's damn near impossible to smile without stars We're all here by mistake; just ask the scars
There will be no smoking when you burn It's just one of those things we're born to learn If you listen very carefully, you learn to fear Especially when your world is wrapped up in a tear
Painted flowers are a disguise for haste As our yesterdays fade into post-urban waste We try to hold our memories close But they run away when we need them the most
There is not much to like when you're dead The same things go bouncing in your head It's damn near impossible to smile without stars We're all here by mistake; just ask the scars
(c) February 22, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of convenience and comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” – Martin Luther King Jr.
She was born hard to impress He was maybe overly dressed For a boy deep in his thoughts But she could never be bought
They were standing in the deep end Somehow waiting for a friend Neither of them was from anywhere That anyone would ever care
A slice of the wrist Neither would be missed When your life has been Hell The afterlife is hard to tell
Sylvia's head was in the oven John wandered off the path and Steven? Some suspect that he only fell He was the only one happy here in Hell...
It seems we all have small regrets Some sort of jokes that we forget With false punchlines that are invisible We would laugh, as if we were capable
There are a lot of empty people Who are wondering about the meaning of life Hoping a prayer at the marble steeple That it's more than a cold brew with a warm slice
It's there in the patterns and the mistakes That we're doomed to repeat our heartbreaks Everyone is just kind of muddling through Stuck here with everyone else in the wrist cutter blues
(c) February 21, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“A nation that destroys its soils destroys itself. Forests are the lungs of our land, purifying the air and giving fresh strength to our people.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt
The Conquistadors brought horses to these lands Back 500 years ago, as best as I understand Now, thousands are allowed to wander free Causing irreversible damage to the rangeland country
The conflict arises over the carrying capacity 50,000 horses await adoption in all this scarcity Only a cowboy's knowing hand will free them from their pens And return freedom to these mustangs again
Mustang is not a kind or some sort of breed But a term for all horses sired from wild seed They, too, have every right to live However feral as they scratch for whatever this land gives
Mustangs have their own spectacular sense of sovereignty With their heads raised high in their quiet dignity Taken down to the subject's deepest dissection Mustangs are among the best through natural selection
A cowboy has a kinship with the Mustang breed With their mutual need to be open and freed Freed of all the constraints of domestication As they saddle up to ride across the nation
There is something to be said for overconfidence To be brave enough to trust in God's providence It's an aura of waiting a long time to be What Mustangs and cowboys need to be - free
Saddled up, they start their long journey Up the trail to their awaited destiny Cowboys aren't made from something like "quit" And cowboys and Mustangs know each other's fit
Good judgment comes from a wealth of experience And not be lost in any sense of inference But from the experience that comes from bad judgments Each of these pushes forward a cowboy's improvement
Pushing hard on into the fallow trails beyond It is the kind of thing that builds a cowboy's bonds From the morning light into the dark of night It becomes the test of who has had things most right
Appropriate management level has ruled since 1971 It became necessary because overpopulation had begun Mankind's interference made the natural environment artificial And necessitated the need for man to try to be beneficial
Only time will tell if man has managed to get this right But the hour is growing late and light faint this campfire's night The journey will begin early in the morning's morrow Only time will tell if it brings happiness or a trail of sorrow
(c) February 20, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
To her, I'm her father As I watch my daughter Walking alone in the night She's always been my light
But it wasn't always this way She's haunted by the day These moments hidden inside Behind her fragile pride
He took her innocence I've seen it in her eyes The feeling is so intense I've felt her agonize
She hides it inside Because she's afraid to confide All those times that she's cried Alone in her heart wish she could hide
She almost took her life that night Feeling abandoned and in total fright Fighting the torment inside her head And.. I held her hand in mine to fight off her dread
She didn't need to talk, I understood As maybe only a loving father could Step[-by-step, she's to walk in life again I walk beside her and hold her when...
She remembers how he took her innocence The look on her face is scared and intense I see the meaning in her beautiful sad eyes As she tries to be brave though she agonizes
Only in these past few years I've seen her blossom despite her tears Feeling she's worthy of love and she knows I smile softly as she steps forward to grow
Even in the darkest depth of night She knows she's a child of the light I watch as the strength returns and her life unfolds I tell her I that I love her; she knows before she's told
The light in the end still holds her innocence She has moved past his intended offense And I see new meaning in her powerful eyes As her walk becomes bolder and the past looses its ties
(c) February 19, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
