Intolerant Joy


Days gone past
Belief was simple
And necessary
And necessarily
We fell in line
The object
Of abject horror
Was our downfall
And the means
Of our salvation

Today it has changed
Belief is scorned
Those who believe
Need to be burned
Their sickness
Could contaminate us all
The masses indoctrinated
And inoculated
And yet we are all
The children of God

Should a war be fought
Against all war
Or does it make
A little more sense
To simply ignore
To simply live
In tolerance of intolerance
A sick belief that will
Eventually burn itself
From existence

Some would say
That is naiveté
At its finest
But these are the same
Folks who don’t believe
Don’t understand
And wouldn’t care to
Thier spiritual journey
Stolen long ago

That is the shame of it
And there is no blame for it
For to point one’s finger
In some kind of sick judgement
Some perverse exposé
Would be to lower yourself
Into the muck
The river of hate
Current so swift
You couldn’t help
But be swept away

Fill your heart
With an intolerant joy
And the beauty
Inherent in things
The change might take
One thousand years
But it will come
As long as you make
The change this very day
Love over Hate
Is the only way

New short stories available on Amazon via Five59 Publishing.


The Dream House


The Dream House, that was the place
Where first I pondered dream space
Vaulted ceilings induce the dream chakra
Into a state of overdrive, a state of ecstasy
Until finally it fills the room with the biggest dream you’ve ever had
Full high definition, ten eighty p, and eight hours long

Every night the Dream House stole sleep
Filled with piratical singers and questionable swingers
A gift and a curse to be visited so
Frequently falling and failing
But sometimes, and only sometimes
The dreamer would win the battle, would conquer the dream

But the Dream House didn’t give up without a fight
The dreams would return the very next night
And somehow, despite the norm for dreamers
Those in the Dream House would remember
Every single moment
With more clarity than even real life, the dreams burned into memory

The Dream House wore out those within
Smashing their psyche with lack of true sleep
And a deluge of unforgettable scenes
Somehow mocking the forgettable aspects of everyday life
The mundanity of the ordinary man
The battle could be won, but the war raged on

The Dream House was haunted, of that I am sure
The ceilings were nothing to do with its energy
Its palpable presence, infallible and never demure
No, something else was at fault
Another presence in play, and escape was not forthcoming
The Dream House a psychic jail for those unwary


New Short Stories Available on Amazon via Five59 Publishing.

559 Ways To Die, Available Now


The newest anthology from Five59 Publishing, 559 Ways To Die, is now available on Amazon in paperback and for your Kindle. Filled with 14 tales of murder, crime and death, 559 Ways To Die includes ‘A Stone Marker, Carved With His Name’ by Adam Bennett, a tale of the last gravedigger on Earth in a time when video grave markers have become ubiquitous, advertising is inescapable, and escape to Mars might be the only hope left for a man trapped in the nostalgia of the past.

Grab your copy today from Amazon via Five59 Publishing.