You’re running rounds in my dreams tonight

Like a top 40 tune I wish I could write
I need to make up a few
New memories that we
Could carry like tunes
To put us in harmony


For every reason I’ve been out of sight
I’ll keep writing up wrongs ’til things turn out right

And if that doesn’t repair

Why I wasn’t there

I’ll pack up my heart

To take it back to else-where


But isn’t that the way it’s always been

Always on my way out

When my heart’s wanting in

And haven’t we been through this all before

Might as well settle down here

At else-where’s back door


The very first time I looked in your eyes

I made you promises that turned into lies

And for whatever reason

Things got turned around

If I keep looking else-where

They’ll never be found


If I could make up for lost time, I would

How does one make a memory turn back into good

Is there some other way I

Can make it okay

I’ll forget about else-where

And this time I’ll stay

2012 David Brunoehler





To the Door

To the Door




It secretly pleased him to pay for his love

Cash in advance for a night

Discretely took chances he thought nothing of

Dashing as if out of sight


The day they released him a light from above

Flashed his old fancies away

Completely erased of them push came to shove

Crashing with out much to say,


Stranger things happen than this all the time

Sudden reversals of fate.

Dangers exist so mankind can survive

Changing the ways we relate


Take care when considering passions in life

One fantasy begs for one more

The reason sex offenders are running rife

We haven’t yet shown them the door!










© 2012 David Brunoehler

The Cracked Black Bic Pen

The Cracked Black Bic Pen

In his hand was a bleeding

Cracked black Bic pen

Right beside it, a notebook

He’d half written in

On the pages were song words

His heart longed to sing

As black ink stained a finger

That once wore a ring

Though the note book held pages

Of his unsung songs

That cracked black Bic pen

Withheld what went wrong

As the ink kept on bleeding

Across his cold hand

It provided a reading

Even I’d understand

We’re free to make choices,”

The ink started out,

Inside us are voices

We all think about.”

The thing to beware of

Is when they say,’Doubt’”

That’s when you get quiet

And they start to shout.”

As the story unfolded

I listened in awe

To this ink pen’s life lessons

From a dead poet’s paw

Learned the man lived in ‘maybes’

He could never decide

Last I heard he went crazy

Picking ties till he died

Not only did I learn

From his fatal flaw;

I learned from a cracked, black

Bleeding Bic Ballpoint

All the ins and the outpoints

About Karmic Law.’

A Note to all Poets

Who wish to do well

Don’t dangle in doubt

Heed no voice that yells

Keep writing new song words

And bring back ink wells

And remember the reason

You picked up that pen.

In truth it will free you…

In doubt; do you in

© 2012 David Brunoehler