The Next Great Epoch: The “New”

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I should be putting more work into what I’m attempting to do right now but, I can’t help but think existentially about what’s going on in the U.S. and the world,  trying to figure out how all the pieces fit together based on where it all came from and where it’s all going and blah blah blah.  What future scenarios are most likely to occur?  Just trying to figure things out.  How will things change?  Whatever.  

WILL life change significantly?  Change is inevitable.  Life will never be the same.  I think we need to face that fact.  Incremental circumstances create change that’s incremental.  Far flung circumstances bring great change.  Great change can be expected; the challenge is life threatening and we’ve never faced a similar threat before.

At this moment in time, life is an ‘Unknown Variable’.    

Life will never be the same.  The Modern Age we’ve lived in for all our lives is coming to a quiet end.  What’s interesting is that those of us Boomers who were born at the birth of the modern age who spent our youth growing up during the Golden Age of America 1950 – 1965 so too are WE slowly coming to OUR ends.  It’s as if our lives and the Modern Age have been inextricably linked from the beginning up until the present time.  

How beautiful that we lived from its birth through all the complex historical events beginning with the fifteen innocent years we lived in complete freedom.  We were privileged to have lived with the freedom to discover, to assuage a child’s lust for knowing the world and interacting with it, free to enjoy the pursuit with a level of comfort, unlike any generation of youth has ever known.  

I think it’s swell that the whole country is returning en masse to the only true place of refuge; the place where family lives.  What’s great is, we have no choice in the matter!  We can’t be for it or against it politically because it’s nature who has made the decision for us and I don’t think nature HAS a party affiliation. It’s more like a higher authority has declared, “Get your asses home and start all over again and this time, do it right!”  

My concern is, will the knowledge of that ‘golden age’ be passed on as a model for the future since, future generations will know little about America during its Golden Age and they will be called upon to make the creative changes that will lead us toward the next leap of faith.  

The next great epoch.  Or the late great planet earth?  

If they don’t know their history, how will they have any semblance of a ‘road map’ to lead them into the future?  

Wow!  Forced to face a new world built on family units, to pool resources and talents in order to get through the next couple months and move into the future.  A LOT can happen in two months and I expect a lot WILL since we’ve never been to this “place” before.  

Bottom line is, this could be the best thing that ever happened to family and country and maybe the world during during this so cared Modern Age, a fitting way to end the Modern and begin the New.  Maybe the whole span of the Modern Age was a run through so the same mistakes will not be made in the “New”.  

I look at it this way.  It was OUR actions that brought the virus into the world NOT through some cockamamy conspiracy rather, through deforestation; by invading the eco systems we are releasing countless pathogens into the world from where they’ve existed in stasis within their environment for tens of thousands if not millions of years, bringing them into contact with a world crowded with humans who have invaded the barriers between.  So it’s our job to deal with it and to deal with it right.  

We’ve forced these pathogens to interact with us by the decisions we’ve made.  But we’re not allowed to blame this on nature.  It’s human activities that have done the damage and humans who must pay the price or change our ways.  Either that or,  this virus will only be known as ‘The First”.  

We are at a crossroads of history.  We must evolve or go back to the old ways and invite more catastrophe to come our way.  Our eco systems can’t take much more.  They have already started to fight back.  It’s up to us to find creative solutions that enable us to live in partnership with nature and … with man.

Return to family means people will be forced to live life styles from a past age when all relationships were centered around the home; when this was the ‘norm’ in America as it was when we Boomers grew up during the Golden Age of America 1950 – 1965.  

The humble beginnings of the Modern Age streamed from the “small town ethos”, a kind of ‘mind sharing’ that can only happen in certain group settings but when it does, a kind of magic occurs that runs through lives much like the electrical currents of a social network except the mind sharing of the small town ethos exists in ‘real’ terms.

Maybe social networking needed to come into existence to fulfill the vacuum created when the small town ethos began disappearing. 

continuing …. maybe .,.. ks

The Day the Earth Stood Still

If you are visually or cognitively allergic to my more esoteric/abstract writing skip over this piece, take two aspirin but don’t call me in the morning. 

From the pristine air I’m finally breathing at the cottage the movie, “The Day the Earth Stood Still” emerged from the fog inside my mind I carried along on my 1,200 mile voyage away from the ‘real world’.  

Remember that movie? “The Day the Earth Stood Still”? In it, Michael Rennie portrays an “alien” being who emerges from a space ship that has landed in Washington, D.C. to give mankind one more chance to avoid annihilation .  

I see the character of Michael Rennie as a benign positive force trying to PERSUADE world leaders to work together so as to amend our ways or be destroyed if we make the wrong choices.  

On an abstract level I see the character of Michael Rennie giving world leaders the choice to live in harmony or be destroyed by a greater force … the force of division … if they don’t work together to amend their ways. 

Since for every positive there exists a negative I see D.T. as the negative force attempting to DISSUADE mankind from amending its ways by DIVIDING mankind into warring factions, thereby taking AWAY the choice to amend our self destructive ways.  

I’m NOT writing about an invasion of influenza. I’m writing about an invasion of thought. An attempt infect mankind’s thinking by the same sick drive for power that has infected the minds of mankind by tyrants skilled at manipulating the masses responsible for the deaths of millions upon millions of humans from the beginning of time.

Look around, as Michael Rennie encourages us to do. See the symptoms of the sickness already upon us, infecting us more each day; concentration camps within our national boundaries responsible for the deaths of hundreds including women and children, denial of hospitalization for people with terminal illness, arrest and imprisonment without due process after breaking and entering homes in the middle of the night, ripping families apart by forcibly removing fathers and mothers WITHIN SIGHT of their children justified by lies, always dividing; dividing parents from children, imprisonment of children, separation by social status sick people from the care they need to live, partnership with old friends and allies broken, murder, kidnapping, conspiracy, threats, hiding the truth, shouting out words of manipulation to further the cause of separation and the destruction it leaves in its path.  

This is the real virus that the alien Michael Rennie warned us about when he came to earth to give us a second chance; to amend our ways or suffer destruction.  

T’s sickness has transmitted itself into every person on the planet some to a greater extent than others but we ALL feel it within. His words and thoughts are the invasion of an ugly black virus that has spread to dangerous proportions. 

I revile this person who has sowed the seeds of our destruction; who has put this ugly, black, twisted virus inside of me. I wish I could puke the ugly black bile and the disgusting tape worm consuming who we are by words that have sown the seeds of our demise.  

But I don’t think it’s possible unless we all puke it out at the same time. 

I think It’s the choice Michael Rennie hoped the human race would make.

What’s In A

adorable baby baby feet beautiful

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

What’s In A?

Spent the day just giving 

giving giving money money money 

Getting food food and coffee.  

Part of the day I spent 

spending, speaking speeding soaking 

walking wet in the rain 

past 

endles endless rows of things.   

Things and things and things with 

different names 

every name a different thing every 

thing a different 

story.  

Never-ending names and names of things 

it seems names get made for 

every little thing a world of names that 

brings great things to my 

surprise  

describing things and what they do that 

I can’t even 

Remember.  

…..

Tell A Story: Tell It If You Can 

Tell the story if you can 

tell it tell it

Tell any story  

If you can 

tell the story 

tell me the story 

tell me If you 

Can …

I can tell it.

I can tell my story 

I can 

tell it when I can ‘cause 

I can tell it 

when I can! 

You bet I can! 

I can tell my story 

better than 

anyone can.  

…..

It Could Be Anyone’s Life 

They found they liked their bodies they 

liked their bodies they 

LOVED their bodies 

They loved each others bodies 

given getting gotten touching screwing 

all they can.

Joined in holy matronly malformity  

In the church speaking while 

speaking then speaking 

In return they 

told their future lies unspoken 

future truth that’s broken 

breaking breaking breaking 

future lives 

marking nine months to the day 

 baby’s life is on the way 

that very day 

born into 

the morning dark.    

Eating fingers, fingers twisting 

Twisting twisting fingers rapping 

rap rap 

Rapping at the door//

thinking, wondering if you please 

as night moves forward on  

the breeze 

moving moving playing playing touching 

loving locking flocking heaven’s verses versing 

curses comely searching touching 

nine moons to the day giving 

birth, born and born 

and born and born again and again 

each and every single day 

touching touching touching 

born each day until 

the very 

End.  

They’ve Stolen My Serenity!

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

Serenity … ! !

The Agony and the Ecstasy III

 

Wondering About the Glory 

One day during the golden hour at the end of the day mulling things over while feeding bread to the turtles I wondered, what will it be like to simply keep the gates open and let the water flow when the bladder wants it to flow all natural like?  

In other words, what will letting myself pee as soon as I feel the urge, without giving it a second thought,  be like?  Will it be liberating?  

The Third Leg

There’s a third element that fits into all these revelations I’ve been having.  

I can’t help but feel frustrated with everybody always being pissed off like you’re pissed off or I’m pissed off and she’s pissed off or he’s pissed at her and everybody’s pissed at somebody while some are pissed at everybody!  When this girl, the only intelligent person in the whole group, spoke out saying, “But don’t you realize?  It’s so much better to be pissed off than it is to be pissed on!”

 The room got quiet then everyone started clapping and agreed.  She really put everything into perspective for me.  In other words,  we should be thankful for what we have instead of lamenting what we DON’T have because often what you wish for is ten times worse than what we already HAVE.”  

A Similar Razzle 

That comment about being pissed off reminded me of a similar razzle that occurred one day when I had a fleeting conversation with this guy in new York way back in the mid seventies when I mentioned I dreaded having dinner with my in laws.  The guy got real serious, came a little closer and in the softest matter of fact tone looked around and said, ‘Let me give you some good advice.”  He looked around again, locked his eyes onto mine and said, ” It’s a lot better being with your in laws than it is being with your outlaws.” 

Boy howdy, did that ring a bell with me!    

continued …

The Agony and the Ecstasy II

 

 

 

continued …. “Gosh,” I realized.  “Despite the fact that she doesn’t have an enlarged prostate gland and I’ve never had the urge to commit murder we have a lot in common!”

Creative Genius

I compared and contrasted the motivations of the diaper clad, crazed astronaut with the agony I feel when I have to pee while speeding along the interstate at 85 mph trying to get from point A to point B without getting killed, put it all into a neat little package, mulled it over in my head for a couple weeks, discussed the situation with Jodi and made a decision.  

“Yes!” I thought.  Being an adventurous type I declared, “I’ll wear the damn Dependz and be a better person for it!  I’ll be a super hero .  I’ll be …  Dependz Man!”

Look, I don’t feel embarrassed about “coming out of the closet” as a diaper clad older dude because of the solid reasoning behind my decision.  And, like I’ve always said, “form follows function,” or to put another way if it’s not fixed don’t break it again.”  

I Have Choices! 

I mean, I DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS!  I’m not a doddering old incontinent fool Goshdarnit!  On the contrary I’m thinking about changing my name to Benjamin Button!  

Seriously, other than an abundance of titanium and ceramics at various ball and socket joint locations throughout my body I have no organ miscreants within me at all.

All systems are running smoothly.  Everything is a GO.  A-OK.  With the exception of …my bladder.  

continued …

The Agony and the Ecstasy

 

 

The Agony and the Ecstasy

The agony of suddenly having to pee with great intensity while cruising eighty five miles an hour on the interstate with no place to pee in sight, cannot be understated!

After a minute it hurts. Longer than a minute? It hurts bad.

The Eternal Battle

In case you’re wondering many of us men are victims of the eternal battle between the full bladder demanding to be emptied immediately if not sooner vs the sleepy bloated enlarged prostate gland supposedly no longer useful ignoring pleas from the bladder lazily refusing water’s passage.

It’s never easy having to suddenly pee when you’re on the road.   No matter where you are or what you’re doing, when it’s time to go you suddenly gotta go with every fibre in your body!

With meds you get relief once you find a place to go. Without meds, it doesn’t matter where you are since no matter how bad you have to go, a few golden drops may be all you’ll get.

Then, you know you’re screwed.

Homicidal Astronaut

Sometimes when you least expect them, brilliant solutions can pop into your head.

A couple weeks ago while working on the dock down there at Turtle Cove an idea popped into my head when for no reason I remembered the story about an astronaut woman a few years ago who figured, if she wore extra absorbent adult diapers she could drive non stop from point A to Point B, kill another woman and return so quickly that authorities would never suspect she could have been at the murder scene.

Her plan didn’t work. She didn’t kill the other woman. She made it back and forth in record time. But, she got arrested and lost her job as an astronaut.

Creativity At Work

Despite the absurdity, a creative force began stitching together the agony of having to pee during long distance journeys and the woman astronaut clad in super absorbent diapers intent on murdering the other woman.

“Gosh,” I realized. “Despite the fact that she doesn’t have an enlarged prostate gland and I’ve NEVER had the urge to commit murder we have a lot in common!”

continued …

What Is A Gandydancer?

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What Is A Gandydancer?

The piece below is a segment of a larger picture.

People I know with a railroad background have wondered what the railroad term Gandydancer pertains to?  There’s even a song about the gandydancers ball.

My grandfather’s name was Dietrich Sr.  This is a story about how I as a ten year old boy with his grandfather in ‘the box cars, learned what a gandydancer is.

Dietrich Sr. and the Grand Trunk

At the beginning of his career Dietrich Sr. had something to do with bridge building in some engineering capacity.

Later toward the end of his career, I went with him to the box cars where he investigated injuries or misconduct where the traveling gandydancers lived, 25 to 50 men sleeping in box cars, traveling place to place where their strength and manpower was needed. A rough bunch mostly immigrant workers finding their foothold in the new country and ‘no goods’.

I don’t know where the actual word “gandy’ came from I think it came from eastern Europe but I know what the term ‘gandydance’ means.

Dietrich Sr. told me the actual gandy ‘dance’ is the motion of 50 or more gandy’s each equipped with an iron bar with a dull point on the end, placed under the rails, pulling their bars on command, quick pulls in unison to re-align the rails after doing maintenance on the tracks replacing ties or rails, building crossings or working derailments.

From a distance their movements, seen through the shimmer of heat rising from the stone beds and fumes rising from the creosote in the ties and the the glare from the polished rails appear with a strange, shimmering snake like motion since there’s a split second delay from one man to the next pulling on their bars.  In other words, they don’t all pull at the same time.

This strange, shimmering, almost otherworldly motion is, according to Dietrich Sr. the gandy’s dance making them, the gandydancers!

Later that day I watched him interview some rough looking guy in the dining/kitchen box car about some fight the guy was in.. The rough looking guy kept looking at me like he resented my presence and wanted to kick my ass.

It was all very formal. Deac Sr. was straight forward with the questions at times pointed in his desire for the truth.

I had one big meal with them. Lots of meat and potatoes. Good food was one of the incentives for being a gandy in the first place. That and you could hide from the world.

It’s not a bad job if you’ve got no skills and are willing to work hard at different locations, if you don’t mind sleeping with a bunch of men who snore and fart in their sleep, immigrants who don’t speak English, making new lives for themselves and the ‘no goods’a bunch of foul mouthed drunks who talked about sex constantly like they were having a contest to see who could refer to it in the most vile terms possible.

More ..

Nature’s Life

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She looked with cold indifference 

at His efforts to teach us 

the connection between

our lives and

nature.

Bridge parties, the daily routines of life and of course 

her afternoon naps,

were the essential

components of Her

life.

He gave us the freedom to

explore the sandy beaches, 

the dunes, trout streams and 

The Great Lake where

I spent my days

submerged in glacial ice 

melted to

65 degree water for

hours at a time, running through

the woods exploring, or 

camped out alongside windbreaker trees  

stretched 3/4 of a mile along the shoreline 

in sleeping bags next to camp fire embers 

staring at the stars

through crystal clear skies blown clean by 

on shore winds  cold or

chili at times even during the summer.

fishing off the end of 

the Coast Guard dock 

stretched a hundred or so yards into 

the bay where

the “Amphibian” and smaller 

rescue boats hung inside the boat house at

the same place where

he learned to fish as a boy.

He taught us how to

fend for ourselves, to

catch food, to

make fire, cook outside, provide shelter 

if necessary.

He gave us opportunities for unique forms of thought patterns deeper sorts of problem solving more essential the world around shown wider in scope made more real; how to live impeccably in the natural world parallel to and inclusive of the confines of life in the everyday “real” world.  

One day,

temperatures in the ‘20s

the ground covered by

light wings drifting 

like feather’s down 

falling,

I followed his tracks

through

two feet of freshly fallen snow to 

a row of scrub pines bordering

the back side of sand

dunes running parallel to 

the lake where

left alone with

shelter, warmth and

food

in a world of 

muted silence 

wrapped inside a black and white shell

the ground rising

upward before me

I pondered without 

words or thought 

the timeless mystery surrounding me 

in a world of

liberation …

REMIND ME HOW TO DENY ANOTHER PERSON’S EXISTENCE

I realize there’s a better way to do something.

It feels good to figure something out, to solve a problem.  Comes the epiphany?! Bamm!  The light goes on!  You want to share the light of the discovery.  So you tell about your epiphany.

     The driving force behind an epiphany and the need to share is that you’ve made a connection that needed to be made or that created more awareness, more light, more memory, more connections.
     The spark is the ‘ah ha moment”.  It’s a brighter spark then the one that resulted when you remembered where you put the sugar.
     Realizations give extra light!
     When there’s EXTRA light there’s enough left over to share.  Sharing light is the best.  It’s the only requirement to love.  It can happen on the lowest level … a brief nod between two people at a four way stop … or the greatest display.
     Or, there can be light shared and darkness.  I feel like my innards are pulled out sometimes.  The light fails to sustain itself.  A candle in a corner of darkness sizzles to it’s extinguishment.
     Eager to share the light, I tell of the realization.  I see a look of perplexity.  The light from your eyes wanting to be received as a spectrum of light surrounding some beautiful thought that could be shared does NOT generate perplexity.  Light misses its mark falling into darkness.
     You WANT to share the light then see what form of light you’ll get in return.
     It’s the game two lovers play.  Badminton with lobs of thought conveyed by unusual spectrum.  If there’s laughter there’s socially accetable orgasm.
     The socially acceptable tool used to fend off the return of light was, in this case, a look of perplexity.  Light shared creating perplexity? Perplexity is the force field that won’t let the light get through.
     People have all kinds of reasons to keep the world external.  They may think they’re in love or loved, because they exhibit or display or accept the correct kind of behavior but won’t allow or don’t realize there’s no penetration on a personal level.
     People develop sophisticated ways to deny other  existence by exhibiting socially acceptable totally appropriate behavior that maintains distance.
     Words and gestures that don’t draw a person in by acknowledging who they are, what they’ve said.  Skirting around a response while maintaining ‘distance’ saying positive words banal but expected by the general populace since impersonality has risen in defense of a world that otherwise might be overwhelming?
     Or of course, if there’s pain below the surface that must be kept from being exposed to the world and we all have pain and we all keep the world at bay but some of us don’t realize we do this even though we don’t have pain because it’s the way we were taught but …..  what is life without real connection?  Two lights magnifying each other?
    These socially acceptable responses to a comment or thought are banal but required on a basic level but don’t contain statements that acknowledge the COMMENT, the thought behind the comment or the person who makes the comment.
     Has the word, ‘you’ been used?  Was there a follow up question after your statement which, would indicate the thoughts of the listener were captured by the thoughts of the speaker.
     This is one way to hide behind those words but, it’s another way to jab.  To hurt.  In fact, invariably
     After the attempt to share, when the light is not received by the ‘other’ and is in fact, denied … I feel deep sorrow that may last a brief second way down in the depths behind my sternum.  I feel alone.  I feel abused.  Like I’ve been slapped in the face.  Confused Disappointed.  Betrayed.
     This is just one example.  Conversations resemble broken fragments of thought and words, laundry lists, personal comments, transpiring necessary information all day day after day but, these exchanges can contain NOTHING of a personal nature.   … no recognition of who the person is they are anonymous beings saying the appropriate responses so that lines move on always lines even if they’re broken lines or lines yet to be constructed walking across the parking lot at walmart.
     To pay compliments is one of the most sincere sacred and easiest ways to acknowledge another person by finding their best thing then, commenting on it.  It’s saying, “I see you as a person who at this moment is special for this reason.”  It says, you are able to see that the other has done something well, that it has given pleasure and in return wants to give pleasure back.   recognizing that YOU have done it.
     Ironically, one can give compliments all day despite their disappearance into the well of bottomless words and thought where all unrecognized thought and feeling descends never to be seen again … Ironic?
     Frustrating to the ‘giver’, the one who yearns to see light taken in and returned it’s the sharing quality that means both people can experience a moment of illumination … smile and say … yeah … cool.
     Unfortunately, light given but not returned drains the life force.  It’s like,  if you’re prospecting for gold you’re investing a lot of energy NOT finding it but for a gram here or there that gives hope there will be more.  At what point does one stop prospecting and assume the character of ‘banality’ in return?  How awful, not to make connection!
Acknowledging people’s existence is what defines our essential ‘humanity’.  Giving light to another person and receiving it in return is the greatest gift as, it’s the only perpetual motion mechanism in the universe?!
     I give light all day in my personal life but, seldom get it back.  Under well defined situations there occasionally ARE exchanges.
     I try to create awareness by focusing on the aspects outside of myself worth paying attention to in the other person in my life that can be seen and returned at the moment then, as a memory can be returned to the ‘other’ later,  at the appropriate time.  A memory  recollected that MAGNIFIES, the power of the present if the light is allowed to be received without the banal, off-putting barriers that result in darkness.  How depressing.
     Memory is captured light that can be turned on at will to be used in the future.  It should be returned.  Is it returned?
     No.  Is it important?  Yes … but no.  Why?  Because, I don’t EXPECT to get something in return.  My only expectation is to keep throwing snowballs of light at the yaw of the hungry beast hoping some day to hit it’s mouth or eyes or deep into the recesses of its brain … if only for a moment …..

Gile Steele On Tape

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The Gile Steele Tapes; 12:15, Thursday
… She walked away from that maternal relationship with deep resentment for the way she was treated, unfairly, she was punished because she withstood the attacks on her self confidence, her self possession her intelligence.
 They became rivals and it was the only way she could defend herself.  They were her tools of battle.  They played their games overt and covert the old lady never really ‘lost’ and She never won but, she was as adversarial as a child can be without full scale abuse the result and anyway, their’s was more covert …. warfare.
What results is, firm imprinting on the purpose of life lived every day a war of wits and the knack for closing the door on black feelings as the closet or bedroom door were locked with her inside the dark where fears were meant to grow.
Maybe when we are under assault from any power we have to identify with the power of the power that threatens us even if we don’t use the same THRUST,  or for the same purpose, it becomes part of a person physically by constant imprint when those moments came to pass and those critical, nasty, intentionally hurtful feelings are in the air …. Seldom if ever were there tender words of kindness from a mother figure more to show how it’s done and how it feels.
And yet, she parlayed her upbringing by being an fantastic mother despite the lack of leadership along those lines.
I’m beginning to believe that the strongest motivator is the desire/need impulse or whatever to ‘compensate’ for the opposite of the things that plagued us when we were growing up developing self awareness … seeing ourselves as people for the first time though fucking skewed as hell because we were seeing ourselves  through the broken lens of our parents eyes.
Perhaps this realization deep below the surface is the driving force … the little voice that is determined to win that battle, discovering by steps and increments that, the energy that drives that desire is the propelling force toward acquiring more knowledge to move forward.  Using that energy energizes.  It feels so good.
About sharing your laughter?  I shouldn’t feel alone when I tell a funny story even if it doesn’t do much more than cause another person to smile.
I tell her I have a new look it’s wearing a baseball cap with the Camel cigarette logo.
Why is that funny?  It’s the irony of wearing a hat that promotes smoking multiplied by the fact that Camel is perceived as the strongest cigarette.
I laugh while presenting the idea.  The laughter that’s generated brings energy to people rescuing them from the lonely doldrums.
LONELY DOLDRUMS … Who WAS that guy wearing the Camel hat?
She doesn’t see the irony.  I make an analogy to the Lone Ranger and “Who Was That Man Wearing the Camel Hat?”
It’s easy to deny the existence of another person when they tell you a story they think is funny.  We smile and listen and make remark to acknowledge the humor.
If you don’t laugh it’s as if the words didn’t exist.  She tells me to leave her alone before I’m finished telling the story.  There’s no laughter.  No sharing.  In essence, nothing you’ve said, or done has made a personal impact.
Two people laughing means, you’ve penetrated the personal barrier on a highly personal level even when it happens with a perfect stranger.  Sharing laughter is the highest form of ‘connection’.  Laughter is the bodies release of tension.  The relief of feeling safe.
It’s feeling safe with another person or a whole bunch of people.
I tell her I’m finally getting a haircut at ten thirty.  The reply, ‘’Aren’t you lucky.’’ I respond with humor, “No, I’m the lucky one, you’ve had at least two haircuts during the time I’ve had none.’’
She turns and with resentment attempts to disprove my claim.
I raise my hands!  It’s supposed to be funny!
She turns, without a word and walks away.  Not a word about me personally .  My long, unkempt hair doesn’t exist.
Gile Steele

Hideous Nature, Life

Unknown-1

Hideous nature,

life …

Ghastly in its death bed/its beseiging compass

run its course.

Bewildering with its struggles/

writhing in its pain/

desire seeking fire/rifting

terrorism’s claim.

Severed thinking/

thoughts of creepy crawlies/

struggling through night

against

all reasoning.

There’ll be no full moon tonight to guide

the single masted ship

sailing saw tooth tiger’s biting cold/

forces wrought by ghastly winds

likely to prevail, tonight.

Tossed about by nigh time breezes blowing/

dark clouds racing toward

every horizon filling every void

every which way/all shades of gray/

lashing tempest breezes

blowing light’s deepest freezes into

nascent; sadness into dreamer’s hearts

with misery’s delight.

Hideous nature,

life.

The Gile Steele Tapes

The Further Adventures of Gile Steele; The Man Wearing A Camel Hat

images-4

Who WAS that man in the Camel hat?

 

Interview: 12/18/18 TGI Fridays

So, I guess it was a couple hours ago.  I was waiting on that table in the corner and over to my left was this guy with all the looks of a typical older guy, white haired with one of those goatees every man over fifty seems to have to have like it’s some kind of requirement that if you are a cool older dude you have white chin hairs! .. ha ha ha .

He scared me at first because I couldn’t figure him out.  He was definitely different.

So I’m talking with the customer about the shrimp on the menu and she said something funny and I’m laughing when out of the corner of my eye I see this guy … this man … signaling to me like he’s lost at sea.

I glance up and my eyes meet his and they’re pleading eyes really big and he’s pounding the palm of his hand against an imaginary ketchup bottle like it’s a HUGE ketchup bottle, kind of ridiculous looking.  He does these ketchup bottle moves then gets carried away and it looks like he’s pumping ketchup through one of those plunger type squirt guns you use in the pool.  

He’s either got a grin on his face or he’s looking like he’s pleading with me for ketchup but he looks serious and deadpan at the same time.

I know right away he wants ketchup!  Before I even nod my head he’s giving me the thumbs up and I’m so surprised because originally I was kind of afraid of him but now I realize he’s just this non obtrusive guy who doesn’t look like he could hurt a flea. I forget all about the ketchup because Matt took them their ketchup but, later when I walk past their table he collars me and he wants to talk about ketchup so we’re talking real close like our faces are two or three feet away from each other having this mock serious discussion about ketchup and I don’t know what he wants from me so I just play along because it’s fun sooo … it’s obvious he’s “putting me on” about the whole ketchup thing. 

He tells me he’s a super hero whose name is Ketchupman.  He asks me if I want to know what his super power is and it’s that and he can tell when people need ketchup before they even KNOW they want ketchup so can be there in a heartbeat.  This is so ridiculous but it’s funny because, whoever heard of a super hero named Ketchupman?

I ask why he didn’t have any ketchup on him back a little while ago and he tells me it’s a long story that he’s not feeling well these days and I say maybe you’re sick and you should see a doctor and he just fires right back like he already knew twhat I was gonna say “Yeah, I think it’s time to start taking medication.”  Which seemed a funny ass thing to say at the moment because we both gave each other that ‘look’ … 

His eyes follow me as I have to walk away but, we are both laughing because of the …. insanity of the conversation, and I have to keep walking to my table but I can’t stop laughing.   For some reason it’s the funniest thing.

And it was so funny to be with somebody who’s funny like that and … maybe, unconventional I guess you’d say.  I just can’t remember ever just …. ‘bungling’ like that.  

“Wasn’t that the guy with the camel hat?” 

So I say, “I don’t know I didn’t see no camel hat.” 

We’re both heading out the door when we run into Sharon.  

“Hey you guys,” she says.  “Who was that man wearing the camel hat?” .  

Gile Steele; The Man Wearing the Camel Hat

Crane’s Obit

continued … At precisely the same moment the explosion rocks my world I witness the most amazing sight I’ve  ever seen.  

images

Inanimate 

I need to look more closely at the bird to satisfy my curiosity about what I had seen or, not seen.

I walk toward the mound of gray feathers where the bird once stood. I search for the bird.  Strangely enough, I have a hard time distinguishing the bird from it’s surroundings.  

It’s as if the bird has simply disappeared.  Gravity simply took back what was its right to reclaim.  

Its head and beak in profile lie flat against the sand, the black iris I looked into less than an hour ago when sensing its awareness, covered with an opaque film now, its lifeless eye and head and beak and neck inanimate objects attached to a mound of gray feathers lying flat, a few of the shorter feathers lifting in the breeze, like they’re holding onto some memory.  The object of their lives, lies flat against the sand the absorption process having already begun returning what’s left of my friend the crane, to the earth.

I still ponder the event.  When Jake fired the shot that rocked my world I had no idea that the bird would simply disappear. 

That’s what I saw! And that’s what I take away from the experience.  Death.  It’s when life disappears!

WHERE LIFE GOES by kurt struble

Where it goes is 

EVERYONE’S 

guess!!

I suppose  

I don’t know 

where life goes but, 

it’s got to go 

somewhere don’t you guess?

I’d hate to think it just 

comes and goes with nowhere else to go 

each life a tiny pebble and so it goes,

dropped into 

the vast infinite depths of 

space

within the 

infinite sea of 

Cosmos ! 

Seems like it’s oughta be something better than that!!!

To Kill/An Oath

We should participate to the least extent when it comes to stealing other beings lives away … human or beast.  It’s best to let nature take care of herself in that regard without our interference.  

That’s why I thought Jake and Donna’s decision to end the bird’s life was adult thinking at its worst.  

A little while later,  while Donna cooks hamburgers on the gas stove inside the cottage Jake naps in his big easy chair the afternoon Detroit News crumpled at the side of his chair.  I’m still looking down at my friend the crane.   Finally, I rouse myself from these complex new thoughts about life and death that have entered my mind.  Turning away from the crane I walk toward the cottage, then stop. 

I turn, and while looking back at the crane I make a solemn oath to myself that I will never grow up and and become an adult.  

And do you know what?  

I never do.                                   

The Crane Continues IV

images

The Verdict 

continued ….. I hate them for saying that.  Who are they to decide whether another living thing should live or die?  

They look at each other then back at me.  Without saying a word I know the verdict. 

I look at the crane, its head feathers tousled by an on shore breeze remembering the moment I saw its head above the cat tails such a short while ago.  So much had happened during that brief span of time.

Then I have an idea!  I open my mouth to tell them I could take the crane back to the swale where I found it so it can die in peace but, it’s too late.  Jake is already more than halfway to the curve.

Waiting for Death

I follow Jake to his house where I sit hunched over on an old wooden bench made from two tree stumps and a thick board facing eastward toward the lake, waiting for Jake to emerge from his house not knowing what to expect.

Halfway between where I sit and the the top of the rise at the far end of the lane, the crane stands motionless on one spindly leg, the left side of it’s body in profile it’s long neck and beak sharply defined.  

The lake appears as a grayish blue ribbon between the top of the dune at the end of the lane and the pale blue afternoon sky reflecting off the horizon line.“

I’m wondering if the crane was aware of my presence back when I stared into its unblinking eye thinking I had seen a flicker of awareness?  Had we really made a connection back in the swale where Gray had made her discovery?

The crane seems lifeless now almost like a statue. Maybe I was imagining things.

I hear Jake approach.

Jake’s Gun

The double barrels of Jake’s shotgun appear pointing skyward to my left.  Jake lowers the gun barrels so that they’re pointing at the ground while, with his thumb against the locking lever he jerks up sharply. The barrels, one on top of the other crack open.

Jake cradles the open shotgun against the left side of his body.  I see into the black holes of the ‘over and under’ shotgun barrels waiting to be loaded with the fat red shells Jake holds in his right hand.

With one continuous motion, Jake’s thumb press the two shells into their chambers then, pulls up while pushing down at the same time locking the double barrels into place. 

The barrels of the shotgun move upward disappearing from my field of vision as I continue to stare at the bird its head feathers ruffling in the breeze as I had seen them do back in the swale after Gray’s discovery brought us together.

Red Feathers 

I can’t take my eyes off of those dancing feathers it feels like I’m in two places at the same time.

In some strange way maybe those feathers are acknowledgement that, there HAD been a connection between us. Things can be funny like that sometimes can’t they?

The air is still.. I’m not breathing.  

Unable to move I feel frozen in place and time.  

The only sound? Deadly silence when, without warning an explosion lifts me off my seat!.  I’m falling over backward but manage to regain my balance.  

At precisely the same moment the explosion rocks my world I witness the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen.  

continued …. Inanimate 

 

The Crane Part III

images

Lowering the Crane 

I lower the big crane onto the sand in the open field across from the cottage.  The instant its feet touch the ground its head drops back into the S position.

Before running around to the back, I stop and look into its eye one more time.  I see no flicker of awareness.  Instead, the same blank stare I saw when I first looked into its eye when?  Was it less than an hour ago??

So many experiences crammed into such a short period of time!

I run to the back of the cottage where I tell Donna about the big bird. I tell her how beautiful it is.  “Maybe it’s sick,” I tell her, “But, we can feed it frogs, nurse it back to health like you did with the baby squirrels.”

I run around the side of the cottage, anxious to get back to the crane.  Halfway there, I turn and look behind.  Donna stands motionless, her mouth agape, staring at the crane.  .

She Strokes Its Neck

To reassure her I stand next to the crane, lightly touching its back. 

The crane opens its eyes unfurls its long neck, while slowly turning its head left to right before staring straight ahead, motionless.  

Unable to resist Donna caresses its long neck with the back of her hand, speaking to it in low tones, while asking me stupid questions like, did the bird act like it was sick? 

Jake Willis 

I sense her feelings are warming to the subject so, I say to her. “‘Well Jeez, I don’t know mom.  I’ve never met a sick bird before.” Her smile is soft … and caring.  

Jake Willis, the old guy living on the opposite side of the curve three houses west appears out of nowhere.  We become a group of three thinking indecision. 

Jake isn’t saying much.  He squints a little staring at the crane his thumb and index finger moving along his chin line, in deep thought.  

Donna repeats her concern that the bird could be sick only this time, she looks to Jake for confirmation.

Jake asks me if the bird tried to stab me in the eye.  I just stare at him.

They insist the bird could have blinded me.  They tell me the bird is too sick to live. 

The Verdict 

I hate them for saying that.  Who are they to decide whether another living thing should live or die?  

They look at each other then back at me.  Without saying a word I knew the verdict. 

I look at the crane, its head feathers tousled by an on shore breeze.remembering the moment I saw its head above the cat tails such a short while ago.  

Then I have an idea!  I open my mouth to tell them I could take the crane back to the swale where I found it so it can die in peace.  Alas!  It’s too late.  Jake is already more than halfway to the curve.

Next: Waiting For Death

Constructing the Crane: It’s Alive, It Has Awareness!

images

continued ….. its wings, so large that they stretch the length of its entire body from its breastbone to the shorter thin feathers on the backside, it’s feathers lying next to each other, slightly overlapped when not in use, like a tightly louvered fan pointing downward while standing.

In Flight

I picture its wings in flight the shorter round feathers at the back edge vibrating or fluttering through the air like the sensitive fingers of a pianist each in tune with the incremental movements needed to stabilize and direct the strength it takes to create forward thrust, their giant wings beating downward, pulling themselves upward or in graceful flight gliding through the sky two different parts of its body telling it what to do the breastbone and the long tail feathers telling it to rise up and up effortlessly higher and higher flying free over clouds of air they see, that we can only imagine.  

 I creep forward cautiously until we stand next to each other.  I sense a strangeness about its lack of movement, as if it’s in a trance. 

Crane’s Eye/Seeking Awareness 

I look closely into its eye, the iris a thin orange/blood red ribbon surrounding the the pupil so large it nearly fills the entire eye socket, a dark black pool without a flicker of life.

While looking into its eye, I think how great it would be to see some sense of awareness.  Something that would tell me the crane isn’t dead or dying when, suddenly it breaks out of its trance.

It’s pupil flickers, a spark of sunlight reflects off of the surface of the black pool.  The iris contracts, the dark pool grows smaller until it finds a focal point.

I see its eye tracking from place to place over my face feeling bewildered perhaps by my curious movements, the soft shapes and colors of my face, the black pool of my awareness filling his awareness of sights so different from its everyday world gliding high, looking down at ponds and streams, wading through water searching always searching to satisfy the hunger that gives life meaning.  The desire to live.

It’s Alive, It Has Awareness

Suddenly I know its alive!   It has awareness.  I feel a link between our searching ever curious minds.

continued … 

I Guess It’s Just What You Believe …..

Don’t blame me, I can’t get this post to show double spaces between the paragraphs.  I think it looks terrible but … whaddya gonna do?  
Of course I have friends on Facebook!  We share the past like, we’re brothers and sisters.
So, one of my Facebook sisters wrote this piece as a comment to someone about some sheets that were advertised to help people sleep better.
Since I’m from a small town I’m aware that topics like these can become the focus of some pretty interesting conversations and points of view.
When I first read her comment I didn’t know what she was referring to with these sheets.  But I thought what she wrote was hilarious.  I tried to make up a conversation whereby I’d make a statement to fit what she had written … but I couldn’t do it.
So I decided to let it alone and post it as I first discovered it like … a little jewell.
The whole piece is so insanely funny and sweet and innocent and honest that I couldn’t help but want to share it. Maybe I’m the only person who feels this way in the whole world!  Still, I didn’t care.  I hope there are a few who enjoy it for what it is.
I told Karen I’d give her credit for writing it but in my haste to just get it posted yesterday I didn’t include her name.  I thought maybe there was a married name to go with her maiden name.
So, may I present from a “sister” of mine from the little town of Durand, Michigan the railroad center of the state this piece I titled:
I Guess It’s Just What You Believe In To Help You Sleep
By Karen VanKuren
…  I think this is just a ploy to buy their sheets.  There are tons of reasons why people don’t sleep good at night.  It all depends on the person.  
I have finally found that if I turn off the tv at night,,, I don’t have something in the background to wake me while sleeping.. I now sleep all night (except for having to pee 3 times during the night,, haha),,, but the pitch black does cause your body to produce more melatonin…
I also like my bedroom cool and I’ve been sleeping all night for about a year now since I changed my ways…. Come daylight,, I put a fuzzy thick sock over my eyes also.. The darker it is,, the deeper sleep I get..
I was wearing an eye mask,, but the thing that goes around my head over my hair was breaking my hair off after a while and I had a whole new hairdo for a while till it all grew out again,,, so now I just put the thick, soft, furry sock over my yes..
Now as far as what they said about Alzheimer’s and sleep,, I believe,, but (I’m) not so sure about those sheets…. :) Just like the pillow guy.. I have friends that bought them and love them,, and friends that hate them….
Just my opinion but, I guess it’s just what you believe in to help you sleep.
****
Right on, Karen! Right on ….. !

The Tragedy

The Tragedy

Dragged along on their journey of repentance after the tragedy not kicking and screaming but depressed about losing life long friends to a new world, we ricocheted through time and space to the four corners then home again to where it all began before, hoping to put pieces back together that would never fit together again. 

It all started the summer Deac and Donna partied almost every weekend with three other couples on the grass along the west side of Jim and Janey’s house, one of those big two story mission style houses with three dormer windows looking down on the front sidewalk, a wide front porch five or six steps up from the sidewalk, a slender Roman column at porch level supporting the front left corner of the second floor, probably build during the 1930s it filled an entire corner lot front to back and played an important role in the tragedy from beginning to end. 

During their get togethers I roamed around on my bicycle playing with kids who lived in that neighborhood playing catch in the street or football on the grass as long as we were careful not to throw any passes into their booze bucket.     

THEIR PARTIES

Their parties followed a routine that never varied.  The men played poker, gathered around or hunched over a card table at the back half of the lot next to the house, red, white and blue poker chips scattered about the middle of the table, neat piles of chips stacked according to their value in front of each player while drinking Strohs or Blatz or Pabst Blue Ribbon beer from metal cans, two holes punched at the top of each can with a ‘church key’ hung from the handle of a galvanized tub full of beer and ice beneath a card table holding every type of booze and mix you could think of. 

The women gathered in the kitchen or sat on aluminum chairs in a circle on the grass smoking, drinking and laughing not far from the men who guffawed, teased each other or were serious depending on how much money was in the pot. 

Next:  Some Janey and Donna. 

The Further Adventures of Gile Steele

Further Adventures of Gile Steele

So, there he was at the hospital exactly a year later at the same time, same place having the same procedure performed, by the same doctor, in the same room, next to the nurse’s station where a year earlier several factors came together in the middle of the night causing  an unexpected event to occur after his nurse gave him a tiny pain pill to alleviate the fiercest, most relentless pain of his life … then told him the next little pill would NOT be due for another four hours … (four fucking hours?)!  What was he to do?

After the nurse left his room he thought about what had just happened then, in a drug and pain induced brain fog pulled the tubes from his left arm and, using the food cart as a walker made a half assed attempt to escape the hospital for some unknown reason.

From that point forward the “real” world fell away was rearranged, reconstructed and put back together again when  the strange figure of a man appeared moving down a darkened hallway away from the nurses station, at two a.m. looking very determined, pushing a food cart, wearing black shorts,  t-shirt and a pair of white TED hose, where he stopped and was seen telling two nurses, a CNA, a security guy (with arms crossed over golfing shirt … NOT proving that he was a bad ass),  that he had every right to leave the hospital if he wanted to.

Soon after the exchange he returned to his room and fell asleep on a lounger that gave great comfort even though it didn’t take the pain away, after the charge nurse downstairs (an Air Force Academy graduate) convinced him it would be better if he DID return to his room.

And so, he did.

As to the significance of the occasion? He told me, “When an unexpected event occurs, you get startled out of your senses and if you’re lucky when this happens, unusual forces from all over the place join together, making all kinds of sparks and new connections and shit that gyrates, that sends light out crossing other paths, pinging, making, striking all colors never seen, crossing, drawn from people normally grazing grass turned brown, bored, lonely jolted awake by something worth seeing having never seen before!”

I loved the way he described it.

“Most of the time we steer ourselves along on rigidly separate flight paths,” he said.

“We are all far flung variables of differing spectrum with varying degrees of heat that would NEVER have crossed paths, becoming heat/light broken/arcing/tapping new rhythms, twisting smoke like colors never seen before, sparks and brief waves of light thrown into the void of all their dark spaces, the light of “being” allowed to exist if but for a moment, during the event that ends with people usually returning to their grazing.”

“They go back to their separate flight paths but with fundamental change.  Maybe startlingly singular unexpected conflagrations of attraction coming together such as these, reach into our genome level based on intensity,  the genome makes a recording of the event using stripes and numbers, the recordings are a measure of intensity.  They’re probably color coded constantly building, writing their own individual formulas, reflections of time and light twisting, building, building intent to reach some point in time to ‘build out’, anxious to accomplish the task or just doing what’s necessary to move about?”

“A recording of events totaling itself within the endless array of neural connections it has been branching off and growing,  we see evolution as a result.”

I must have looked perplexed so he explained, “Everybody every day has experiences that impact and startle them awake, that affect them on a fundamental level.  A split second after surprise comes the relief of being safe.  We laugh in relief that we are still alive.  People love to be scared at least momentarily.  It’s what we call ”funny” hahaha” … it’s a part of the primal instinct not to get eaten called, self preservation.”

“War is the most powerful experience bringing about change. Self preservation reduced to it’s fundamental opposition, boiled down to black hole level.  But war is no laughing matter.”

He loved the absurd humor of these startling, suddenly wide awake situations producing laughter in relief, the sight of people’s faces,  the startled first time behavior, the wide eyed, surprised looks, a brief return to childhood face, a re-creation of the 16 year old smile, faces dripping smooth then frozen in time with white teeth and sparkling eyes, adding color, filling in a few of the voids within,  awareness boiled down,  distilled and rendered into pure unadulterated laughter.”

He joked, “The opposite of war?   Haha ha ha ha …!”

It’s Ironic

Something funny transpired today 

between my nurse practitioner Matt 

and Me after our 

consultation.  

He ended our visit saying,

“These are things you have to do when 

you start getting 

older,” and so

we had touched on 

the subject of

Life. 

“Men don’t live as long as women you know. “ 

“I know,” one of us said,

“It’s the payback they get for 

bringing babies into 

the world.”

(and then)

“Oh man, you mean they get to live in this shitty world a little longer?”

To wit, it was said,

“The high point of their lives is when the men in their lives are gone.  Way before then, men can be more than just a nuisance. “  

The “other” said, “Much more than a nuisance man!!

Many if not all of us will be blabbering fools by that stage! “

(then)

“Idiots even!!……no wait……….. “What was I saying??

“It’s ironic ..”

Hideous Nature, Life

Hideous nature,

life …

Ghastly in its death bed/its beseiging compass

run its course.

Bewildering with its struggles/

writhing in its pain/

desire seeking fire/rifting 

terrorism’s claim.  

Severed thinking/

thoughts of creepy crawlies/

struggling through fright’s night  

against

all reasoning.

There’ll be no full moon tonight to guide

the single masted ship 

sailing saw tooth tiger’s biting cold/

forces wrought by ghastly winds

likely to prevail.

Tossed about by night time breezes blowing/

dark clouds racing toward

every horizon filling every void

every which way/all shades of gray/

lashing tempest breezes 

blowing light’s deepest freezes into

nascent; sadness into dreamer’s hearts

with misery’s delight …………

Hideous nature,

life.

For tribalmysticstories: A Tribal Mystic Story; Poem For My Father

  • – Poem For My Father –

One day he took me to a copse of trees 

where we sat under a canopy of 

newly formed leaves  

above us a clear blue sky 

where he gave perspectives to me

different from anything I had 

learned.  

Thoughts from the other side of

what we think we know.

How wind and leaves 

are not separate forces rather 

part of one single entity

connected to an infinity 

of larger and larger wholeness

stretching outward from 

the air we breathe,

beyond heat and light 

from the sun then, 

further into space and time until  

I saw myself in a world 

quite different than my own,

a world I’d never seen before, 

of single limitless form.  

He drew my attention to 

the random movements of 

the leaves

rising and falling, relentlessly 

shooting ‘round and ‘round,

limbs branches leaves and needles 

the grasses and saplings below 

touching one another 

sharing unique thought patterns 

not unlike the synapses 

of our brains though 

infinitely more complex,

not confined by 

the craniums of our skulls,

gathering awareness,

from earth and sky,

the mysteries of the world 

above and below spoken to them

content to accept all that is true

without conscious reflection.  

“Trees are the supreme creation of life along the continuum of awareness, free from all bonds, able to gather all knowledge from earth and sky and share with one another.”

I listened and within 

the silence of my mind 

heard leaves and limbs 

whispering to one another,

their voices rising and falling 

in concert with 

the wind, 

it seemed I was watching  

a playground of laughing children. 

He told me all root bound life 

the trees and even the grasses reach 

the tendrils of their minds, their 

roots, 

into the planet where they feel 

the living vibrations of the earth and glimpse 

the secrets of life

“They know the stuff we struggle to understand.” he said.  “From the smallest particles outward, one long strip of awareness from where they are rooted, to the edge of the horizon and beyond, while we scurry about like ants grabbing pieces of sticks or crumbs of knowledge thinking how clever we are.’’

Without Love

Without Love

… we make our way across
the frozen tundra of
our hopeful desires

unaware that beauty rests
just below the surface of
our painful hearts;

a streak of light unseen
nestled within each throb of hurt
the light of hope

the knowledge that Love exists
only were it not for
the pain that comes with it,

verification of Love’s existence
its very presence the other half needed
to complete the whole,

darkness and light
giving form to our illusions
the clarity to continue unfettered

the price we pay for knowledge of truth?
the dark pain we feel
the price we pay to find life’s meaning.

We walk into the fuel can
of our hearts unknowing
the air stifling and flammable

pock marked faces
the scars of infidelity
the permanance of death

the knowledge of wasted time
the loss of hope
the bitter taste of lost love,

the random scars of life and love
all beauty and all pain

giving meaning to all consuming desire
beautiful with lust or anger
the call of bliss and freedom

the prisons of our minds
the sight of everything good given meaning

yet steeped in painful search along the way

the choices that we make
the human condition;

Are they real or an illusion?

Without love/life has no meaning.
Without pain/there can be no love.

 

FaKakda fakakda

Heard today downtown: “Fakakda this fakakda folker spoiling far a pongha fakakda, the fakakda fun a Yiddisha fakakda? that’s me!  I’m the number one fakakda fakakda best fakakda there is by far! Fakakda Me! Wooh woohwhoospuke spoof woof …. Oye veigh …. so

If you don’t think this is funny then I probably need to see a psychiatrist.  This definitely proves that stupid is funny which figures since, I’m the stupidest guy I know! oy .

Living most of my life within the Jewish culture taught me a very funny word and it popped into my head today … fakakda!  and I laughed.  So I scrambled around for something to write on when I realized the computer was on.  I had a V8 moment without the can!

So, I let my fingers do the walking through the sound within my brain.  Wanting to put just a LITTLE humanity into this ridiculous tirade of words I threw in the “Me” aspect … so fucking dumb …then, I had to immerse myself within the word world of “Me” (wherever that is ) and it needed to be in lock step with rest of this … I won’t say ..

See it’s all about rhythm to me.  Make the words skip across the page like flat skipped stones thrown across the water.  I may or may not know how to do this. But I have respect for what it is and how it feels to me!

To immerse yourself in the words is like crawling inside another world, stupid and asinine as often they are and I can be.   Really!  You didn’t know?   ok . bye .k

Where’s My Passport? Look Under the Underwear You Idiot!

I was conflicted.  Should I return the money or go on a spending spree?

I thought about going to Brazil or Paraguay or even Chechnia but, I couldn’t find my freeking passport!

I looked all over the place!

I got so tired of looking I said, “Screw it!  I’ll stay home and watch the Ali Foreman fight on T.V.!”

The fight was cancelled which really pissed me off.  But, I found a Looney Tunes cartoon festival which was even better.

I wasn’t two minutes into the first Woody Woodpecker cartoon when the door bell rang.

Two guys told me they were from the IRS.  They asked me if i knew a certain woman on the 5th floor.

I told them I did then, “Whew! I thought you were looking for me!”

They started asking me questions.  They said they liked me and everything but they had to take me to headquarters for processing!

The younger guy on the left smiled, “It won’t take long.”  The older guy on the right stared hard at me his eyes slightly squinted, a left to right movement of his head barely visible.

I asked if I could take a few things with me.

The guy on the right said, “No way!‘’

The younger guy smiled and said, ‘’Why not?”

The older guy said,”Well, OK.  But make it snappy!  We haven’t got all day!’’

I grabbed my Detroit Tigers souvenir program (the year they beat St. Louis for the world series), my favorite t-shirt and an extra pair of jeans.

That’s when i discovered my passport!

“Oh shit!” I thought.  “There’s my frickin’ passport!! Under my underwear where I put it for safe keeping!”

After locking the apartment door (as we were leaving)  I said, “What about the woman on the fifth floor?’’

They looked at each other then back at me.

The older agent who stared hard at me smiled and said,  “She’s an IRS agent.  We were meeting her for lunch!’’

The younger guy who earlier had smiled barely shook his head from side to side his eyes piercing into mine.

A Time For Sleeping

A Time For Sleeping

Saturday was a cold, gray day.

I lit the fireplace for a quick warm up.

Before leaving the warmth of
the cottage

I wrote a little more,
donned my hoody and coat

turned off the gas
grabbed my camera and

entered the cold but
beautifully pure, refreshing

northern air.

I walked up the hill,
along 23 to

the alabaster pipeline then
backtracked toward where

my journey began.

At the bottom of the hill
frozen water looked like a small stream

or a miniature river system or
what a large river basin would look like

from high above.

Two sets of raccoon tracks lead to
a fork along

the frozen highway dusted white with snow
where they parted ways.

My frozen world had become
suspended in time,

fully sleep within
the ground of shadows,

all things living
framed in shades of gray

naked, dead or
alive and

waiting.

But, for what?

For summer’s light to return
life’s burning ember,

for warmth to come again,
a time to grow

from liquid water sugar fed
the leaves and buds of trees absorbed

from sunlight stored
a hundred differing shades of green

their roots reaching deeper
seeking … seeking …

seeking to remember …

But for now?…

a time for

sleeping .,..

London Broil: the End Again

continued …  “she’ll just have to eat her goddamned popcorn with butter tonight  … !  he wondered if she’d know the difference … but, he knew better … )

Two hours later when he got home she was fast asleep in bed.

“Hmmmmm”, he thought.

He figured that, since the next day was Saturday (and she’d be sleeping in) he’d leave early for his appointment at Peter’s Quickie Loan Place (across the street from the Piggly Wiggly), pick up a couple tubs of margarine for the popcorn AND a couple pounds of butter, just in case!

He knew he’d have hell to pay if there wasn’t any butter in the house since she preferred only butter on her toast.

The End ..

London Broil: Butter or Parquay?

continued … when he doubled over she called him a doofey unemployed jake ass.  He laughed to himself.  ”What the hell is a ‘jake ass?”  he wondered.  continued …

Most nights after cleaning the kitchen he joined her in the t.v. room even though he hated that goddamned western channel …

He usually curled up with a book by his favorite author Louis L’Amor.

That one night she told him she wanted popcorn.

He took great pride in his popcorn making skills but that night they ran out of margarine!

(It was a mystery to him why she didn’t like butter on her popcorn.  He loved buttered popcorn!)

Maybe that’s why.   

“Wull,” he told her, ”There isn’t any margarine.”

But she insisted,

”The car’s got plenty of gas,” she said, “And i could use some quiet time.  So why don’t you just leave?” 

So, he drove 8 miles to the Piggly Wiggly in town but it was closed for the annual inventory.

So he drove around the corner to Charly’s Convenience Store but it must have burned down; the walls were charred black and the roof was missing.  

‘’I’ll be damed if I’ll drive another three miles over to Plank City for a tub of frickin’ Parkay,” he said to himself, out loud..

“She’ll just have to eat her goddamned popcorn with butter tonight!”

(He wondered if she’d know the difference but, he knew better.)

continued … 

Serenity

 

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !c

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !

That Night At the Lodge II

Part II
A Night At the Lodge

It was a cold night!

I mean, it was cold as hell!

It felt like there was ice between my jacket and my shirt!

She had that mink thing on but it only covered her neck!

We stood outside waiting for about a half hour!  Finally I said, ‘’Where in the hell are Dick and Jeannie?“

She got that quizzical look on her face!

“UH-OH,”I thought.  “Here comes another one of her zingers!”

“I’m freezing my tukkus off!”  she exclaimed. “You told me it wouldn’t be that cold!”

I knew I had done no such thing.  So i said, “I did no such thing!’’

So she says, “Well, that’s what I’m talking about!!”

She was so angry she spit the words right out out of her mouth!

I told her I wasn’t really trying to be rude which didn’t seem to satisfy her at all so i said it again, hoping she’d understand!

But she didn’t.

She got mad as hell!

Then she became contrite.  She said she was sorry she was so mean. “You weren’t really being rude!” she said.   “But i still think it’s your fault!”

Then she said, “Truth of the matter is, I wasn’t paying attention to a word you said!”

Pause …

“I had other things on my mind!”

I didn’t want to be rude.  So I took the blame.

“I’m sorry,” I said.   “If I would have known.” Pause.  “I thought Dick and Jeannie were going to meet us here anyway!”

“Dick and Jeannie!  Fer christ’s sake they’re the last people I want to see on a night like this!”  Pause.  “I hate that Dick … !!” she said.  “He’s so goddamn irresponsible!”

I noticed she was looking over my shoulder at the bright lights of the lodge.

I saw the glint she gets in her eyes when she thinks there’s a bar within reach.

“What are you looking at?”  i asked.  continued.

A Night At the Lodge

It all started that night when I wasn’t sure what she was asking me!

At first I thought it had something to do with skiing!

Truth of the matter is I didn’t know WHAT she was thinking but I didn’t want to make waves.

I thought that maybe we were supposed to be meeting Dick and Jeannie for a night out at the lodge!

Or maybe it had something to do with that scheduled court date?

When you get right down to it, I didn’t really give a shit.  As far as I was concerned, it was six of one and one of those bakers dozen of the other … (haha heard someone say that once … it put a smile on my face.)

So i said “OK!”

You know! I had to be positive!!

I KNOW how she is about that ‘being positive’ stuff. She’s always stressing it so much!

Well, I think I AM positive but, does a little more than 50% of the time qualify as most of the time?

I’m not sure.

So I kept my mouth shut!

I didn’t want to hurt her feelings!!

Later that evening we drove out to the lodge. continued …

Inner World

Inner World

Four square tiles, wandering spaces, shapes of faces, coffee groups of three and five talking heads saying

something.

A lonely person sits and dreams her lonely dreams outside the world inside her.

Couples grasping meaning wrapped ‘round shoulders in stages of adulation, their voices echo hands held in wonder, eyes roused with affection, drawn to secret dreams, the face of life’s intent.

While store front neon lights
surrender to

the cause …

Comments On Second Birth …

“Second Birth” tells the story of the rich and the poor; the depravities and blunted feelings weighed down by greed and the need to dominate the “Outliers” willing to fight for false values and lies

I’m always making polar opposite distinctions; the ugly extremes of greed and the hungry souls despairing of life.  People on the street with disorders, the potential for violence that surrounds us, money spent on killing and death instead of meaningful, humanitarian measures.

More meaningful, easy to implement approaches with small expenditure …. perhaps one percent of the military budget, could be used, if used right.

A tiny fraction of the defense budget, money spent to kill lives could be used to save lives and keep the fabric of our society from being ripped apart.  The success of a  simple humane approach, would spread.  It could get into the mainstream because of its effectiveness.  The returns on the investment in terms of human life, would be huge.

With a twinkle in his eye, Vladimir Putin recently pointed out to Fareed Zakaria that the United States is no longer a democracy.  He’s right.  As he pointed out, in 3 of five elections presidents were elected with a minority of votes.  How could we let this pass by unnoticed?  We ARE no longer a democracy.

Putin’s narcissistic need to draw attention to himself made him careless recently but, no one picked up on it.  His statement that we are no longer a democracy was a taunt that in my mind was an admittance of his participation in our election.  That cocky face told me that, “We proved you are NOT a democracy.  That your system is weak,”  alluding to the electoral college which, it was the electoral college that elected our president even though he received a minority of the votes.  Putin’s cocky smirk was to me, an admittance of Russia’s participation.  His smarmy smirk telling us our democracy is weak.  He’s setting us up.   There IS a conspiracy.

Oh well, overall, I think this poem is bullshit.

Way too many words with too little meaning.  Nicely written but contrived, narcissistic.  Nothing new,  a theme I’ve used many times before, the realization that real birth comes when you go back to where it all stared; a blending of the child and the adult fully integrated.

The piece?  A piece of crap I think.  Mediocre I think because I let my “self” become too involved in the creative process.

Just for the hell of it, here’s how I write.

I start by throwing down words and phrases that come to me, like clay thrown onto a potters wheel or a block of marble to be sculpted.

After moving things around certain words or phrases create a flash of light and momentarily I might find a spark of meaning.   It could be stupid meaning or, something colorful and thought provoking or fragmented and abstract or, worthless to pursue like discovering you’re on the wrong path to the Emerald City.

When I find something with viable meaning I start to work on it like a sculptor would work with a slab of marble searching for the forms hidden inside. ( Only with me, it’s the search for ‘form’ within the words thrown down.)

I like to build my words with sound and color and definition and beat, all equally important for me.   It seems poetry can be abstract and meander but behind whatever form it takes there needs to be a good rhythm section.

Sometimes when I’m really lucky I can play the words like Thelonius Monk!

At other times I wax in story telling mode, happy if it’s even a fraction as good as Stephen Vincent Benet, my favorite poet.

Now I’m working on a jig saw puzzle and a paint brush adding details or erasing sometimes endlessly.  Faces and shit emerge from the fog.

I try to write ‘in reference’ to or one step removed from the obvious.  Why should I make it so easy for the reader, it seems so sophomoric to me and boring.   What’s the use in being too concrete if it doesn’t rouse within the reader thought or wonder or a sense of freedom?

I let the ‘abstract’ carry me along and often it feels like I’m channeling from some source of creativity way below the surface.  I don’t know the place.  All I can say is, it’s a river of creativity and it has to do with dreams and occasionally it overflows its banks or rains on us and we get to glimpse something beyond the so-called ‘real world’.

As I struggle to make sense of my words I start seeing events from the past when light sparks for fractions of a second and I see exchanges between myself and many people or circumstances I hadn’t thought about for years; catching a grounder at first base,  bedroom scenes, the time I met a friend on the street I hadn’t seen for a long time or, the hilarity  my best friend Buzz and I felt when we heard the word “bullshit” spoken for the first time by two older kids, while we were walking home from school one day.

So, I keep working, dabbing some purple there, striking long lines for simplicity.  This goes on and on until I feel I’ve found and formed something from the words and should step away.  If I don’t, I often spoil the freshness even though the words might not be grammatically correct.

The writing in this poem “Second Birth” isn’t so bad but the words and thoughts are extemporaneous, spoken or done without much preparation.  Not well thought out.

The distinctions between the poor downtroden and those ‘outliers’ with guns and misunderstanding guided by forceful rhetoric spoken to them in Hitlerish fashion from the mouth of the beast throwing fire onto the source of their dogmatic thoughts are separate from each other.  .

Too many distractions blow a hole through the finality of a pretty good ending.

Maybe I’ll go back in and throw it in the trash.

Thanks for all you are … ks

Second Birth

 

See the angry acts of many rich
too proud to bond
with mother earth
their caskets bulge
with stolen goods,

no thought to share their riches
with generosity given freely
their greedy souls never searching
their habits deadened, never knowing

thoughts worth thinking.

Some people care within demise
their envy keeps them living
their thoughts so easily lead astray
their longing never ending.

It’s how falsehood gets passed down
from generations
onto the many seeking
sustenance over fear,

plentitude over awareness,
bitter after the war to win all wars is lost,
roles played again and again
they sing their lonely anthems.

Their search for meaning never stays
the price too high
the road too steep and winding
the streets unpaved,

muddy ruts along the way
too deeply formed
to costly to dispute

with academic kindness.

The end result?  Blindness, winds its way/along its way,
no hope of rescue from their dying]
too lost to find/the road they think/that’s never there,

Their narrow thoughts an outside force that seeks to win the day despite the loss of living.

Their fear? Death before living life.
Their regret? Unknown dreams and fantasy that never lived,

locked up crying within,
never seeing the light of day

never love finding,

a game they play with no winners.
except those few who find themselves

home at last
at journey’s end;

the place where

life

began …

My Conversation With the Cat

My Conversation With the Cat

While my wife and I sipped morning tea I told my cat she was beautiful.

She squinted her eyes, flicked one ear, dropped to the floor, walked across the back of the ottoman, her tail the only thing visible, looking like a curved round feather moving along the edge, turned right then, right again slowly walking past us, her eyes slightly squinted.

She stopped, pointed the tip of her tail at the ceiling, drew three circles, dropped it to the left, sashayed it right then straight up before sitting faced away from us, her ears pointed back.

Since I understand cat language quite well, I told my wife about the language of cats.

“A cat’s thought vibrations connect to their tails the same way our thoughts link with our voices.’’

Pause …

“If you focus on their nuances, stop your mind from chattering (cats of course don’t think in terms of words) their thoughts can be understood quite easily.”

I looked at my wife. “The cat and I have conversations all day long.”

I looked at the cat.  One ear twitched.

My wife, who had been listening quietly, caught me off guard saying, “ARE YOU MAKING THIS STUFF UP!?”

For years I had observed my cat’s behavior but had not read a single word to support my claims.

All I could say was, “Well I guess so but … ”

And that’s when I found myself sitting alone with the cat.

 

Fred and Ethel

 

By late stage marriage
most men want to spend their days

talking while most women just want to be
left the fuck alone! …

Oh jeez! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that.

Speaking of being

LEFT ALONE

I’d like to tell you a story but, may I prefix my blabber with

a short statement before we begin.

There are two states of LEFT ALONE.

LEFT ALONE! by choice.
LEFT ALONE by circumstance.

With that in mind;

I’d like to introduce you to
Fred and Ethel Steen
married 40 plus years

both have needs that
after lifetimes

have yet to be
fulfilled ….. and yet … !

they have endured.

-Poor Fred-

I mean that literally!

Born to a poor family in a poor
Memonite neighborhood outside

Philadelphis his father a
bread baker, life was not easy

they spent way too much time surviving/  time taken ‘way from/  what it takes to know what “happy family” means …

He grew into the army by
17, went to war came home, became a
pipe fitter, married Ethel,

His favorite saying was always,

“That’s shit.”

Oh! Did I tell you?

Fred’s a bit older than Ethel

But not by that much.

She’s 70.
He just turned 100.

On another “Poor Fred” level …. “Poor Fred”

refers to his intense need and desire
to be loved just like

everyone else but,
without a clue how to

“do” it. or even what it
looks like!

The only way Fred knows how to
ask for or show affection is by

displaying aggressive behavior resulting in
the thing we fear so intently!!!!!

the vicious
circle !!!!!!!!!!!

There’s nothing worse than
being dragged kicking and screaming into

a viscous circle, it’s like
being tossed head first into

a front loading
washing machine.

I hate those things! I don’t even want to go there.

On the other hand …

Ethel just wants to be
left alone ……..

It’s sad that Ethel never fulfilled
Fred’s need for love.

I’m sure she tried and and tried but
she had to have given up a long time ago.

Sad but, here’s the rub …
Ethel will tell you they talk often.

Ethel’s words to Fred
are angry resentful words

dripping with finality after a
lifetime of frustration contained within

his presence.

Her voice an instrument she plays with
timbre and tone and volume

to convey her thoughts with words that ricochet off walls

-Their Talk-

Talk is not the language they speak.

Words strung together
carefully chosen words honed to perfection; constant reminders

words searing or sublime with anger
honed like sharp knives words …..

…… words chosen
reverberating with unknown vibration

words with more than meaning  …

words deflecting the tonality of ‘being. .

 from years of
non abuse, abuse casual abuse.

They forged the scars of their failures
into emotional exchanges using

word triggers that trigger words
triggering bullets of sadness, anger,
humiliation and
regret.

I’m glad I didn’t know Fred when
he was his “WHOLE asshole self.

-She’s Tired-

Ethel is tired of being a
caregiver to an abusive man.

She slams the door he
crashes his walker

against her door.

Sitting on the couch
that afternoon watching

The Pickers and
the Pawn guys

on the ‘boob’

Fred searched for words
to tell his story.

His fragmented thoughts came with softness

easy to bridge the spaces between
with meaning

his sad regret and wonderment,

his bewilderment wrapped ’round the confused meaning of
broken thought.

Ethel just wants time to be left alone.

So, Fred waits, mostly in private, a prisoner of his loneliness in
forlorn despair wondering what it is he still
yearns for

wondering if he’ll ever

get it …..

I Was Just the Postman

 

A comment I wrote about the poem titled, “When I Was Born.”

This is one of my favorite pieces not just because it describes what childbirth might be like but, I think it’s beautifully written.  I like how it flows and trips along with cadence and sound.

Hey! I can comment about my own work can’t I?  It wasn’t even ‘Me’ who wrote the thing.  I remember it well.  “I felt a slight glow on the pads of my fingers a kind of pulsing and I began to stroke the keys and it felt like my digits were being guided by Aphrodite herself.”  

Not quite.  More like, my inner roulette wheel spinning words and with the luck of the draw I was able to catch a few every once in a while.

Anyway.  BIRTH!  The most significant event of our lives!  (And, at such a young age!)  After all being born into this fucked up world is no easy job.  It’s true!  Ask any new born kid!

Birth!  It’s the door we step through to gain entry into this place with its good and bad and every increment in between, evil and good and all the polar opposites that are the price we pay for living on a planet with a North and South Pole.  Shit!

Then, there’s the mistakes we make!  Think about how many concussions you’ve given yourself after slapping your self in the forehead saying, “You dumb shit!”  Or, I coulda’ had a V8 but with the can.

But that’s life!  Right?

The never ending parade that cascades before us, our journey through light with density that we are contained within and can exist in along with other beings just like us and we like them; plants and animals, trees and birds and all those finials from biology no species better or worse we think we are the high ideal but, all we’ve ever done is destroy things.

Yet, BIRTH continues.

Perhaps we judge our lives by how significantly apart we grow from the newborn child’s ultimate experience; the outside and the inside world coming face on with each other at birth, a double brightness, a kind of symbiotic relationship with light given/taken in/returned/then, given back in a never ending cycle.

Just like love and marriage.  Right?  Except, you can’t have one without the other.

Or, on the abstract level, seen in its entire and completely different and absurd light and really hard to understand level; if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it is there a noise?

THAT’S ONE FOR THE AGES ISN’T IT REXI?.  Fuck yes! There’s NOISE because there’s SOUND because the WHOLE PLACE heard the tree fall by the birds and the other trees and the lichen and the bear who was rubbing his butt when the tree fell.  Jeez.  What a ridiculous posit that, if a human being wasn’t present there MIGHT NOT be no sound.  That’s kind of pre infantile thinking isn’t it?  Oh?  It’s not important?  Good.

(That, and the angels dancing on the heads of pins discussion always gets me.  Sooooo interesting.  Someone should put THAT posit on a post it note and file it in the floor file.)

I think that every day it’s possible that at some point in time when time is the right time and the stars and all that other crap fit together just right I could find myself in the ‘real’ world behind all of the facades of daily life.  We need those facades but they can be all consuming!

To suddenly experience the revery of speechless awe at the world around us.  We all KNOW that other place is here, waiting to be experienced.  Is that desire what keeps us going?

I think that, as life moves along we judge the degrees of success with our lives by the baseline of CHILDBIRTH.  Which brings us back to the poem.

The words in that poem flowed through my fingers with such DELIGHT!

Wull … it’s ok to comment on my own work isn’t it? Actually, I don’t even know who wrote this piece remember?  I was just the postman.  Check out the post, “When I Was Born.”  I hope you like it as much as I do.  Au’revoir.

 

 

Savoring the Melt

Snow covering the ground at 8 by 1 had

disappeared.

By 5 newly formed powder flakes/bigger than cotton balls/floated downward, /so light they rose and fell a second time/as I passed /turning my world white

once again

crystal flakes given form/from clouds high above/each its own and unique world/alive within the tiny gales/and silent currents forming/atmospheres above, 

given

gentle revolution, softest landing covering ground/like thin gauze stretched/within minutes inches deep/earth tones and/ green luminescence vaguely visible

beneath.

Above, afternoon sky darkening /moves toward night time light.  

Already giving their precious gift, the gauze stretched thinner/

shadows of color emerging from the

melt.

 

 

The Creature From the Black Canal

The Creature From the Black Canal

They kept warning me about the alligator they saw paddling around the canal in back of the house but, I scoffed at their advice. “I need to whack those weeds along the canal bank!  They’re unsightly!” I said.

I waited until mid afternoon so I could work in the shade of the big pine trees back there. “Who wants to whack weeds in ninety nine degree heat?  I can’t lay around all day!”

At the shoreline I turned away from the water to whack weeds within the stalks of the banana trees when I felt a sharp tug on my right foot then, intense needle like pain!

I looked down. My ankle was between its teeth! The last thing I remember was water being forced into my nostrils and a sense of hopelessness.

I woke up sputtering and retching in the hammock under the pines out back where I had been resting after weed whacking the bank. At first I thought I was drowning! Then I realized I had poured an entire bottle of Fuji water onto my face most of it having drained into my nostrils.

While coughing violently, I happened to look down at the canal where I saw two giant marbles a little smaller than tennis balls floating on the surface.

When a paddle shaped, warty snout with two puncture holes at the end and what appeared to be thousands of teeth (although there could have been more) began to rise out of the water, I knew I had come face to face with a big alligator!

A big fugator!!

Still coughing violently I scanned the area for a limb to throw at the big fucker when the hammock I’d been dozing on flipped me!

The canvas had wrapped itself around me!!  I was trapped like an ear of corn!!

I swayed like a pendulum for around 30 seconds before coming to rest my head 12 inches or so above ground staring down at the gator, my world turned upside down, my arms clasped along both sides of my body feeling totally helpless.

What made it even worse, the Fuji bottle had lodged itself against my nuts!

The gator took two steps onto land its beakey snout with all those teeth leading the way.

Feeling paralyzed, I sensed the reticular area of my brain frozen in place,  totally confused since fight or flight was not an option so, I did the only thing I COULD do.

I struggled!!

“Would you like some cheeze and crackers?”

Her voice pierced into my consciousness like a bright ray of light on the darkest day. Hallaleuia … I’ve been saved!

Her appearance or the sound of her voice startled the gator. Quicker than splickity shit  all I could see was white water froth, little whirl pools and the yaw of its rounded beak slinking into the inky depths of the water.

She didn’t look down quickly enough to see the gator’s snout and those teeth before it disappeared. She thought the movement of the water was caused by turtles. She warned me again about the gator they had seen.

A half hour later, finally free from the clutches of the hammock I ate two crackers with cheeze and threw up.

Excerpt: Strange World

Excerpt

After the nurse left his room
he thought about what had occurred and
in a drug and pain induced brain fog,
pulled the tubes from his left arm and,

using the food cart as a walker
made a half assed attempt to escape
the hospital for
some unknown
reason.

From that point forward
the “real” world was
rearranged, reconstructed and
put back together again

when

the strange specter of a man appeared
moving down a darkened hallway at
two a.m. looking very determined,
pushing a food cart, (wearing
black shorts and t-shirt
a pair of white TED hose),
where he was seen
telling two nurses, a CNA, and a security guy

that, “I have every right to leave
the hospital if I want to.’

A short while later, after
some ridiculous displays of yelling

he returned to
his room and fell asleep
on a comfortable lounge chair
after the charge nurse downstairs
(an Air Force Academy graduate)
convinced him that it would be better if
he DID return to his room.

And so, he did.

“When unexpected events occur,” he said,
“Unusual forces come together

making sparks of
different colors never seen

ricocheting light in
all directions; mirrors reflecting light from

other mirrors making new connections
striking colors never seen

briefly explode
startling into higher awareness
thought, reason, intuition,

even dreams

crossing paths
with different paths

of thinking
fleeting thoughts of consequence and

reason

to people
normally grazing grass
turned brown,
bored and

lonely.”

I loved the way he described it.

Purple Words

Purple Words –

One late Spring day, my students and I
walked to the Dairy Queen with

the thought in mind that we would
capture unique experiences and

write about them when we returned to
the class room.

After lunch, we formed a single file line
crossed Monroe Road to the sidewalk,

walked west for two blocks, past
the house I grew up in (at the end off Mackinaw Street) then,

along the north side of
the fence surrounding

the big athletic field where all
the games were played on Friday night and

past the town park where
I played and

ice skated
as a
boy.

While we walked I roamed from
the front to the back of

the line pointing out details that
their eight year old minds

might not
notice.

I told them to listen to
the sound of car tires rolling over
the blacktop.

While stopped, we heard
the distant moan of a diesel engine.

They thought that
the groaning engine was probably

working hard to push boxcars to
different places at the ‘’rail yard’’.

One girl said, maybe
the engine was pulling a

quarter mile long
train of

boxcars.

I pointed to the diverse shades of
green and the different shapes of

leaves on maple or elm trees.

When a breeze gusted past,
i asked them how

the breeze felt and
what words they would use to

describe the sound as it passed over
their ears.

After a while they began to
glimpse the world between

the lines

pointing  out things
I never would have noticed.

Five blocks from school
at a red and yellow blinking light,

we crossed over Monroe Road and
walked two blocks north to

the Dairy Queen where I bought
each student a chocolate or vanilla cone.

We ate our cones sitting under a
huge oak tree.

Leaned against the tree I looked around,

marveling at
the sweet innocence of

my eight year old students.

At the right moment
I spoke about some of

the unique objects, sounds and
thoughts we experienced

during our seven block journey.

I asked them to describe
what they saw, felt and heard.

Once they began sharing stories,
their experiences flowed out of them

like bright streams of light.

And so I watched and listened as
the sun born from winter into spring

shone through the budding leaves
dappling their faces with

ever changing patterns of light as they
spoke of discoveries taken from

the world around them.

Their thoughts were fluid and
bright; sunlight streaming through

the leaves  knitted them together into
a tapestry of sorts.

As the sun rose higher so did
the details of their remembrances.

The tapestry grew more complex and
beautiful as the light arched higher.

When it was time to
return to school,

I told them they were to walk silently so that
their story or poem, would be

different than everyone else’s.

Later, with pencils, brown school paper and
their visions I watched them silently write.

One by one, they brought their their
papers to me and as they did,

I read each story.

Every story was beautiful in
its own way.

Unique reflections of each student’s personality.

Their words were like beautiful
uncut gems, some

the color of rubies or emeralds.

Others vibrated with sound, were simple with quiet emotion or
restless, anxious to please,

listing every impression.

One piece stood out from
the rest.

Written in purple ink by
the shiest girl in class,

her ten line poem captured
the essence of

the entire journey.

At the end of the day I
looked back at the experience with

a clarity of detail I had
never experienced before.

That night when I had dinner with
my Dad he told me that

a lot of people in town saw me walking with
my students and many of them commented that

I looked like the Pied Piper … but of course
the gentle side of the Piper …

Becka

Earlier, she ate chips and salsa off paper brought to swimming pool’s edge, earlier than earlier.

Later, he came with hot coffee sipping looking beyond ahead in front, silently.

‘I bet you can’t drink that whole thing,” she said her voice behind.

‘No. But I can take a really big gulp.’

Chugging, eyes closed vision; coffee blowing comedy movies funny.

Diaphram force contraction spraying blowing coughing … drooling? coffee blasting outward shot forward falling mist.

Turning. Smiling. Sheepish.  Expectant.

“I did that on purpose.” (hahaha???)

Cold eyes, staring behind.

(*Flashback twenty minutes earlier, chips and salsa taken poolside, resting on paper.)

Following vision line behind slowly turning.

Seeing!! Unexpected!!

Forehead pulling contractions wrinkling muscle lines eyes pulled open wide and round and wide wider still lids exposed vast surprise! Unexpected! Amazement! Not a little humor! Embarrassment …

Seen??

Coffee pooled on salsa, limp chips brought to pool side earlier ugly coffee drippage spattered larger drops toward pool deck drainage strip moving, ugly gray lines.

Thought: Hilarious! Would humor share with 9 year old mind!?

Turning spinning wheel colors flashing. Expectant. Looking, seeing.

Eyes cold, staring toward pool edge. Arms folded.

(Suppressing laughter)  Pointing behind. “I didn’t do THAT on purpose!”

Pause …

Waiting …

“YOU’RE SO STUPID!”

Turning heel, pulling slider open shut behind nine year old glass reflections testing self limits finding honesty exposed to absurdity adult fallibility unconditional love adults kids too.

Doubling over, bent at waist, unlocking knees, slowly spiraling downward.

Thought: Be careful not to abrade yourself rolling around on pool deck stucco floor.

Neighbors hearing cackling?

Jigsaw

I thought I knew but
I knew I hadn’t found

the answer to my
question.

You know you know when
you’re spaced out and your brain has been

on cruise control for a while and
you’re still scratching your head wondering

why you can’t stop thinking because

there’s still a piece missing just below
the surface that you can’t remember when

suddenly …

from one instant to
the next there’s an explosion off

somewhere in the distance that
you feel more than hear and

it seems every bone and muscle and
the brain in your body

join together to create
zero gravity.

Because of zero Gs your eyes
fly open big and round;

circles within circles within circles
the answer makes itself clear

the frown lines disappear and
you see the world beyond

the flowing waterfall of your tears and
your face shines brightly at

full wattage and

while suspended in time
you understand

the answer so …

you stop thinking
altogether and

completely.

 

The Runner

I watched the runner from where I stood at the forty five yard line in front of the opposing team’s bleachers while on the opposite side of the field at the 20 yard line the runner caught the punt, took two steps backward, tucked the ball into the crook of his arm, lowered his right shoulder and began running a looping arc toward where I waited.
I felt a collective sense of awareness from fans on the opposing side bleachers when we both realized the runner and I were on a collision course.
I took a wide stance lowered my butt closer to the ground, bent my elbows, curled my hands into loose fists and waited.
A voice inside my head whispered, “You will not let this son of a bitch get around you!”
I smiled.
I watched the runner curve closer to where I waited.
I knew that he knew we would soon make violent contact.
I rocked left to right on the balls of my feet anxious to feel the pain. A sense of rage pumped from my heart and lungs into the center of my brain. I felt like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.
I pictured the runner’s helmet split down the middle like a pumpkin dropped from a two story building.
Fifteen yards away I spread my arms as if to embrace the runner.
My legs became coiled springs that I would unleash at precisely the right moment to stop the runner in his tracks, to drive him into the ground!
 I narrowed my vision, focusing on my target; the area below the sternum where both sides of the rib cage join below the heart.
A split second before contact I saw the top half of the number on his jersey the outline of his helmet against the lights of the scoreboard, his head barely lowered his eyes wide with fear.
At precisely the right moment I unleashed the coiled power of my legs. I felt my body spring forward. My left shoulder sunk into the soft spot below his rib cage. With my right arm wrapped around his back my hand clenched into a fist, I pulled the runner tightly into my grasp hearing a forceful “whoof” as the air was forced out of his lungs.
With the runner held tightly within my grasp I opened my eyes. Green grass, grains of dirt, part of a white chalk line, the numbers on the score board blurred across my field of vision.
With my left arm curled around the other side of his body I  lifted him off of his feet then, driving downward with the help of gravity completed the full 180 degree arc of the
tackle sending the runner crashing to the ground.
I heard the clatter of shoulder pads, the dull thud of the runner’s helmet bouncing off the ground then the desperate sucking noise you make when the wind has been the forced out of your lungs.
I lay partially on the runner listening to him struggle to catch his breath; familiar with that momentary sense of desperation you feel when you think you’re going to suffocate to death.
I knew that within ten seconds or so he would realize he wasn’t going to die.
Adding insult to injury, I placed my right hand against the runner’s chest pushing myself myself into a standing position.
My mind was empty of thought but a persistent sound drew my attention to the left … toward the opposing team’s bleachers.
When I` turned to look I was astonished.
Many of the opposing team fans were standing, clapping their hands their eyes fixed on
where I stood wearing smiles of respect or wide eyed wonder.
I turned and trotted toward my side of the field.
Their applause sounded like heavy rain drops splattering against concrete during a summer rainfall.
Each time my cleats sank into the ground the applause grew softer until finally it seemed I had emerged from a heavy downpour on a summer day into a cool autumn night, the smell of burning leaves in the air.

 

Run Silent Run Deep

Run Silent Run Deep

On waves of hope riding,
rising most often
crashing
smartly smashing wedded myths
exploding stars
somber chords playing rifts;
driving cool rhythms,
run silent …

run deep …

Fractured contagion relegated
songs of incantation learning
deeds and conflagrations
emerging, reaching
calmly waiting … total seclusion

Other modes of teaching:
suffocating group aspirations,
escalating abdicated pain, afflictions by
lack of reasoning
mythical separations,
reaching two toned sights unseen,                                   sliding, blending, polarizing opposites                     connecting guided opposition,
subtle compromise comprising
dull with shifting lenses
flashing brilliant meaning
giving nightly dreaming hope
opposing despair
triumphal patterns causing
change through darkest hallways                                 leading nowhere                                                                            the stars through navigation brightly
signing sighing slicing
the knowledge of repair
from shattered crystal fittings with                            crosshairs crossing
night time rays of wrath                                                           and fear to lasting words that foster
coming thoughts of dark desire
the mind could never fathom                                                    the lasting triumph needed having come?

With stars of night bright leading                                 avoiding dark holes unseeing
minor slips along the way,
comprising major slips comprised of,
never making matters right                                                     we make our way on waves of hope riding,
often crashing but finding!

The dream of life’s
full meaning
outside of pain and suffering                                              finally seen!!

the dreams of darkest night                                                within                                                                                                the light of brightest day                                                       giving life full meaning

after all …

Stooley …

They told me to take
a stool softener since

Roxies make you
constipated;

I decided to try …
those little gel caps;

gray and burgundy
(pretty colors that go together … )

that slip down your gullet pretty easily, so
I tore off a chunk of
Matt’s homemade all grain bread, started chomping,

looked down, saw the little Stoooley capsule,
popped it into my
mouth and said  ….

Oh fuck … !

i moved the little capsule around

defending it from the crushing blows of my molars

(which required a lot of coordination)

while swerving my food I

heard the name Donald Trump spoken

and

at that precise moment
heard a “snap” behind

my right molar.

Taking a quick pull on the water tumbler I quickly swallowed

the mostly chewed

piece of bread and

the deflated capsule and

 waited …

I didn’t have long to wait  …

A black inky, muddy taste
began spreading itself

across the roof of my mouth

and tongue

(directly below the roof … ) that …

“hurricane like” had decided

to stay in one place dumping its

vile taste  onto my

taste buds  …

and

that’s when i realized i’d had

a bad taste in my mouth for a long, long time …

BLEAH … !!

CONTINUED:

Miriam

Further adventures of Gile Steel.

So, there he was at the hospital exactly a year later at the same time, same place having the same procedure in the same room, next to the nurse’s station, by the same SURGEON where,  a year earlier several factors came together in the middle of the night causing  an unexpected event to happen after his nurse gave him a tiny pain pill to alleviate the fiercest, most relentless pain of his life … then told him the next little pill would NOT be due for another four hours … (four fucking hours?)!

After the nurse left his room he thought about what had just happened then, in a drug and pain induced brain fog he pulled the tubes from his left arm and, using the food cart as a walker made a half assed attempt to escape the hospital for some unknown reason.

From that point forward the “real” world was rearranged, reconstructed and put back together again when  the strange spector of a man appeared moving down a darkened hallway at two a.m. looking very determined, pushing a food cart, wearing black shorts t-shirt and a pair of white TED hose, where he stopped and was seen telling two nurses, a CNA, a security guy (with arms crossed over golfing shirt … NOT proving that he was a bad ass),  that he had every right to leave the hospital if he wanted to.

Soon aft he returned to his room and fell asleep on a lounger that took a bunch of pain away, after the charge nurse downstairs (an Air Force Academy graduate) convinced him it would be better if he DID return to his room.

And so, he did.

As to the significance of the occasion? He told me, “When an unexpected event occurs, you get startled out of your senses and if you’re lucky unusual forces from all over the place join together, making all kinds of sparks and new connections and shit that gyrates, that sends light out crossing with other paths, pinging, making, striking all colors never seen, crossing, drawn from people normally grazing grass turned brown, bored, lonely.”  I loved the way he described it.

“Most of the time we steer ourselves along on rigidly separate flight paths, he said.

“We are all far flung variables of differing spectrum with varying degrees of heat that would NEVER have crossed paths, becoming heat/light broken/arcing/\ tapping new rhythms, twisting smoke like colors never seen/sparks and brief waves of light drawn into the void of all their dark spaces, the space of “being”, during the event,  that ends with people usually returning to their grazing.

They go back to their separate flight paths but with fundamental change.  Maybe startlingly singular unexpected conflagrations such as these, reach into our genome level,  depending on intensity,  The genome makes a recording of the event using stripes and numbers, the recordings are a measure of intensity.  They’re probably color coded constantly building, writing it’s own individual formula, building building.  Intent to reach some point in time … to ‘build out’.  Anxious to accomplish the task or just doing what’s necessary to move about?   Recording of events totaling itself within the endless array of neural connections it has been  branching off and growing ….. we see evolution as a result.”

I must have looked perplexed so he explained, “Everybody’ every day has experiences that impact and startle them awake, that affect us on a fundamental level.  A split second after surprise comes the relief of being safe.  We laugh in relief that we are still alive.  People love to be scared at least momentarily.  It’s what we call ”funny” hahaha” … it’s a part of the primal instinct not to get eaten called, self preservation.”

“War is the most powerful experience bringing about change.  Self preservation reduced to it’s fundamental boiled down to black hole level.  But war is no laughing matter.”

He loved the absurd humor of these situations; the startled first time behavior, the surprised looks, the brief return to childhood, a re-creation of the 16 year old smile, faces dripping smooth then frozen in time with white teeth and sparkling eyes, adding color, filling in a few of the voids within,  boiling it all down distilled and rendered into pure unadulterated … laughter.

He joked, “The opposite of war.  Haha ha ha ..”

Next:  Miriam

 

To Languish By the Sea the Sea

Have you ever … “It’s on the tip of my tongue,” before? of
course you have who
hasn’t when

something is gone and come and
gone again .. post scripted  or seen languishing with

endless superlatives where they’re printed,
worth zilcho
depending on
how many

fish you can get

 to climb to
the top of that tree … !

……

the sea the sea
the sea beneath
the sea beneath the sea

the undeterred sea

scraping … scraping …. scraping …..

the eternal song

scraping scraping …

eternal song …

 Evermore … Pain

To sit for

hour after hour

not without pain most of the time

the dulling pain that

grows sharper and duller in

throbbing proportion enveloping same time/opposing beat.

 The beast eats me with pain

its voracious teeth

pin needle sharp pin teeth sharp needles

slobbering hounds tooth flat molars grinding wheat and the bones of people  that slobbering thug

 that eats me!

when will it leave me …

when will it end ???

 

Miriam

Miriam

He told me about the time he was at the hospital a year ago at the same time he would be at the same hospital this year, in the same room where last year he suffered the same procedure as he would be suffering this year .. exactly a year later.

He told me about the great nurses and others who cared for him then, he told me a tale about some crazy stuff that happened one night that no one would have ever dreamed could happen.

He laughed that Sinead O’Connor laugh while shaking his head from side to side, “Not I,” he said. “Or, the hospital staff, the bouncer who looked like he wanted to kick my ass, or that Air Force Academy guy who was the charge nurse downstairs.”

Laughing he said, “But, then how can anyone anticipate the world suddenly collapsing around you after you’ve had some crazy idea? Life has its ups and downs but the sloppy fit between a crazy thought becoming a crazy idea leading to some crazy behavior tightens like welded steel since you NEVER know when some crazy IDEA is gonna pop into your brain!”

I didn’t understand a word he said but, he ket  piquing my interest as the night wore on.

The world seen through the eyes of my grandfather Gile Steel would be an interesting one, indeed.

 

More Miriam ……

 

 

 

How Can I Take What You Give?

How can I take what
you give

your comfort or satisfaction
your inspiration

from what i give
so selfishly?

i do it because i have to speak
if i’m ‘liked’ or not

respecting those sacred few
above all others who

keep returning …

what kind of friend
am i who won’t go seeking/reaching

for the gold of other’s sacred thought?

for sparks of life and love and
the rare commodity

that which touches me?

that rare commodity
waiting to be explored

and discovered
and seen by me

returning the favor as
you have done with me??

I venture forth from
time to time behind my

self imposed gravity
to look around

to see what i can see …

and when i do it’s
not with usual finding …

I spend my time judiciously
but only there occasionally

do I find the gems that reside
within me comfortably …

gems with cutting edge design and ‘new’ surprise
that sparks an arc/that lights a light

that lets me see

something new within the light of darkest night;

a thought that’s new to witness or to think;
the spark of new creation

or new reality … or some new connection

i seldom find;

words that flow with rise and fall
that part the mist before it all

where truths remain
more clearly seen

that let me fill the space between
the place of my being

waiting to be filled … !

abstract thought to
plummet me inside

to places that reside
where sparks that

arc me, where

i find a place alive … a place

I hardly knew before that seems I’ve always

known

but never having

spoken of …

When Daylight Birds Take Morning Flight

When Daylight Birds Take Morning Flight

I was up before seven
I made a pot of coffee

I swept the floor
I listened to the radio

I poured the coffee
I put sugar and cream in

I climbed back into bed and slept
until the dawn of night.

I watched the moon arch overhead
from orange to milky white;

silver dollar sized
with full moon’s

full moon
light.

I watched night birds take night time flight.

While breezes washed ashore
I walked the line where all three meet;

sky within dark water,
waves of moonlight,

sparkling grains of sand
reflecting light below/above …

between each other’s sight

within their night time

kisses ..

I looked into the grounds of sweet good byes
the thought of daylight in disguise;

my thoughts on morning rising with
each new morning’s light,

the sky that touches deep within,
the sound of inland seas.

With speckled stars above the nighttime breeze

with moonlight showing through the leaves

I’ll sleep ‘till morning light …

when day begins

and daylight birds
take morning

flight …

 

Killers On the Loose

Killlers On the Loose

There’s a place where life
is never bare

of mice and madness,
where the world will

come again flogging itself
with delight every step

of the way;
made more evil

by men who besiege,
hold prisoners in bonds/of deepest despair;

their love warped

and cruel and rotten
with usury to the core;

Unstable men,
mean mother fuckers

users, abusers,

confusers,
bastard misers,

thwarted useless pliers
of love with
pain …

scorned hurters,
driven to kill/life’s most
precious gift.

…..

Will the end ever
be in sight?

Never!!

Innocent love will always die
by lies;

life’s most precious gift
taken and destroyed.

They’ll always be
the same, no matter …
…..
From summers lost
till spring

when you were me
and i and we;

the times we ran together,
we drank our fill never knowing …

There’s killers out there
the likes of which

you’ve never seen,
who lie their likes and dislikes,

who spend their false revenue
so freely to fuel their

selfish lust …

with platitdes of
loneliness and

despair.

Frozen Moments Locked In Time

Frozen Moments Locked In Time

No words to write/
no stories to tell now …

Only experiences that happened;

the day I looked into a nest with
eight gaping mouths,

the eerie sound of baby robins
begging to be fed/

the night our house burned down
and dropped into the basement.

The reality of what I remember/
the words i yearn to write/

the forms and spiral hectographs
that make my days so bright

that make the world so real

now lost

behind the smoke
of distant silence/

the fog of stubborn beauty

unrevealed/

a gray curtain in front of a play
that was forgotten/

but will not go away.

The war of seasons past
lost somewhere beyond

behind a sun still waiting
to be discovered;

Too unsure of myself,
no light to guide my way/

unable to continue
what I hold so dear.

No arrows that I can fly
through space and time filled with color/action,
the innocence of boyhood thoughts,

the reverence for all
that is real,

lost in time now …  forgotten?

The glue that binds it all together
grown brittle, stuck to nothing …

The clouds above
merely clouds now, floating by.

I wonder if it will rain?

Within the Fractures of His Mind

He lived with Her until  she couldn’t stand it so

she relocated him to a room in an old house next to a

gas station …

…..

that house was consumed in flames one night in

defense – he said – of the

FBI lurking outside his

window …

…..

the court said he did it on purpose …

“Why would the FBI be there … ?”  they

asked …

…..

they called his demons

arson …

…..

they relocated him to the

county lockup for 60

days …

…..

after that, he took a

test …

…..

he passed with flying

colors … !

…..

they told Her he had a

schism of sorts …

…..

some kind of

void

in the area of his

pre-cognition …

…..

so he was relocated to a room half way between

Her life and the flames of his

past …

…..

that new place had some greatness to it

but eventually –

because of a variance of gender,  his curious desire

to peer through windows in the

darkness of night,

 his perverse intent,

his inability to

attach …

they couldn’t stand him any longer …

…..

once again he was

relocated …

…..

after that, he lived in four walled singularity

where he found peace

in the world of his schism

and the gloominess of his

void …

…..

She visited him

frequently …

…..

they laid about watching the

light while

sleeping …

…..

few words passed between

them …

…..

She gave him

sustenance …

…..

he accepted her gifts with

bland acknowledgement …

but

after death consumed

Her

his needs festered and

grew to phantasmagorical

proportions …

Desperate to satisfy his

need

 he stole

Time

from his

landlady …

…..

he milked it from the

telephone during her

numerous but

brief,

trips

away …

…..

of course she discovered his

deception …

…..

he hid behind his

deceit

but

it’s easy to see lies when they stand

naked

in the

middle of a

room …

…..

her hatred boiled

over …

it shattered his roomed

confinement …

…..

she couldn’t stand to be

around him  any

longer…

…..

she hated the air he

breathed …

…..

she gave no

succor

to his

loneliness …

…..

so,

she vanquished him from the

four walls she sold

him …

…..

she banished him from her

brick

Victorian space

and

when he turned his

back

she

burned every vestige of his

life in the front

yard …

…..

she watched with calm

detachment while every

remnant

of his history rose up in

flames and black

smoke …

lost forever to the

destiny

that awaits us

all …

…..

another death had

overtaken

him …

…..

another relocation awaited

him …

…..

Now, he lives within the

fire and the

demons

he could not

fight …

…..

he lives inside the

void

of the

schism

he fell

into …

…..

through windows into

darkness

he seeks

nothing

that can be

found …

…..

he’s a sad and lonely

little boy

who’s

lost somewhere in

time …

…..

an old and toothless man

who

wanders inside

rooms

within the

fractures of his

mind …

Deadbeat Amputee

Deadbeat Amputee

Oh! Hi! … OH! Jeeze. Hi … Hey, you know what?  I’m a bad person!

I was tied up for a whole week so I couldn’t send you the money.

My wife finally came home from Borneo and untied me from the hose I got wrapped up in when I fell hosing the back porch back on the day she left.

I really wanted to send $10 via Pay Pal!

The computer was close but I couldn’t get my right hand free and my left hand was amputated a few years back.

I thought I could reach the keyboard with my nose.  I tried so hard!  But no cigar!

And I live in a community of deaf mutes.  So, no one heard my cries for help … and  I couldn’t do sign language with just the stump!  It was So frustrating!

Do you still need the money? Hahaha … who doesn’t need money, right?

Oh!? .. O.k. … o.k. …  ok so, can I send you a check in a couple days??

Voyage: The Flatlands of Ohio

*Photo above: Dayton, Ohio from I-75

Across the Border: Into the Flatlands

Across the border into Ohio
hard to keep my eyes off

the furrowed fields, sprouts of
corn, wheat or soybeans

lines of green velveteen beckoning
my eyes to distant silos
and barns …

beautiful country given
as secret knowledge to those of us
born inside the breadbasket

(boring as hell to those who aren’t)
our genes and DNA possessed of this

loveliness … given deeper sight to
know its vast beauty …

past Dayton, Ohio

into Cincinnati with it’s never ending
road construction,

the depressing sight of
mid 20th century decay;

towering church spires, five story brick schools
miles of deserted factories

block after block
crumbling shingle by shingle

worm wood burrowing water absorbing
rot taken into each

crumbling grain of red clay and mortar
separating once wrapped ‘round

the fibres of life within giving
animation and purpose

barely clinging now …
to the present

shells of the exoskeleton,
of a once great city

those fortresses of
sustenance where

generations of life lived and worked
and died within

the clay and concrete
the lintels and mortar lines,

those slate roofs, cathedral spires,
schools and factories now

turned brittle, the life within deserted
devoid of functionality, of

all humanity,
used and abused,

willing partners now
deserted friends

thrown aside/turned away from

the stories contained inside now
dripping with finality

the final insult to all that was
the past unknown to those who never saw

and will never know

the life that grew
and lived inside

the countless souls who believed
their city’s life would live forever now …

those outward stories slowly sucked
into the ground of obscurity ..

drawing closer every day to
the black hole of anonynimity

at the center of a world
no longer real …

brittle forms now
of deserted husks

the greenery of growing life
sucked dry by

the winds of time
unmercifully leaving

a cluttered tabla rasa
of ruin and ghostly silence

the cord with past life
broken by slow decay

all precious life forsaken
fallen seeds taken

from the distant past
and thrown asunder

the next chapter of our
destiny or ..

maybe the

last?

continued; Lexington and beyond …

Voyage South

After the Departure; The Road South

And so the voyage goes …

Uneventful miles rolled beneath
the balding tires of The Explorer …

along the Huron coastline
over the Zilwaukee Bridge past

Fisher Body in Flint a skeleton
of what it used to be

when time was ‘LIGHT’ where
i used to be when all was right

alive with simple delight and small town splendor

(… while, a lurking vision of a blow out tagged along
an anxious silent vision in the back of my mind
that dogged me

a sleeping spark of possibility
ever since

the tread flew off the D Mobile
2000 miles in past time on

the road north (away from the Tropics) … stripping
the back panel from the Mustang

knocking off the rocker … a
near calamity in

the third lane of
’75 rolling along at

80 mph … toward northern/ pine wood forests …

you’d be paranoid too!)

with all my barreling through time
i wondered

would i live a dozen or so minutes
or maybe even longer

in accordance with
the laws of physics

slowing time with all this
forward motion?

or …

with greater distance
traveld through time and space and

probability

would my life end
the next

instant!?)

past the Arborland sign,
(over Washtenaw Avenue) I continued

its lofty height looking down
a beacon of constancy

a point of reference
a sign post of history marking

the golden age of youth spent
in intellectual pursuit

the days of higher learning
Timothy Leary, the Fugs

Iron Butterflies, blues bars
shady characters, lost lovers

Viet Nam

the dog days of youthful exuberance
and experimentations

success and failure
triumph and rejection

faces of friends and lovers
roommates i lived with

in the house of
our endeavors

the beating heart
of shame and lost success …

the choices that i made wrapped
most often with

careless consideration
meandering roads along

unbeaten paths

maturing to regret … but mostly
grateful that i escaped the

doom …

continued … The Flatlands of Ohio

Voyage

My tasks complete
i rose before
the early dawn,

gave one last listen to
the great lake and
the wrangling sound of
ten thousand migrating geese and
mallard ducks

closed my eyes and
breathed the last
purest air i’d breathe
for months to come,

turned away from
the tree i’d lived within
and walked away

from the planet
i’d been living on for
two lunar cycles

into the surrounding universe i’d soon
be moving through inside my
rolling ship

The Explorer …

My destination 2000
light years
from this my
home away from
home back to

the land of the midday sun
its torpid heat
south of the border that
defines my

heart …

I dared not turn
and face that planet
and my tree
one more time.

Better to leave
well enough alone than
take the chance its
gravity

would capture my mind,
drag me back and swirl me down
another rabbit hole inside
some left over task … an
inevitability since

there’s ALWAYS something more to do … !

Much too easy it would be
to seek and find further excuse

to stay and find
another destination away from
where i knew i
had to go …

I needed to break
free(!) of the freedom
i had known!

My life of duty
would guide me
home …

all good things
most often end
and after all …

the other world I lived within?

i called it

home ….

continued; Past Arborland into the Flatlands

Song For My Father

First I heard Stan playing
‘one note’ with samba beat

in conjunction with
machiado, whip cream,

a chorus of shopping  murmurs
hello names … espresso pastries,

jive talk and solitary people
seeking dreams within
themselves …

When Diz joined in
i heard those

afro cuban rhythms and
lost notes grown along

the tree rings of
his later
career …

(So sad to hear those mighty
bellows gone
slack … )

Then came Horace’s silver notes
those repeating overtones

simple and
sweet

You’d think a  child
could make them until

you find yourself
floating through space

in singularity
with his

beat …

How grand to hear
such musical thought
pay tribute to one
so revered …

His

“Song To My Father” …

“… if there was ever a man who was generous, gracious and good  …
it was my dad …..
the man ….. ‘’

Ahhhhhhhh ….. !

I wish i’d have felt that sweet

adoration …

Our common denominator
in that relationship
we have with

Life …

and

Love …

The bond we all
hope for …

The place that
we all
seek …

The melody we hold so dear …

Through Horace
”the silver man” …

I share more paternal love
than i ever thought
possible …

Song For My Father written played so beautifully by
jazz pianist Horace Silver

Songs Sung But Never Heard; Bits and Pieces of Verbal DNA; Words That Couldn’t Pass Muster Destined to Have Not Been Seen Now … Seen; Unfinished Thoughts of Suffering and Pain; #1 … #2 … and More of Same … (to come … )

 

#1

with sudden change
the air began to escape the float

the favor he thought that
he was making

the opposite of his
feat …

his generosity and consideration
like a sunken ship
or a puff of smoke

evaporating into

hardship …

further action that he needed
the wrath he would
endure

the first he knew
of many that would
reoccur …

the result of
what she hated the most about him

his sense of luck
and determination
reduced to

devastation …

He thumped his head with
realization and pain

his face contorted with
sameness

the awful froth of his
forlorn resolve
his time
to get ahead
now

forgotten …

#2

what every woman wants to say:

“Stop acting stupid
and get your hand
off my
pussy!”

Visions Of I Didn’t Know

There was that moment when

parentage grew wings;

when each gave their life
so urgently in exchange for
the others delight.

Then came storms and sorrow
for all the right reasons;

a child the only receipt that
they had paid for
their lives together;

like minded authors on
the road of their procession

on days they shared
the child of their creation;

brief moments clutched together
their pride worn like
the finest clothing among
like minded throngs;

watching them on
the field of play

through eyes of momentary renown …
the field they all had played on …

the field of youthful

glory.

It didn’t matter how they played …
all spaces counted when

seen between the lines of
who they were.

From pole to pole
they took their rightful place

in exchange for
the delusions they

passed on through
time and space.

Everything i’ve told you
could possibly be true

and i know you feel the same;

it’s not the knowing that
gives life its meaning.

It’s the life we could have lived
between the lines …

It’s the Life
we thought we didn’t have

that makes it all

worthwhile …

Of Men and Mice

i’m perfectly aware that those sticky mouse traps are cruel.  but i figure the captured mice die alone.  me?  i decided the sticky side of some vinyl strips i recently used on the floor would be more humane and maybe i could find a humane way to dispose of them far enough from the cottage they wouldn’t return.   here’s what happened … so far … 

So … last night i got up to pee around three a.m.

(i don’t turn on the light so sitting to pee increases my chances of hitting the water unless i sit and the seat is down which can be painful.)

while waiting, i glanced to the left just as a tiny mouse scurried past the door opening. i jumped up and went after the sucker with all the sticky tiles i could find. then, while wiping up the dribbled pee between the toilet and the door i saw either the same little ‘mickey’ or another one, i’m not sure.

i picked up a sticky tile and threw it at the little bastard. it happened to be next to a quart can of paint. when the tile hit the paint can it formed a little tee pee under which, was the little guy.

lucky little bastard, i thought …  BUT, part of the sticky vinyl touched its tail. momentarily delayed, its little feet running in place, it managed to escape the sticky grip disappearing between the washer and dryer.

i used the sticky side of the vinyl to fish for the mother, waving it under the washer and dryer but … no stick.

i said to the little invader … ‘don’t worry you bastard, you’re an uninvited guest and your ass is grass.”

i stripped a couple vinyl tiles, dropped on some trail mix making sure there were a couple of m and m’s on the strip along with some choice pecans and a couple p nuts and laid it across the entrance to the laundry room calling it out for a little snack.

before retiring i used another vinyl strip … with some nice crunchies on it … along the baseboard behind the couch since mice like to hug the walls and the couch was a good place to hide in wait.

i put another strip on the floor between the end of the breakfast bar and the front wall thinking if there was another one, it might want to check to see if there were any crumbs laying around in the kitchen.

i didn’t know if mice can climb that well so, i covered the dirty dishes in the sink with the glass cutting board thinking … ha ha … i’ll get you you little vermin bubonic plague carrier!  (this part if fictionalized i would never leave dirty dishes in the sink.  it sounded entertaining so i wrote it.)

this morning i went on a small game hunt first checking the strip behind the couch. i found traces of hair stuck to the vinyl strip by the couch. could it have fallen on its side?

while feeling some concern that it was able to escape i laughed … maybe i’ll recognize the little bastard by missing patches of hair on its hind quarters!

i look the strip outside in the daylight to look as closely as i could, for any tiny little mousey toe prints. there were none. hmmm .. i wondered, how could that be?

but then i realized mice are smart … maybe it tried to roll over the strip???? then i realized, that would be kind of a dumb thing for a mouse to do.

i put the thought out of my mind, retiring to the laundry room since, while lying in bed i came to the conclusion that the fucker(s)(i wasn’t sure if mice bonded with mates like ducks do) probably got into the house through some cracks or holes behind the washer, dryer, hot water heater or furnace.

anxious to blunt any further incursions, i searched for steel wool after discovering an actual hole about 3/4 of an inch in diameter that i’d never seen before beneath the dryer.

i sounded like Simon Lagree stuffing the hole with steel wool. then, i discovered a large enough crack for them to slither through since i’m aware that mice have the ability to somehow morph snakelike so to get through tiny crevaces.

i stopped my evil chuckling as anger and determination took its place with a growling sound deep within my throat.

i stripped another strip of tile laying it against the smaller crack along where the wall joins the floor.

“let’m scurry down that highway to hell!” i thought.

then i realized that maybe the dryer vent could be one of their secret passages so i moved the dryer so that it lined up perfectly with the vent hole leading outside, turned on the dryer, went outside to check the wind velocity.

feeling a warm strong wind i decided that the two were lined up pretty good. i promised myself i’d duck tape the connection later.

in order to get the dryer lined up perfectly, the space between the dryer and the hot water heater had widened revealing pipes and the gas line i hadn’t noticed before. so, i slid in some vinyl strips over the tiles that the hot water heater sits on.

i got ambitious and stuck down tiles i precision cut, to cover those ugly tiles.

i had a hell of a time cutting the little triangles i needed to fit in since, little triangular spaces are always present when tiling around a round surface.

finally, thinking while snipping the little triangles, i devised a plan for trapping the little bastards.

the problem had always been … where to put the strips?? i realized that, the sticky sided vinyl strips should be placed across the entrance to any open area like, the kitchen, bathroom, laundry room AND surrounding the washer and dryer which … i will put in place tonight.

while submerged between the hot water heater and the wall i discovered two empty packets of ‘de-con’ mouse poison with little holes through which some mouse in the distant past had eaten through to get to the deadly substance. i imagined the stomach ache they must have experinced before dying.

i felt that Simon Lagree laugh involuntarily rise from my throat once again.

was i becoming psychotic, i thought … without thought or conscience about taking a life? AND what would i do if upon waking in the morning one of the little Mickeys was stuck to the vinyl strip struggling to get loose before my very eyes?

if that happened i was hoping our eyes didn’t meet since, i’d see the fear of death in the bastard’s eyes and probably want to make a pet out of it.

then i remembered having blood poisoning from a mouse bite when i was a kid trying to catch a mouse to make into a pet and decided to squash the son of a bitch with my boot heel! NOT REALLY!

i was hoping all my efforts would be preventative in nature.  i didn’t want to face that possibility since catching vermin with a sticky strip of tile is cruel to begin with but … i don’t want the bastards running around the cottage with their little droppings everywhere.  i kept thinking of the plague which was the perfect rationalization for sticky vinyl removal of mice as long as the end result is as humane as possible.

so i thought, maybe i could take it across the street and shake it off the vinyl tile which would serve a double purpose.  maybe the shaking would addle its brain enough so that it wouldn’t rememer where the cottage was and return when …. once again, the simon lagree in me rose to the surface and i pictured myself cutting its little feet off with my toe nail clippers … ewwww … too nasty and cruel to even think about. and, i’m not that kind of person but i guess everyone has a ‘shadow self’ … mine just happens to be the personage of simon lagree.

then, with a chuckle i thought, maybe i’ll take it into town where i’d stick it to the railroad tracks since recently, i’ve been hearing the train passing by each night. hahaha, i thought. this would be poetic justice wouldn’t it?

so this is how i spent my morning … setting traps for small game …

i didn’t have one of those hats you see big game hunters wearing in the Tarzan movies so i wore my Nike hat as a gag. hahaha …

then, i washed my hands really good … feeling sure that, if i didn’t i’d for sure get a bad case of the bubonic plague or at least a bad case of thrush.

that’s about it. there’s been a cold rain still going from last night. the kinder side of me keeps thinking … maybe they just came in to get warm.

i just noticed some bumps on my neck. those fucking spiders are at it again. i slapped on some cortiozone cream and started searching in the corners for those little egg sacks.

it hasn’t been a bad day. luckily it’s still raining so, i didn’t have anything better to do than hunt mice and spiders.

hopefully the rain will stop and i’ll decide i’ve done enough and abandon the hunt. or not!  maybe my obsessive tendencies will rise to the surface, i’ll lose control and be totally obsessed!

But i would like to get some work done outside … i’ll keep you posted … .

Stolen Serenity

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because

i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace
and a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine

sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity;

between the flakes
air that was mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty

of each and every living thing
stripped bare of all distractions that

Now …

I share with all the little things
that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding lines of intersection
between their search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside air i’ve been breathing

ALONE

i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now
i do not use that word lightly

stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings lived within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange
when trees released

their bed covers
to darker still intensity

captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces

during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for

warmer sun’s returns
to free the life within

those amber spaces.

Not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water

Released by whiter light!

These creatures that

surround me now!

within my sight!

that feed upon my light!

that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!

my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion!

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my SERENITY! !

That Old Clock and the Old Lady and the Old Clock

That Old Clock and the Old Lady and the Old Clock

The frame had a small dent,
the number four rested against six

after that old clock
on the kitchen wall

crashed onto the
marble counter top

because I opened
the cabinet door

too forcefully …

That old clock still ticked
so I rehung it

until I could find
a replacement

when a voice said,
‘’Get rid of it!’’ …

That beautiful old clock
is now a piece of detritus

keeping perfect time
at the bottom of

one of those large, green
Waste Management bins …

Like an old lady confined
to a nursing home,

its time had come
and then …

it’s time was
wasted …

Ergo

P1070701

Ergo

i’m torn
in many

wonder ways
captive held.

Scalding seas
narrow channels
heights
below
surfeit ever
changing seasons
finding mark/steady

back against
chest …
contact surface
shot to shit
with sweet
nostalgia ….

one single look of
‘wonder why’
exchanged …

or was it
simply

sad … ?

contact!!?

spark !!!
breath alive ?

pre-existing
existence

lives!!

floating
grains of sand

fresh water

secrets wash ashore;

light, new !

anon …

Light changes sight …!

Light changing site … !

Light,
no longer held

captive … takes

flight …

The Day the Month the Hour the Minute the Second the Time That I Was Born

That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air

i did not really care
it was not my problem

i was their’s for the taking …

i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born …

with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!

so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!

Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight

while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such

delight .. !!

Each night I see the world inside my dreams

wrapped inside the morning dew;

Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return

and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …

therefore
i am …..

Trump Card Takes the Pot

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Trump Card Takes the Pot

Trump card plays his hand
knowing how the game will end

He’s a big game hunter now
he has his own guns !

the biggest guns in all the lands!

the power of Life and Death held
firmly in his hands …

…..

Trump card plays his hand …

…..

Friendly nations now
the fraternity of sociopaths

they share their common secrets
they are of one mind …

They have it all inside …

the stage is set for

Act 2 …

of this tragic story
waiting to unfold …

though

who it’ll be a tragedy for
no one really knows …

maybe we’ll ALL be losers …

…..

I’ve been waiting for some time now
for the spark to set the fire ..

the flame that starts the
slow burn …

and i see it just got started!  

(I should have known it would spark to life in California!)

The stage is set …

…..

Trump card played his hand …

…..

Act II is set to play … !

…..

There’s open warfare in the streets

a purposeful venture
an investment in time
the dividends paid by the investment of his
rhetoric … It’s time to reap

the payoff …

…..

Trump card played his hand …

…..

Chaotic forces needed/on demand

…..

Trump card takes his stand …

…..

Opposing forces created/hatred gives incendiary reason/

If there’s tinder when a
fire starts

the flames get out of
hand …

It could turn into a blaze … !

…..

Some people say
that’s ok … it’s just
Trump card learning
to play ….

Act 3 … Siloquoy

“Doncha wonder what’s the plan
where’s it all going from here?

willl it have a happy end ?
will we all be rich and fat … or even fatter!

Strangely enough it’s headed nowhere … !

NOWHERE! ???

A meandering pack of beasts with one accord
roaming earth

desire with equal distribution
shared/single destination

the double helix never so grand
the power hungry people
from selected lands … joined in
tribal majesty
hungry for the feast

while

Trump card plays his hand …

…..

It’s all about power
once the thrill of money dies

it doesn’t really matter
it’s the next step as you rise  ..

another conquered feast
to feed the hungry beasts

another draght to slake the power hungry

thirst …

It flows
It grows
It waits

and when time is right

it will flash point … !

We’ll live in an orderly world
very little crime to speak of

the prayers of little children
will echo through the halls ..

…..

Inside tiny cubicles
within the tiny walls

will sit the hungry masses/innocent victims of the law/creating space for peace to grow/gentrification/repartiation of the masses …

…..

Prisoners inside cubicles walls

waiting for the day they know
will never come …

While the rest of us will
fein happiness, freedom and joy

waiting for

the other shoe to

drop …..

———————-

Trump card plays his cards

and takes the

pot …

Space Devoid of Time

Unknown

wind blows memories through my mind\
time recedes, I’m moving through
space devoid of time … in different
lands …

i’m in another place
drawn in as a sketch or

a figure etched in fog or
mist watching … seeing … seeing

the light of time past
stored inside …

Light from the past taken
still alive in that bubble of time

seeing clearly for nano seconds
but lived in once again!

The storied light of the past
alive within us all ..

through space
devoid of
time …

next to the timeless past
‘real life’
is a parallel universe …

a linear river of time,

boxed reality

separated from the past
by an impermeable membrane

impossible to break through
except during sleep

when past light bleeds into
dreams like wispy smoke and
we see by
the light of two

suns …

Grand Canyon Phil

Grand Canyon Phil

 Lynn started having severe headaches a year and a half after marrying Phil who considered himself a libertarian pledged to be a pain in the ass to every person he met.

One summer they were on vacation at the Grand Canyon riding donkeys down a trail along the canyon wall around 200 feet above the Rio Grande.

The trail widened just as Phil called the guy in front of him a fucking jack ass.

Lynn pulled up next to Phil.

‘’The nerve of him,’’ she thought to herself. ‘’I’ve about had it with this asshole.’’

The word ‘’asshole’’ escaped from her lips.

When Phil looked at Lynn everyone in the group looked at Phil.  Lynn dug her fingernails around the top of Phil’s shoulder.

The last thing Phil saw before a tumbling blend of spectacular Grand Canyon colors enhanced by an immense orange setting sun was, Lynn’s smiling face mouthing the words, ‘’Good by asshole.’’

When they returned topside the entire group reaffirmed Lynn’s version of the story.  Phil had leaned over too far while yelling “fuck off’’ to the group leader and had fallen over the edge of the gorge.

That night Lynn drove eastward toward Las Vegas.

Phil’s body was never found.

Setting Free the Birds

Setting Free the Birds

 Unknown-2

I was the smoking monitor for ten patients, in the screened porch one day.

I lit their cigarettes. They smoked and we talked.

Next to me sat gracious, sweet southern born Clara, her ankles swollen twice their size, blue, onion thin skin, ripped and torn, wrapped in gauze.

Deserted by her children,  she lives in a movable lounge chair forever her prison, crying, ‘’Help, help,’’ all night, every night.

Suddenly two female cardinals streaked past attaching themselves to the screen in front of us, their tails fanned, the sun highlighting beautiful shades of brown with red streaks.

Desperate to escape they skittered from panel to panel.

I herded them toward the opening saying,  ‘No, go that way!” or  ‘’No, go back!”

First one found freedom, curved upward and disappeared.

Confused, the other flew past the opening moving further away from freedom.

I moved past and with hands raised shouted, “It’s your turn now GO!”

She dropped from the screen, scooped low and was absorbed by the pale blue sky.

Turning toward Clara I watched tears of despair spill over onto her cheeks.

When our eyes met, I knew exactly how she felt.

Where There Were Snakes

Where There Were Snakes .. 250 Words

When I was a boy, we caught garden snakes in a field next to a place called the Tub Factory over by the railtracks.  We trapped the snakes by stepping on their tails. We’d pinch them behind their heads, pick them up, look at their flickering tongues and peer into their angry, cold eyes.

Their teeth were little bumps.  You didn’t bleed when bitten, but they wouldn’t let go.  We’d collect six or eight of them in coffee cans, all writhing at the bottom.  I took a can home to my mom once.  She wouldn’t let me keep them as pets.

The field of snakes was behind the rambling old Eden house with its clapboard exterior that time had painted weathered and grey where seven brothers and sisters lived.

Their father Mit, a full blooded American Indian was a mean, hard drinking railroad man cruel to people even outside his family.

His oldest son Don was a bad apple who combed his greasy black hair into a pompadour, wore cuffed jeans, points, white t-shirts with cigarettes rolled into his sleeve.  His half smile and white teeth belied angry, cold snake eyes that said he could kill you if he wanted.  People said he even scared his father.

Legend was he tied cats’ tails together, threw them over clothes lines and set them on fire.

Later in life he changed his ways, married a nice girl and became a Baptist minister.

Renewal

Driving out endless possibilities/
skating over ice too thin/

holes chopped through frozen reality/
broken dreams .. in the hospital/
waiting for repair
…..
Unknown encounters passing by/
sparks of visions wondering why/
lives joined in sequence/
the river meandering by/
sweet and terrible waters …
.,….
Birth spring summer fall reliving/
gifts supreme/
singularity seen with double meaning/
sun’s heavenly face moving/
fresh air beyond belief/
worlds asunder/
rising swells /moving sands/deadheads floating by …

imagination

captured by wandering sea …

renewing  itself

endlessly …