The works on this page are not meant to conform to any "standards" of poetry.
They are merely reflections of ideas, times, events, people, places, and other
minutiae that have passed before my mind's eye.

With that in mind, feel free to enjoy, deride,
or otherwise praise or ridicule these works which were
written by a realist who experiences occasional romantic tendencies
(but with an extremely cynical mind).

But whatever you think of these works, just remember:
They are mine and as such, may or may not suit your tastes.

The Following Reflect My Life, My Perceptions, and My Imagination
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GREATEST NATION? A long time ago here in this very place I had another body and a very different face The air was not this clean nor the water this blue When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. Our kingdom was so great, a super power if you must Until the mighty towers fell crumbling back to dust We sought our revenge and many battles did ensue When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. Here in this country upon on this very land All were laid to waste and blood stained the sand At first it seemed an illness or maybe a super flu When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. But as thousands lay dying throughout the countryside Warriors crossed the land on a wild and bloody ride They killed all those not afflicted by the bogus flu When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. When the warriors finished our country was no more All they left was bloody soil from shore to distant shore No longer could be seen the red, or white, or mighty blue When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. In my life of yesteryear, you see, I was a warrior too I fought for my country; defended the red, and white and blue At first I thought it was a simple matter, possibly a coup When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. But when the last plane had fallen, the last train derailed We knew that time was short and that we had finally failed Our great kingdom fell to death at the hands of a motley crew When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. Because we failed to act, appropriate to the threat We never knew our enemy, even when we finally met In fact they were guests of the red and white and blue When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. All our major water supplies were infected with the strain Of a major nasty bug that spread upon the land like rain Nine of every ten fell victim to the evils it could do When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. Those who survived fell victim to knife, and bomb and sword They, along with me, were stabbed, and skewered, and gored My life's blood flowed freely as I paid my final due When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. It took no more than a few years after the mighty towers fell To destroy our great kingdom, this paradise of which I tell A reminder is over there--the ancient stone faces covered in dew When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. One last thing I shall show you, one last thing to relate See that majestic crumbling crown, in the water like a gate Its once lighted torch held high, welcoming the many and the few When last the royal flag of Farkle still flew. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
FINDING THE WAY Fourteen soldiers traveled into the woods On a leisurely walk on a bright summer day. Like many teens back in their hometowns But dressed in a completely different way. They carried pistols, rifles, grenades, and ammo As well as claymores, LAWS, knives and more. They were not seeking love nor adventure. They just wanted to live as they had before. They protected each other as only brothers can Ready to fight, to die, each one for the other. There was nothing more sacred to each of them Then the life of each one’s battle-bonded brother. Many died, many were lost, many were maimed But many returned with a more invisible pain. They now live with terrors untold to those Who cannot know of the many they had slain. But for each brother who lost his life, and For each brother who lost a limb or worse, The war weary veteran carries a burden That haunts as though it were a lifelong curse. Of the fourteen soldiers who traveled into the woods On that ill-fated walk on a bright summer day, Only two remain alive these many years later. Still learning to cope, to find their way. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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A DEATH REMEMBERED I fired my rifle at a moving target I saw. A man-shaped target that came running forth Shouting a language I could not speak It returned my fire and turned slightly north. A flanking move this smartened target tried. This man-shaped target was reality squared. It was sneaking upon me from the right I shot it before it reached the goal it had dared. It fell and kicked, it bled and squealed It took forever to become completely still. I eased along the path to this now dead target Viewing a man who had become my first kill. It hit me hard to realize what I had done Taken a life before mine was taken from me. This lifeless corps had tried so very hard To take from me all that I would ever be. But I lived and to this day I live still yet But the memory of this man’s death remains I can still hear his squeals, see his spastic kicks And I can never quite remove all the blood stains. There have been many more to follow this one But none affected me in the very least Because, you see, I had become a mindless, cold-hearted, military trained killing beast. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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AGAIN AND AGAIN Repetition compulsion is a poet’s disease. It drives me crazy when I try to read A poem that repeats a phrase throughout. This disease inflicts most poets at times And it drives me crazy when I try to read A poem that repeats a phrase throughout. But heaven forgives the inflicted poet Though it drives me crazy when I try to read A poem that repeats a phrase throughout. Most of my poetry steers clear of this device Because it drives me crazy when I try to read A poem that repeats a phrase throughout. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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--- THE FACE --- The face I saw was staring back With sightless eyes into my own. I knew those eyes but could not place The features upon that aged face. Then I saw scars on brow and cheek And nothing more I had to seek. For this face, much to my horror Was my reflection upon the water. I raised my hand to touch my face But only encountered an empty space. As the ripples wandered out to sea I could see nothing, not even me. The face had faded out to black And I was no longer there staring back. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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TO DREAM NO MORE Something sexy was all she wore. In lovely lace she lightly dressed. Sighing smoothly she slammed the door. Alone again she aptly caressed The pretty pillows she placed beside Her calico cat all cuddly asleep. Her luscious lips gently laughed aloud. Hear earthly ears were easily seen, Hanging high like highway signs. Her flat feet were fairly huge Residing royally in soft smooth slippers. Her hearty hands were gently rough Covered completely with calloused scabs. Her humongous hips I hardly noticed As they swayed and knocked things all about. Her wondrous waist was nicely narrow As thin as a railroad car on a rusty diet. Her haughty hair covered most of her head And lay limply, clinging to everything. But my favorite feature I have to admit Were those eagle eyes of different colors The right was red and the left was lilac And both loosely looked in opposite places. I met her in a bawdy bar after drinking More than I should ever consume. She looked like such a gracious goddess Until I saw her in the dawning day’s light. I slipped sneakily away around the corner As we came out the darkened door. Now when I dream of love, I must say, Her vision will surely keep me safely celibate. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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HARDENED HEARTS The older pretty people grow The more morbid they become. They lose love along the way. They die at last of hateful hearts. But from the moment they lose love They gain an awful ailing ache. This ailing ache hardens hearts, Encasing sensuous souls in stone Causing loveless lives lived alone Despairing of haunted hopes unborn The heavy hearts beat solo songs Until they suddenly stop -- No more to beat at all alone. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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THE MIGHTY OAK REVISITED I visualized that majestic oak tree With twilight darkening its every leaf. Squirrels played upon its branches. Acorns fell below its boughs. It has stood alone for many years; Adding rings to its stately trunk; Providing shade for young and old; Turning green with each new spring; Repeating the cycle every year. But tomorrow its era will finally end When the saw bites deeply through it. It will die an ever so swift death With little protest save a mighty groan. Initials in its bark still stand there In the space where it once lived. But only in my mind do these exist And only I remember this mighty tree. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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HOUSE OF THE COLLECTOR All are welcome within these walls Though few dare enter this dark door. And no one ever, ever dares to leave -- Not those to come, nor those before. These scarred walls tremble with inborn fear Dropping tears of blood onto the oozing floor. There are too many dead and too many dying For the collector to wander far from the door. The ceiling reverberates, hanging low While the dying moan a continual outpour. The nails in the rafters loosen their grip Having held for centuries numbering ten and four. Time and eternity, day and night Mean nothing within this house of gore. The collector's tired, his job never done He takes the souls forever and forever more. Eternal is life, abundant to all inside This house of the damned behind the dark door. And no one ever, ever dares to leave -- Not those to come, nor those before. They pace within the dark infinite rooms -- Pace and pace across the oozing floor. So many dead, so many dying, so many damned, Keep the collector busy uncluttering the door. The whole house trembles, seems to live, Sending souls below -- an infinite outpour. The collector takes and the collector counts, Doing his job for centuries numbering ten and four. The shovels lower and the shovels lift, Always sifting out the bones amid bloody gore. Moving them back, back, back further still, Moving and moving them forever and forever more. And though all are welcome within these walls Few ever dare enter this dark door. And no one ever, ever dares to leave Not those to come, nor those before. Copyright ©2000 Thomas Rutherford
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ETERNAL WARRIOR A Marine in full battle dress Trudges down the muddy, winding path Where birds once sang and flowers bloomed Filling the forest with their life. His blood-streaked eyes stare blindly; Not looking into the past Nor to some future time and place But straight ahead as if of glass. His hands hold the rifle that Has become an extension of his body Like arm, or hand, or foot, or leg-- It always does as his mind bids. His day is never over and his job Is never done at each day's end. He's walked this path for time eternal; And walks it still unto this day. The battles he no longer counts. The blood he cannot erase--it stains His clothes, his hands, his face, As he continues forever upon his way. Copyright ©2000 Thomas Rutherford
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WASTED LIFE Sitting by myself, sitting all alone Can't move, rusty wheels hold fast. No where to go, no one to see Nothing to do but dream of the past. A life of waste, a life of remorse Losing more with each and every day. It's almost here, the end is near Waiting for the end of my life's play. No one to grieve, no one to care Just a body waiting for the cold, empty grave. Only bones, flesh, old blood and hair No soul to pass, no will to be brave. Life passes ever outside my window Leaving me alone in the deep, deep dark. Men, women, children, going, going Birds sing, the sparrow, the wren, the lark. I can't move, the spoon draws near No time to eat, no time to sleep. No breath to draw, no heart to beat The diggers are digging, digging so deep. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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COUNT ON ME I hope the sun will always shine To warm and brighten up your day. And for the darkest of your nights I hope the moon will light your way. But when the sun cannot shine And the moon does not glow -- I'll always be there to comfort you That's what I really want you to know. So count on me to be there always To provide the things you need. Because to see you hurt or sad Truly makes my heart bleed. I've had enough of carefree days. I've lived the life of youth so wild. I've matured enough to know I want To live a life with you so mild. So for now, just let me share The happiness and sadness of your life. Because someday I really believe You will decide to become my wife. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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STREAM OF CONSCI0USNESS Words pouring forth, thoughts melting down Melding into one, making perfect sense While making no sense at all; Whirling, diving, flying forth, no single thought connects another as they spill forth From my brain to my lips In the darkness of my horror; Blood on the words, daggers In the thoughts that gave birth to these Tumbling, speeding, mutating words Words forgetting where they go As they seek to convey some Long since lost and forgotten meaning. Copyright ©2000 Thomas Rutherford
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WRONG ADVICE FOLLOWED GREATLY Always go alone and always learn For none can go where you have gone; And none can know what you have known. Never be someone less than yourself And allow the world to see your face. But keep your thoughts within their place. Never share your inmost self. Let not the world your visions see Not even while bowed upon bended knee. Live in the moment without a worry Because the past is past, the future ahead; And there is only now until you are dead. When Death extinguishes a life long lived The secrets you carried no longer exist, But are set free to drift for eternity. Copyright ©2000 Thomas Rutherford
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LIFE HAPPENED I climbed upon a flying steed in another Dimension to which I had fled. I rode this beast to save myself from The monstrosity of life that had reared its head. It loomed so large and blocked my way Preventing me from advancing where I desired To go with my career, my love, my life. Life happened in a dismal, down-heartening way. I recovered from many disasters in my quest To live the life that I thought I wanted to have. But life happened to grow to hugely And crushed my desire, my dreams to dust. I live in this dimension of the mind in which I have no soul, no conscience, no reality at all. Sometimes I imagine my hands bound up in One of life’s cumbersome white coats. At other times, I think I can see the world But there are lines that mar my vision as bars That hold prisoners within the prison walls. Then I return to my unreal dimension and smile. Copyright ©2003 Thomas Rutherford
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WHY Awkward moments. Quiet times. Adolescence These are the things we all must face As time takes its toll on our existence here. Only travel is eternal--not this earthly time. There is no final destination upon this earth. For every stop there is a new beginning. But time here always begins and always ends. Enjoyment. Laughter. Gladness. Goodness. These are the things in which we seldom take part. They occupy only the briefest of our short time here. We never truly appreciate what we might have had. Bitterness. Jealousy. Hatred. Bias. Prejudice. These are the things we spend most our time doing. They consume our precious time until it is wasted away. Leaving our earthly bounds with no trace of greatness. Birth. Life. Death. So short a time we have between beginning and end. But what we do have from Birth, until Death, is Life. So why do we waste this most precious of gifts? Copyright ©2000 Thomas Rutherford
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IS THIS TRUE LOVE? Encase your heart in hardest steel To protect it from each new pain. Let not your true feelings grow anew Until true love is upon your rein. Enjoy life and see the world Through learned eyes opened wide. Keep false love locked safely without Letting only the purest of love inside. Your heart can sometimes never tell The things your head can reason why. But listen to both and let your will Decide which direction you should try. Others will encourage and even warn Of every love you will ever feel. But your own judgment must decide If this is the love to melt the steel. Only true love gives what you need To make your life so very complete. So just be sure that's what you have Before you open your heart's steel suite. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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LONELINESS, MOONLIGHT, AND MIDNIGHT Loneliness is a state of mind When one is left all alone Company and laughter and friends Nowhere to be found Moonlight at midnight Nowhere to go Moonlight shining down No one to be found Moonlight, glowing, glowing Not a soul to confide in Midnight, moonlight, lonely night Sad, confused, depressed, all alone Where to go from here? Nowhere is the only answer Who to talk to now? No one is the only answer Who am I and where am I? No one and nowhere The eternal who and where Copyright ©2000 Thomas Rutherford
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THE UNDEAD Dark robes flowing upon the full-moon night. Sharp fangs glowing as he prepares to fight. Red blood showing after each vicious bite. Life forces growing ever distant in flight. The vampires fate is damned eternity. Never a mate to have with any certainty. Living to hate is his inevitability. Blood stained pate marks his ferocity. He takes winged flight after each sundown. Off to fight his ever immortal showdown. Bite after bite he converts each small town. Never losing sight of the maiden's sweet gown. A wooden stake will someday penetrate. Killing the slake he must always satiate. Knowing we forsake what we cannot relate. He therefore did make us retaliate. Copyright ©2000 Thomas Rutherford
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THE LONGER THEY LINGER The longer they linger the older they get. When time has drained their life force low They wither and falter and stumble about Becoming senile in a rambling sort of way Laughing to cry and crying to laugh. They mumble and scream and rant and rave. They wander the halls until they cannot Then linger in beds alone in their minds. No one visits and if by chance they do No one is able to know they were there. But the world outside goes on its way While the elderly wane so horribly away. The insanity resides not in their minds But in the actions of their offspring In condemning these warm and caring souls To finish their time here all alone. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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MIRROR IMAGE I see a mirror image Everywhere that I look. It throws my life back Into my face each time. It knows not my thoughts But my features it knows well. It is my private misery -- My lonely little hell. When I see lost love I see it twice each time. When I see a dreadful scene It is repeated by my mind. Now you may see these too I have no way to know. But if you do I hope You keep them to yourself. One hell is enough to suffer Without sharing yours with you. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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THE KILLER WITHIN The horrendous screams are etched forever In the gray matter where his past resides. The bloody mist clouds not the scene Where each gave up their final breath. He hunts, he stalks, he makes his move, And takes a trophy from each new kill. He savors each and every hateful moment While his victim's fear renews his strength. He is invisible to those around him Who just see the man he used to be. They cannot see the monster unleashed Nor the soul that feeds upon their lives. No profile fits his truthful self He is so beyond description now. He has killed so many victims that He no longer knows the total count. But the serial killer inside his head Is not the father of his one lone child. When the blood lust is sated He is normal once again until... Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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KILLER'S DIARY I have gone where none can follow To a deep dark place no one should seek. It holds hidden horrors all around. Such things of which I dare not speak. This putrid place is hard to find. To be so distant it lies so near. The journey there is hard to trace-- It’s more a state of mind induced by fear. I’ll never know how I wandered there While seeking to find my inner soul To cleanse the horrors I have seen Horrors so terrible, so black, even as coal. While serving in my country’s ranks I had taken many lives for pay. And if they had not crossed my path They might be living yet today. Now the terrors of this deep dark place Have induced in me a suicidal craze To cleanse this world of an unfit soul By killing this killer in a darkened place Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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SEX OR INTELLECT? If we could but substitute The act of sex for intellect Then this lowly world would be Peopled with the greatest genius Creating new things with each hour Until we had created a race of none-- Processing all that it desires To procreate the techno race. But since sex can never be Converted to intellectual cells, We continue to evolve slowly Until the day our race shall die-- Killed by our lusty sexual desire. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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THE TRINITY AND ME I am but just two of the famous three Spoken of down through the world's history. I am a father and yet I am a also a son-- But the ghost must wait till this life is done. I have played as a god throughout my life. Procreated with, and without, a wife. But the trinity I aspire to become Is not heresy as regarded by some. Merely an attempt to understand why The Almight created the world--you and I. Was it merely a lark, or some deeper plan That caused him to create a creature like man? A creature so arrogant, or so it would seem, That it thinks it can become the almighty supreme Capable of creating, curing, and killing most things. Always building, destroying, and dreaming, it sings. But back to the mystery my mind always flows-- Why can we never know all that he knows? Why this creature of the worst and the best? Why is our existence a continual task? Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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IMMORTAL TIME The rising sun always sets. Clouds roll in and dissipate. Life continues, always changing. Thousands of years have come and gone. Thousands more will do the same. Where once we were together, We are now so far apart. Leaves burst forth in early spring, To fade and die in the fall. The sea gulls flock along the shore. The ocean laps upon the beach. Man's fate is so uncertain. Is he but born to live for death? Yet time is the only true immortal, Rolling ever across the infinite years. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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THE PASSIVE VOTE We vote with utter disregard For politicians seeking fame We care not what they say And even less for what they do We go to the polls as sheep And elect so many names to office We know not the persons voted for Nor how they will serve But rest assured our best interest Is not on their list of goals So when we lose our country It will be due to how we vote. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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THE WEB OF DEATH Hanging, suspended, a spider's web, Spun with the utmost care. Hanging, suspended, a lovely trap, Glistening in the morning air. Eight legs tremble in anticipation, Hunger builds so very great. While unsuspecting victims fall Blindly to their final fate. Their sinister host brings painful death While draining their bodies dry. Siphoning life's last sustaining drops-- Lifeless husks fall into the hole. The spider repairs its beautiful snare Killing all within its deadly lair. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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ARMAGEDDON The times in which we live Are times unlike all the others. Morality is dying fast Giving birth to something new. An age of countless prosperity But lacking human decency. Respect means little to the masses Honesty has become passe. We are headed for mighty Armageddon But it's one we have made ourselves. Lives are spent seeking profit And prophets have seen their day World peace is but a long-sought dream And dreams have all died so long ago. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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SIMULTANEOUS EXISTENCE Two pictures of the same person taken at the exact same time But miles apart. Impossible? Maybe not. Possible? Not likely. Fact or fiction? You decide. Coexistence on different planes in simultaneous universes separated by time phases randomly managed. A body at rest is still a body. Molecules of matter arranged Thusly to create a living thing Which exists in the present. If such an unlikely thing Can be present here and now Does it not stand to reason That it can exist in many times. And if this argument can Stand up to all the tests, Then can a body be present In many times simultaneous? Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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ORANGE MIST OF DEATH Three circles represent The friends I once had. Three lines through those circles represent their deaths. When they were living We did all things together Until an argument destroyed All we felt for each other. Our last days were numbered From that day till this And counted as lonely Soldiers doing solitary time. Death came to the three And left me alive To contemplate the loss Of what we had once shared. My conscience is clear But I know that they died So that I may live to Fight the fight they lost. They fought for their country In a distant jungle abroad And waged their battles In chemical wastelands. They breathed the orange mists Of a death that took root And silently bid its time Before eating their flesh. Now they are dead and I am not. Their minds were destroyed by the Tumors that feasted painfully Inside their heads and lungs. We fought for each other During our year long tour Finally turning into the enemy Ourselves that we could not defeat. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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INFINITE LOGICAL REASONING Day is Life. Night is Death. Life is fulfillment of the purpose of the birth. Death is finalization of the purpose of living. Fulfillment is all those things That we do to make ourselves happy-- Fulfillment is therefore infinite. Finalization is all those things That we do with lasting consequences-- Finalization is therefore eternal. Infinite are the number of days That life procreates through birth To reach fulfillment throughout all time. Eternal are numberless nights That come at the death of each life To reach finalization throughout all time. Finality and Infinity are the Day and the Night representing Life and Death in the endless eons of this particular expanding universe. Eternity is Infinite. Infinity is Eternal. Finalization is fulfilling. Fulfillment is finalizing. Life is Death. Death is Life. Day is Night. Night is Day. Therefore, everything Is made from nothing. Everything is the same No matter the difference. Living. Dying. Fulfilled. Final. Infinite. Eternal. Many universes co-exist Simultaneously in the same place. Separated by nothing But separated just the same. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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HE SAW When the blind man saw What his friends could not They labeled him insane. They stopped coming by To see how he was doing Leaving him alone in the darkness. The whole world passed him by Leaving him low and lonely With just his memories for company. Just what was it that he saw That others could not view The very thing they all deny. It was a world in which race and sex And status and station and wealth Mattered not at all. A world in which all were the same And those who were not were More blind than the seeing impaired. A world where the blind man Was the only one who could truly see With eyes that could not see at all. A place where all could live The Utopian existence of dreams Of all throughout the years. Copyright ©1999 Thomas Rutherford
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