Out the Other Side

someone stops you on the street,
a person you haven't seen
in ages,
she asks you
how's it going? what's up with
your life?

she stares at your hand,
ringless,
but says nothing.
a few months ago, you would have
told her, you would have
dragged her into a coffee
shop and gone on and on
about what's happened
over the last year.

you would have bared your
soul in gruesome detail,
looking for sympathy, or

empathy, or
some sort of human emotion
expressing sorrow for
your plight.

but now
you just smile and say that
everything is good, all is well,
the world, at last, is right.

i'm happy for you, she says.
hugging me, and kissing me
on the cheek. i'm
so glad you escaped that
nightmare and woke up
to the reality of what it was.

i'm overjoyed that you came
out the other side.

Runner's High

you see them running.
heads bent,
some with a limp, an ache
or pain,
but there they go,
onto the streets,
or treadmill,
everyday,
in the morning, at night,
shoes
tied tight.
bone thin,
faces drawn like prisoners
starved
in some concentration
camp.
the runners go and go.
they've been bitten
by the bug.
they need their fix
to feel right.
five miles, or ten,
even one at times will do.
through the slush and rain,
the snow and ice.
they need to run.
it's an addiction now.
a need
to burn away that apple
eaten,
the piece of toast.
a bowl of rice.
it's their only way
of dealing with food
and life.

problem solved

the math of her
is
finite.
there is no abstract
anymore,
no
unknown x or y.
everything is exact.
prime numbers.
quadratic equations
solved
on a big board.
each secret now known.
I have all
the answers now.
all the answers i'll
ever need.
the mystery of her
is no more.
the problem is solved.

Broken

I remember finding her
curled up
in a ball
in the dark den,
lights off,
the door closed,
her crying, arms wrapped
around her
trembling starved body,
shaking.
moaning, wordless
and cold.
her eyes were hollowed
out and red.
black mascara streaking
down.
she pulled and pulled
at her hair.
I asked her what's wrong,
what's the matter
now?
and she said, nothing.
just nothing.
I can't tell you,
you'll use it
against me,
somehow.
I just want to leave,
she said,
check out
and never return.
not from here, but from
everywhere.
to no longer
be around.
this was the beginning,
of the end.
I had no idea what any
of this meant.
of who she was, or what
this was about.
I still don't and never will.
she's gone. long gone,
and
out of this house.

fasting

I've been fasting
for over an hour
now.
i'm not sure how
much longer I can
hold out before I pull
over for a donut
somewhere.
but the doc says, I can't
have any food
in me before they take my blood.
but I think just one chocolate
glazed donut
and a cup
of coffee would do no
harm.
I feel faint, and weak.
I start to black out,
but I keep driving.
i'm sweating,
salivating as I pass I hop
and denny's,
7-11.
this may be the longest
I've ever gone without
a piece of bacon,
or a fried egg,
or cinnamon toast.

taking blood

she says, it won't hurt.
it won't hurt a bit.
roll up your sleeve, we just need
some blood
for the lab.
I trust her.
she's wearing a white lab
coat
and red lipstick.
I look at her shoes,
red high heels.
she winks and says, okay, don't
look
and in goes the needle.
I hardly feel a pinch
as she drains me of my blood
vial by vial. I hardly miss
it.
I may be in
love.

the other side

it's a gift.
a blessing in disguise.
suffering is.
the universe, God, is
telling you, all is well.
everything
will be fine.
just walk through these
coals on fire
for a little longer.
soon, trust me,
very soon,
you'll know what
needs to be known
and you'll be safe once
more on the other side.

transparency

i repaint the big closet
in the guest room.

it was too dark and musty,
full of secrets

and trash from another
life,

everything that was once in there
is long gone.

boxed and carried away.
i go with a glossy white,

a nice sheen
to the walls and shelves,

the ceiling,
the rail. two coats.

i even change the light,
a hundred watts,

to make it even brighter.

nothing gets hidden in there
anymore, ever.

no doors are closed.
no doors are locked.

transparency

If I Had Listened

if I had listened
to the voice inside my
head.
if had
leaned in
and looked deeply
into her eyes.
if I had
taken her pulse,
searched
her soul for what
was true,
what was a lie,
none of this would
have happened.
but I wanted the impossible.
I wanted
true love.
unconditional,
I wanted the world
and her
in it. all of her,
not a small piece
on a small plate
with a small fork.
I wanted her to be
this person that I dreamed
about
as a child.
the one.
if I had listened,
none of this would have
happened.
I would not have come
undone.

Running the Yellow Light

even early on
there was doubt.
there was
the caution yellow
blinking
in my mind, my heart.
but I ignored
what I knew
was untrue and
paid the price.
I ran the light
as it turned red
and soon crashed
and burned
in the darkness of
a cold black
night.

The Quiet Room

how quiet
these rooms are.
how sweet
the silence is.
how warm the bed
is,
the lights
low,
a good book to read.
how nice
to be free,
to be happy once
more,
to have things
to look forward
to,
not sadness,
not coldness,
not war.

finding home

it's a strange world
we're in.
stranger by the day,
by the hour.
what is isn't, what's real
is not real.
we're living in a
surreal time,
abstract is the norm.
no one is who
you thought they were,
everything you once
believed to be true,
has come undone.
the violence is overwhelming.
the boisterous
and bullies are
winning out.
the liars are
in control.
doubt and deception
is our weather
for the day.
it's a carnival of noises
and muddled colors
and all the rides
are disappointments.
time to get off and go
find a flat land,
of green grass
and a home. to be
with the one you love,
quiet
and peaceful
at last arriving at
home sweet home.

white flag in hand

for months I listened
to her.
to him.
to them.
I read, I scrolled,
I wrote like a mad man
putting it all down
in diary form.
I fought the truth,
a year of it.
digging out from this hole
I dug.
this bunker
I burrowed into.
I listened. I put
my ear to the floor,
a cup
to the wall.
I heard the words, but
it took a long
time to believe them
and go.
she welcomed me at
the door,
as I came out with
the sun in
my eyes, white flag in hand.
about time, she said.
you almost lost me
if it lasted
a single second more.

No Coincidence

it was almost like
having the flu,
for a year. a bad cough,
indigestion,
heart burn, the jitters.
aches and pains,
a fever, anxiety,
and sadness. it was
all encompassing.
the chills, the shakes,
the sleepless nights.
the loss of weight,
that vacant look in
my eyes. tremors,
the tongue dry.
the body cold from
being untouched for
so long.
the constant worry over
what was true, what
was a lie.
it was the worst
flu I've ever had
or ever will, then
suddenly one day,
it was gone, just like
that, and so
was she. hardly a
coincidence.

what lies beyond

in three months you'll be
fine,
the therapist says,
you can almost see the clearing
in the woods now,
she says.
you're almost there.
keep going, keep walking.
in fact,
skip and sing along
the way.
it's not exactly a yellow
brick road,
but so what,
you know there
is no emerald city,
no wizard, no witches
or flying monkey, but what
lies beyond
is even better, it's called
reality.

lake fishing

the fish
aren't biting, so we go
to the other
side of the lake.
no luck there either.
we use
different bait.
switching from blood worms
to lures,
to pieces
of chicken or steak.
we don't really
know what we're doing,
but we throw the line
out as far as we
can,
we use bobbers and
lead weights,
we're quiet
then loud, we almost
fall asleep
sitting on the hard
rocks waiting for a stupid
fish to strike.
then she says to me,
doesn't safeway sell fish?
you're right, I tell her.
let's go.

off the grid

it's electricity,
the current that lights the lights
that keeps
the buzz
on the screens,
the phones
ringing. where would
we be
off the grid, in the dark,
worse off,
or better,
with a candle burning
with which to
read.

night ghosts

sometimes
the ghosts appear. they rattle
their chains,
coming up the stairs,
they bump
into things, I hear
the creak
of the floor as their
weight
goes down, heel by heel.
but there is no fear,
they are powerless now,
just vague memories,
none of them
make me lose a minute
of sleep.
there is just a grin, a smile,
a wave,
and the words,
good night all you dears.

skipping stones

you clap your hands together,
and exhale.
you wish them well.
all of them.
each and every one of them.
no need to go through
the list
and give names.
slowly they fade from your eyes,
a long
line fading into the fog,
into the shadowy
soothing light. in time,
all memories will smooth
themselves out,
become stones
and stories
that you can
hold in your hand
and skim across the pond,
letting them
gently splash
against the water,
then
sink forever, out of sight.

more behind us

the year is unwinding itself
so quickly,
nearly half gone.
the confetti of new years
is still
on the floor, in our hair.
we no longer
inch towards tomorrow,
we are at a full gallop
now.
the wind in our grey hair,
our knees
ache,
our bones are brittle.
our eyes unclear.
we have fought the good fight.
there is more behind
us now,
and what lies ahead,
though less,
is never clear.

trust yourself

do not betray
yourself. do not stray
where you shouldn't go.
listen
to that voice
inside your head.
believe it when it says
to say
no.
trust your inner
soul, it knows without
a doubt,
who should leave,
who should stay,
who should be in
your life.

all things

the long
rain, is fine, a shadowed
fog,
a mist filling the sunday
with a sleepy
kind of wine.
we linger and lounge,
we speak
softly of tomorrow,
of the future,
of happy times.
the rain is our friend,
our blanket
to stay in, to be close,
knowing that with faith
and true love,
all things work for the
better, given time.

the awakening

I sort through
some old boxes stuffed
way back in the closet.
dusty,
unmarked. for years
they've gone untouched.
I open one
and start digging through
the memories.
touching the touchstones
of those years.
some sweet,
some bitter,
some unknown, forgotten
souls
that have come and gone.
how easily I dispose
of sentimental things,
once I have the epiphany,
the cruel awakening
that so much of life
is never what it seems.

more to come

it's a busy bar.
loud
techno music, it's dark,
friendly lighting one
might say.
weak drinks
and fried foods.
it's a young crowd,
a carded crowd,
very little
silver or grey
in the hair.
we may be the oldest
ones here.
but that's okay,
we've had our day,
our years,
but there are more
to come.
you can bet on that,
no doubt.

forever my dear

it's another day.
mother's day, father's day,
kid sister
day,
grandmother's day,
a cousin twice removed
day.
it's valentine's day.
easter,
Christmas,
arbor day.
it's ex wives day,
estranged lover's day.
old boyfriend
day.
acquaintance day.
it's another day.
another dozen roses,
another hallmark
card.
another trinket with
a bow on it.
new years,
the fourth of july,
flag day.
it's the boss day,
the secretary day.
the in laws,
the out laws,
the son's
the daughters
the day of the long
departed.
there are a lot of days
in the year.
pick one,
send me a flower,
a card, an email, but
truthfully all I want
is a whisper in my
ear saying,
I love you, I love
you forever, my dear.

so much alike

we can't decide
on which way to go,
what to eat,
or drink,
whether to walk or drive.
what to wear.
we're indecisive about
nearly everything
under the sun.
so much,
up in the air. but
that's why we get
along so well,
we're so much
alike,
nothing's wrong,
and anything's right.

dixie

there was this bartender
named
dixie
in a club down town
back in the eighties,
a place
called Bojangles,
on m street.
you walked down a spiral
stairway,
entering from the sidewalk.
dixie
would always have a cold
beer,
your beer,
cap off sitting
sweating on the bar
the second you came in.
she had short blonde hair,
blue eyes.
corn fed
and raised in iowa
or Nebraska,
someplace under
the big skies.
she knew your name,
said hey, how you doing,
then she was gone
and some guy named jimmy
came along.
a rough, heavy guy
with earrings and a new
York accent. unshaven
and rude.
we never got along.
what happened to dixie, I
asked him one Friday night
and he said who the hell
is dixie, how would
I know.
it was all about dixie.
those long summer nghts
with my pals, drinking,
dancing,
looking for love.
even now I think about her,
missing her,
the day, the times we
were in, single and free,
driving home under
a rising sun.

the ice cream cone

i see the cops
chasing
someone on foot down
the street
as i sit on the bench
licking an ice cream
cone. the man seems
to be smiling
having a good time
with it all.
it's a nice day.
blue skies,
the sun is warm
beyond the trees.
the man is running
around the benches,
the trees,
zig zagging as the cops
get tired, stopping
to rest,
hands upon their knees,
weary from
the chase.
he's getting away,
which makes
me happy in a strange
sort of way.
we all need to get
away with things once
in a while.
I love mint chip
ice cream,
but I went for rocky
road this time,
one scoop on a sugar
cone. I continue licking.

simple things

it's hard to live
without some things.
creature comforts for the most
part.
like a good bed,
a good meal,
coffee
in the morning.
sunrise, sunset.
the woods,
the lake,
the ocean. it's difficult
to negotiate
the day
without simple things
to ground us,
books and movies,
poetry.
to hear the words
I love you,
and to feel
a warm embrace.

she gambles

she likes to gamble.
throw her money down on the black
jack table,
and say hit me.
she winks when she says that,
looking at me with
those brown eyes, twinkling.
she knows her cards.
counts them out,
keeps track, and knows
the odds.
but she knows when to quit
too,
when to walk away, and say
enough, i'm done.
she packs up and gets out
of there.
so glad though, that she
didn't do that with me.

things are good

I can't wait to retire,
he tells me,
as we sit up at the Chinese
restaurant
eating bad food
but washing it down
with strong drinks.
i'm sick of working he
says.
i'm just bored with life,
you know.
I might leave my wife
too.
I need a change.
we don't really like
each other
anymore anyway.
the kids are killing me
with their tuitions.
they don't listen.
maybe i'll lose some weight,
dye my hair.
get a girlfriend on the side.
shut up.
I tell him.
your wife loves you,
and you adore her,
what I wouldn't pay
to have your life.
you love your work.
you even like cutting your grass
on the weekends
and painting the shutters.
you say this stuff every time
we get together.
he laughs, yeah, yeah,
it's the rum in these drinks.
makes me think i'm
thirty again. I guess
I do have it pretty good,
don't I?
damn right.
we'll I should get going.
see you in church on
sunday?
yup.

let's go for a walk

I ask the dog
if he wants to go for a walk.
he says yes.
sure,
why not, I've been stuck inside
all day
while you're out
doing god knows what,
driving around having a good
old time
with your pals and your
girlfriend,
sure, let's go for a walk.
how much time do you
have, ten minutes, are you
going to pull on my collar
and yell at me to pee,
thanks,
thanks for nothing.
but here, i'll bark, i'll
wag my tail,
does that make you feel
better, take
some of the guilt away?
sure, let's go for a walk.

down at the shelter

she works at the shelter,
the carpenter's
shelter
on the outskirts
of town. She volunteers
despite her
busy life. It's
where the mall used to be,
before the mall
became extinct.
it's where sear's sold
tires,
where penny's sold dresses
and shoes, but now
there's beds,
bunks, cots and tents,
hot food
in the long line
for those who can eat,
or want to.
the bearded, the bedeviled,
the toothless.
pregnant and tattooed,
some escaping the past,
some escaping
the future.
it's a circus
of the bewildered,
the luckless,
the miscast.
it's frightening to think
that all of us
are a left turn
away from being right there
with them.

first world problems

finally the maids
are coming. so i clean up
the house
to get it ready. i hide
all my jewelry, which is one
ring i got from a cracker
jack box when i was twelve.
i still have it
in a drawer next to
some cat's eyes marbles.
it's a skull and
cross bone ring, bone white
with black eyes.
i hide the bowl of change.
at least three dollars
in there and a Victoria
Secret catalogue i just got
in the mail.
i set out the clean sheets
for the bed,
and leave a box of donuts
and a check
on the counter.
key is under the mat.
make it pretty, i tell
them, sorry, so sorry
about the mess. these are
first world problems,
no doubt.

the new smart phone

at some point i'll
figure out
how to connect my new smart
phone
to my assortment of
speakers
about the house.
i'm in dire need of music.\
you tube is of no help.
the old one worked
just fine.
but I need a twelve
year old
in the neighborhood
to help me with this.
I post signs along the way,
on telephone
poles and trees.
will pay
for music and technology.
name your price.

summer wine

the summer
is before you.
a calendar full
of warm days
to be enjoyed
and savored.
it's the summer wine
of your autumn.
time to move
forward
in new love,
in new arms,
under the kind
embrace of
a golden sun.

A three day weekend

it's a fine
inn, along the bay.
a get away. water and sun.
a small town that we can
walk through,
eat and shop in.
we'll wear our summer clothes,
pack light.
we'll sleep in,
sleep late,
we'll dance and kiss
the time away,
we'll read,
we'll laugh, we'll do
nothing
for a few days,
nothing but hold each
other tight.
not a word, not a whisper
about the past,
today is all
that matters and then
the night.

i'll be out back

finally finished with the purging
and burning
of all things
connected to the past,
renovating each room
she touched.
I sit back and relax.
fix a drink,
put some tunes on, al green,
teddy,
marvin,
and whatever else melts my
butter.
I give
my friend
a call and tell her,
the door's unlocked,
i'll be in the yard,
stretched out in the hammock
come on in, there's
chardonnay
on the counter, pour yourself
a glass,
come down the steps,
join me out back.

surviving the melt down

she says to me
over the phone, boy,
I've been reading your stuff
lately.
holy moly.
it's like a Shakespearean
tragedy.
what the hell
happened.
it's all there, I tell
her in black and white.
think of Hiroshima,
or Nagasaki
or three mile island.
think Chernobyl
times ten.
it was pretty much an
ugly sixteen months melt
down
with the core
gone bad,
but the problem is gone.
the reactor is back
online.
up and running.
all is well now.
no use lingering
in the past. we won't
make that mistake again.

I have been one of them

I pray
for the sick, the ill.
the handicapped,
the lost and lonely souls
who
toss and turn
in their cold beds at night,
wishing upon
stars, hands clasped together
in prayer for
salvation to come along,
for i have been one of
them.

I pray for the homeless,
the deaf
and blind,
the broken hearted
and mentally
ill, the hungry,
the betrayed, the poor,
for I have been one of them.

I pray that some light will
be put upon the weak,
the lost,
the disturbed,
and unloved,
that with a miracle
somehow there will be
a light, a moment
of shine,
an answer to where they
are. I pray for them,
for anyone left behind,
for I
have been one of them.

woven as one

it's hard to write
about a tree, or a stone,
a hill,
or cloud,
the rain, or snow
without the words
somehow forming into
a poem about you,
or me,
or her, or
them,
everyone long gone.
all is tied together,
woven into one.
nothing
ever is completely
undone.
we are tethered to
the past,
to the souls that have
crossed our
paths, those we have
laughed or cried with,
those we called
friends, or who
have slept in our beds,
and made love to,
those we have
kissed or cursed
and said farewell to.
the dead included.
no one is ever too far
away, too gone.

time for a party

it's time for a party.
the party you never had.
the list is made.
the drinks
bought, the food
ready to go.
the house clean,
the music on.
parking is arranged.
it's long over due,
having a bash,
a get together
with so many friends.
let it go on
all night.
let there be dancing,
and laughter.
no more tears, or
sadness,
that's all been
swept away for good.
let the celebration
begin.
let's start
over, make things right.

the update

your facebook
friends all want to know what's
up.
where'd she go?
what happened, we see that you've
updated your
personal information.
spill, give us the dirt.
but I say nah,
i'm done with that story.
i'll spare you the
gruesome details.
let's just say it didn't
work out and it was time
to move on.
but I did post some pictures
of a cake
I baked.
I've gotten thirty
six likes in just an hour.

bring on the greens

she says, we need to get
you on a plant based diet.
i'm eating baby back spare ribs
at the moment.
there's barbeque sauce
all over my face
and on my shirt.
okay, I tell her,
sipping on a glass
of cold milk.
I like lettuce I tell her.
I really do, in a nice
big salad.
romaine, iceberg.
all good. all good.
after this last meaty
bone, i'm done with meat
for awhile.
i'm getting clean,
bring on the greens.

Walking on Eggshells

she's a chameleon,
a snake,
that sheds her skin
each day.
who should I be now,
she says with a smile,
what role shall I play?

i'll mirror you,
be what you want me to be,
tell me what you need,
sweet and kind,
gentle and sexy, okay,
well,
at least for awhile,
but later I have to return
to my evil
dark side.

in another
life, she'd be on stage,
in the movies,
a star of the silver
screen,
but for now,
she lets you
try to figure her out,
keeping you on eggshells,
changing her mind,
her heart on every little
thing,

giddy up

it's time to giddyup
and get out of this lost land.
this land
of snakes and poisoned wells.
what happened to the land
of milk and honey
that she promised you.
nowhere to be found, so it's
time to saddle up,
put the stirrups on,
the old hat,
the chaps, the boots,
hop aboard, and travel on.
giddyup little doggies,
giddyup.

the big bath

it's time for another
flood.
a big washing of the earth.
it seems over due
for a cleansing.
there is so much evil
walking around making
life miserable for us.
time
to get the bleach out,
the detergent, to build
another ark
and take aboard
the view good souls still
left on this earth.
let the rains come,
let the earth fill up
once more with water.
time for the world to take
a bath and get
clean once more.
it's might be the only way
to save it,
either that or a nuclear
war.

go man, go

it's not unusual for
those trapped to not want
to leave
their jailer,
their guards.
the prisoners of war,
scared to exit
the horrors of the camp
when
liberated,
the beaten wife, abused,
bruised by
the husband, and him
too, lied to
and duped for so long,
thoroughly used, betrayed.
but unable to say enough,
to walk out, to set
himself free when
no longer chained.
it's not unusual
for many to stay put
in their state of misery,
but once in a while,
a light goes on
and you do climb that fence,
tunnel under the wall,
you snip the wires and go,
You go man go.

the doctor is in

she can fix anything.
she'll open up the back of an
old tv
and pull out some wires and tubes,
put a screw driver
in there, and voila,
it's working again.
need a new headlight in your
car, she's got
that too.
hang a chandelier, no
problem.
the toaster oven, the
microwave,
the washing machine none
of them have a chance when
she's got her tool belt on.
not to mention
all of her patients
that she puts her stethoscope
to. taking their blood,
making them say ahhh,
checking their cholesterol
or giving a shot for the flu.
there's hardly a thing
wrong with you that she
can't figure out and
improve.
broken heart. no problem,
she's got that too.

how are things?

the dentist is a nag.
but a sweet one.
brushing is fine, she says,
it's the disinterest in
flossing
that we need to discuss.
maybe we should do
some x rays,
get the blue light out
and check for
cancer.
open wide, I need to
put some cardboard
boxes in under
your tongue.
spit, rinse. so how are
things?

A country mile

Saying farewell is
Hard
But staying too
Long
at the fair
with anyone
You dont love
Or who doesn't
Love you
Is worse,
worse than even
being alone,
worse
by a country
Mile.

how things work out

funny
how things work out
in the end.
but we struggle and cry
out
like babies in a crib,
whining in the dark.
always wanting what we think
is best for us.
i'm hungry,
I'm thirsty, i'm
scared,
I need a change.
sing me a lullabye.
then all of that ends,
and you
come out the other
side alive, better for it,
stronger from the suffering,
mended,
able to be in love,
once again.

thank you, my dear

each day is easy now.
I float on my back under a pristine
sky,
blue as blue
can be.
I am in the Saragossa sea.
no need
to kick
those legs,
to throw
arm over arm
trying to get to shore.
no need to signal mayday
anymore.
the dark skies have
disappeared,
it's clear sailing now
from here on out.
thank you
thank you, thank you
my dear.

she waited

she waited.
she listened to me
throughout
the long hard year.
gave me advice.
she waited by the phone,
walking
the lake,
thinking that my
troubles would never
end.
that i'd never be free
again.
the seasons went
from summer into fall,
into ice.
but she stood by me.
she dried my tears,
held me tight.
she waited.
waited for us to begin
a new life.

Let's Take a Nap

let's take a nap,
I tell her,
as we read the sunday
paper
together on the long couch.
it's a grey rainy day,
just chilly enough
to stay put and lounge
around
with coffee and tea.
a nap? she says,
and winks.
I know what you mean by
napping,
but okay
but first let me put
these dishes in the sink,
lock the door,
then i'll meet you upstairs
after changing into
something black,
a pair of heels
and put some lipstick on.

driving home in the rain

you drive home
in the early morning
rain, put some music on.
you linger
in the right
lane as you travel down
the long
winding
road towards home.
it was a good night.
you're tired, but happy,
content
in this fresh new world.
you welcome the rain,
the hours and the day
before you.
there is no longer any
need
for tears, to be sad,
to wonder, to explain.

A Waste of Time

when I look back
at the insanity of it all.
at the madness
of who she was,
knowing deep inside that
it would never work in
a thousand years, tolerating
lies
and betrayal
for a whole year,
I cringe and sigh.

when someone is truly
mentally ill, you realize
what a waste of time
it is trying to heal
them, to make them see
the light, any light, but still
you foolishly try.

it's an impossible task.
there is nothing you can do,
but leave
and let her fight her own
demons by herself
or with another, someone
on an equally sick level.

when I look back at my
addiction
to someone who wasn't even
real. I wonder now,
why would I even want to be
with a person like that?
so cruel and unkind.
I can't believe
myself. what I went through.
how I survived.

to bend and not break

we bend, we bend.
but
we don't break. we have
something
inside of us
beyond measure,
call it
self preservation,
dignity,
faith.
the world will
disappoint you, the
people you fall in love
with will
fail you,
but you'll bend
and not break.
in fact,
you'll become stronger,
more true to yourself,
more wise and sure
to never again,
make the same mistake.

the blessings to come

sometimes we
need the sour to appreciate
the sweet,
we need the pain to feel
the blessings
of health.
we need the struggle of
poverty
to understand and be
grateful for even the smallest
amount of wealth.
suffering,
in small or great doses,
leads
to wisdom and the growth
of self.
the loss of love,
in time
brings joy and hope when
the next one appears,
better than ever, more
true, more real.
take the seed buried
in the soil.
with rain and sun,
with care, and God's hand,
it will prevail.

One True Love

you make a list of
past lovers, a very
short list of
true loves, flings
and others,
romances and friendships
formed
and closed.

you think hard on
all the souls
that have come
and gone in your
life. people that you
believed in,
and loved, that you
thought were right,
but were in the end,
completely wrong.

it's not a long list,
when it comes to
the real thing,
so few
in the crowd, for
them or you.
it's not about intimacy,
the bed,
sex.
it's connecting
on a deeper level,
one of honesty and trust.

to love
and be beloved,
that list is small,
it just takes one
though to be done,
to say enough, she's
enough, no need to fill
your heart with
a new stranger,
and another false start.

someone's dead

the phone rings at two thirty
in the morning.
you let it keep
ringing until it stops.
you assume that someone
is dead.
someone you know and may
be close to
has died and someone else
is calling you
to give you the bad news.
you go through a list of
possible people
that may have died one way
or the other, or
taken, sadly their fate,
into their own hands.
you lie there in the dark
and try to go
back to sleep, but the thought
of someone close
to you dying won't let you.
so you get up,
you have no choice.
you go downstairs to the
kitchen where your phone is,
on the counter being
charged, and open it up.
no one is dead.
but there's a discount
on hotel rooms at the beach,
fifty per cent off.
you find a pad of paper
and make a note of that.

a talk with the son

I call my son to discuss
things, our current
state of affairs, both
his and mine.
he's older now, he gets it,
he understands.
he works hard and has a life
of his own,
out from the shadows
of his mother and father,
his childhood friends.
he's compassionate
and thoughtful.
he's at that age where we
can talk,
not just son to father,
but also
man to man.
he gives me sound advice,
he echoes words
I've shared with him
through his troubled times,
his long dark
nights.
he's a gem.
he's a wonder. he's
everything I wanted him
to become.
he is unique,
wise and caring.
he's like no other.
he's my son.

his new girl friend

my father
sits next to his new girl friend
on the couch,
close,
holding her hand.
he's ninety one
she's eighty three.
he's got the love bug.
you can see it in his eyes.
I cringe.
who hasn't been there,
but what can you do.
it has to play out.
for better or worse.
I have no advice to give
him, but be careful.
the heart is a tender
place
at every age
and can be easily
be ripped apart.

sweet ink

write me something sweet,
she says.
something not
about the past year.
stop with
this path your on,
the dark
ink,
the dark heart you
own. stop the bleeding
and look at me.
see what you
see
not what's gone.
it won't always be
this way,
trust me on this,
you'll live to love
another day.
and it will be with
someone
more true,
more real
than anyone that's
gone away.

us being young

it's a black and white
photo.
when we were young.
before
everything.
before all that we know.
before
all the tomorrows
that were to come.
before
hearts were broken,
before
everything true
came undone.
it's a black and white
photo
of us smiling, of us
being young.

the beginning

she slips in
through an open window.
slides
across the floor
in her bare feet,
comes up the stairs
without a sound.
i'm in bed,
almost asleep, almost
in a dream
when I awake
to her kiss, to her
body next
to mine.
it's the end of
something old.
the beginning
of something
new.

the shelf

the shelf
is full of books.
books I've read, a few
I've never
picked up,
too bored, too tired
to open
the covers and read.
i look at them,
they stare
back at me.
i wipe the dust
off, i tell them later,
later
when i have time,
when my mind
is in a better place,
then,
maybe then i'll have
time to relax, to enjoy
a new
adventure, to sit
on a long summer
day and read.

check writing

I spend the morning
writing checks.
the address stamp hot
with use.
the tongue dry
from licks on envelopes.
my hand is cramped.
but it's fine.
what's bought is in
the house,
what wasn't before,
is slowly
becoming mine.
there is nothing
brought in that I don't
like,
not a picture hung,
not a chair,
or plant, or rug.
no longer will these
walls, or floor, hold
possessions of a darker
kind.

Restoration

churches fall
and burn, homes and houses,
buildings.
the earth shakes
and what once
stood tall and strong
is shattered and left
in pieces, rubble
on the ground,
and you, you too
know what this means.
that
the restoration of
your heart
and soul
must begin. to move
on from the disaster
that crossed your path
and rebuild,
to become stronger,
and healthier
than ever before.
trusting and loving
once again.
the worst is over.
walk away from what was,
what has fallen and
let the restoration begin,
one stone, one brick,
one prayer
at a time.

The Dark Web

it startles you
in the middle of the night
that you really didn't know
this person
you were married to.

she was and remains
a stranger, by all rights.

your grief is about
an imaginary woman that you fell
in love with. you created her.
your imagination shaped this
kind and adorable soul, this honest
and spiritual human being.
you shaped her in your mind
like a potter at his wheel
spinning clay.

you wake up in a cold sweat
at 3 a.m. it seems impossible,
but it happened.

your mind was as airbrushed
as her photos that lured you in.
her false sweet words,
her gentle touch.
all lies. it wasn't real,
it was the collection
of all the hope
and joy that you had waited
for your entire life.
some elusive dream you created
when you were young
and naïve.

you thought that she was
the one, but she was a myth
an imposter, a figment
of your fertile imagination
nothing was real. you were trapped
in a horror house
with no way out.

it startles you
to realize that, even now,
with the truth revealed.
it puts a chill down your back,

how is it possible to be
fooled so easily at this age,
to be undone by such a person
as that. desperation?
desire, idealism, the need
and want for true love?
how deep is your need to
be in a safe and secure
place, a home with someone
that you believe in and
can trust with your soul.
the desire for family is
primitive and strong. were
you trying to restore
what you lost
as a child? Probably.

we blind ourselves, we
ignore the red flags, we
pretend we don't see
what's wrong, ignoring
our instincts, our infallible
intuition, tossing aside
the genuine love of another,
for what?
for someone who didn't even
love you. someone cold
and dark, heartless with
no remorse now, or ever,
for what she's done. how can
someone lie to you so much.
look you in the eyes and say
what's true when
it isn't? when you know for
a fact it isn't.

it's a bottomless pit
of unanswered questions.
at some point though,
every string once
attached, every anxiety laden
string that she wrapped tightly
around your heart
and neck
will be cut,
and your world will be sane
once more.

what's out there

there may be a moon
out there.
there may even be stars.
planets
lit up like pin pricks
in the black
cloth of sky.
there may be love out
there too, or so
I've heard, there may
be an honest soul,
true to her word,
who wants to share
their world, to be
a part of yours,
to have,
to hold.

cream and sugar

a little cream
and sugar goes a long way
into making
the stiff
black cup of coffee
go down
a little easier.
so it is with a kiss,
a smile
and a hug,
a word or two of
kindness
and compassion helps
see you to the other side
of what you're going
through.

no soup for you

i pick up some kung pao
chicken
and some egg rolls from
the local Chinese restaurant.
hunan east.
the windows are greasy,
the tables
and chairs all wobble,
it's an effort to stay
upright let alone trying
to eat with chopsticks.
mai tai?
joe asks as i sit at the small
three stool tiki bar
awaiting my carryout order.
sure, i tell him. but go
easy on the fruit, and skip
the little paper umbrella,
i almost poked my eye out
the last time i was here.
no hot and sour soup? he says.
no, i tell him. that's over.
no soup this time.
i'm done with soup.

fingers to the bone

in this day,
this age, this world we
live in
there are no weekends.
no breaks,
many stay at it, the clock
still ticking.
time running out,
more work to do today.
we slave, shackled
to the job,
we hunker down to
the screens, to the calls,
to the gods we've falsely
made.
there is no end in sight,
at least not until
the job is done, which
means never. it never
slows, never stops until
we settle down into our own
freshly dug grave.

the bag of tomatoes

at ninety one
he shuffles from bed to chair,
to porch.
his tomatoes and peppers,
are doing well
in his small garden
beside the air conditioner
and concrete patio,
they grow with little
help except by the rain,
and sun.
he'll pick them and place
them in a paper
bag when I arrive, take some
home he'll say,
as he says at the end
of every visit,
for years.
then he'll stand there and wave
until i'm out of sight,
driving off, him still
at the door,
with tears in his soft
blue eyes.

love between the sheets

we sleep and eat.
the sun goes
down, our lights go on.
the weather has little to do
with us.
we're home.
we're safe
we're sound.
no need to go to the market,
to the store.
everything we need
is right here,
love between the sheets,
worry free with
our books,
our words,
our music and
kisses before sweet dreams.

the picnic

it's picnic weather, you tell her,
and she agrees.
she packs
a lunch for the both of us.
sandwiches, fruit,
sweet treats,
ice tea.
we spread a blanket
on the soft grass of spring.
beneath
a willow tree.
we listen to the birds,
we smile
and laugh, we eat,
we don't look at the time,
we have all
day, all our life now,
to be happy,
to be free, to picnic
beneath this glorious
blue sky,
in the cool and comforting
breeze.

from a distance

from up here, thirty thousand
feet in the air,
in white clouds,
I can see how small it all is.
how little
our lives are, the patches
of green
the squares of land,
the blue lakes,
the sleeves of lagoons.
I see the rooftops where we
live
and die,
where love comes and goes
as it does
in each and every life.
the minutiae
of our problems seem so
petty
and trite.
so small it all appears
when once it was unbelievably
large.
what seemed impossible
at one time, is now the present.
the infinite wisdom
of God prevails.

i'll be your sponsor

the therapist
is kind and thoughtful.
a dose
of reality, a glass of ice
cold water
thrown into my face.
she peels back
the layers of deception
and puts
a mirror to the truth.
is that the life
you want, she says,
pointing at everything
I've told her.
to go back to that
misery?
think about what you just
went through,
no one deserves that,
not for one more day,
or hour.
you're free from
that insane way of living,
be happy
with that.

i'll be your sponsor,
she says,
anytime you get that crazy thought,
if you ever get the urge
or desire to return
to your relationship addiction,
call me, text me,
send a smoke signal into
the sky,
contact me immediately
and i'll get you back
on track. don't listen
or believe that little
false voice inside
your head. it's lying to you.

bring lips

a cold beer
on ice, in hand at the end
of a hard
day of work.
the sludge and grime
is gone
down the drain,
the soak did you good,
now feet are up,
and the night and day
are young.
a nap will
come next, after a perusing
the new book
you found.
come over you say,
on the phone,
bring a pizza, bring
something,
bring lips,
i'm all alone.

Throw It All Away

i find an old ticket stub
beside
some pictures and
e mails printed out.
i see the pages of a journal.
greeting cards. a heart
of glass.
brutal reminders
of the past.
i rip them all up without
reading or
opening any of it.
why bother anymore.
they were never real,
or true.
every word she uttered
was attached to a lie.
it was all an evil ruse.
into the trash they go.
that was then, this is
now.
there are new photos
to take,
there is new love
to write about.
a new day has arrived
and not a
second too soon.

psycho path free

the worst

of it, was feeling sorry for her.

anorexic

and suicidal.

delusional.

bone thin, a waif of a girl

now sixty.

dyed blonde

and layered

in cheap clothes.

draped

in rings and bracelets,

the only shine

that would show.

so many lies,

so many

more to come

with

her secret life

exposed.

her sickness was making me

ill as well.

she had to go.

closing the asylum

the asylum is being torn
down.
the shackles pulled from
the walls,
the cells are hosed down
and burned.
the grounds are plowed over.
the watchtowers fall,
the barbed wire
is cut and disposed of.
the last inmate has left
the building, she's on
her own.
free to be crazy and unhappy
wherever she plans to go.
let's plant a garden
where the pain was,
build a home, where the hurt
resided.
start once more
with fresh hope,
strong wood,
new steel,
new love.

hi, i'm stan

the waiter,
who looks about twelve,
is carrying two giant
menus and a wine
list under his arm,
in the other hand he's
carrying two
sparkling waters,
and a basket of bread,
his
name
is stan.
he points at his tag,
he wants to be
your new best friend,
i'll be serving you
tonight, he says
with a grin.
six pens are clipped to his
pocket.
good, you say, because
I have no idea
where the kitchen is.
my favorite is the crab
dip,
can I start you off with
that and a drink.
no.
just a drink, I tell
him.
an ice cold Tanqueray
and tonic
with a slice lime.
tangerine and tonic,
he says and writes that down.
no, Tanqueray.
it comes in a green bottle
about so high.
hmmm. he says. okay.
and for you mamm?
chardonnay?
scotch on the rocks, she
says.
i'm driving.
okay. he says, smiling.
can I tell you about our specials.
my favorite is the swordfish,
just caught
yesterday.
no, I say. stop right there,
bring me a steak.
mashed potatoes,
green beans
she'll have the same.
both medium rare. and for
dessert we'll both have
the flourless chocolate
waffle cake.
and after the food comes,
don't come to our
table anymore, okay?
when we stop eating and
drinking, then you'll know
to bring the check.
got it?
okay, he says. okay.

See the Whole

it's strange
how
the right thing done,
doesn't always
feel that way.
but it is.
there is no doubt,
you can feel it in your
bones, your
heart,
every molecule within you
knows that you've
done the right thing,
but
how your minds play games,
forgetting
the hard past
and putting a shine on
a few good
moments, you can't trust
those thoughts.
you have to see the whole
nightmare
for what it was,
and ignore
the few good rain drops
that fell into
an ocean of pain.

leave the dishes for later

i'm not a fan of picnics,
family
gatherings.
parties on a large scale.
i don't do well
with rubbing shoulders
and small talk.
the weather conversation
bores me.
money,
children, jobs.
health.
taxes and death, that about
covers it all.
i want to sit on the back
porch swing
and watch the sun go
down.
sip on a drink, holding hands
with a loved
one as the stars
come out. i want to
turn down the volume,
put the kids to bed.
tie up the dogs,
leave the dishes for later,
for once let's make it
about us, instead.

trip to mars

i plan a trip
to mars.
i'm going alone. done
with people.
sick
of love, sick of myself.
tired
of emotions
and self control.
exhausted with
self awareness,
self help.
i'm tired of sleeping
alone.
of eating alone.
of working
alone.
i'm even tired of my runny nose.
tired of writing
these
self absorbed poems.
i need a break from this
planet.
this slowly
melting orb.
i need some time
to think,
to get whole.
i need to empty my head,
get right.
get better.
find peace and rest,
find someone that won't
leave,
someone i can hold.

the lake i go to

the woods are dark
and deep,
I've been through these trees
before.
the lake
and stream beside
the path.
it's lovely this time
of year,
before the trees are full
and green.
i know this way,
I've gone down this road
before
when a love one died,
when
friends have passed
away, as parents
aged. I've been here
before love
and during,
walking hand in hand
with someone
now just a memory.
I've walked and walked
alone,
in between love.
I've been walking this same
trail
for nearly twenty years
now.
dirt and grass,
stone.
i love that it stays
the same, it circles wide
and far,
for miles under
every kind of sky,
whether blue
or grey. it stays as it
is, despite
my ever changing life,
where nothing lasts
for long, where no one
ever stays.

She's Not Here

she's here,
but she's not here.
she's a cloud, she's
the fog,
a mist, a breeze of
air
blowing by.
she's skin and bones,
light on her feet
as she dances
around
the truth.
lies slip from her tongue
as easily as
rain falls
from a cloud.
the puddles are
everywhere of her
deceit,
the streams are full
of deceptions,
soon the ocean will
be full
of what she's told
you. none of it
true,
none of it fair,
she's here, but in
reality she's with
someone else.
she always was and
always will be.
there she is,
she's over there.

A new day

Let's move on.
Rise above
The darkness of the year
Behind us.
Forgive yes.
Forget never.
There are blessings in
Brokenness
Found no other way.
Let the pain
You lived through fade
Away.
Dont look back look
Beside you,
Shes
Kind and smart and
Honest.
A diamond
In the rough,
A true
Love
That will stay.

But She Was Shiny

it was a shiny old car
with balloons dangling
from the antennae,
right off the lot.
I test drove it.
took it around the block for
a spin.
rolled down the windows,
put the top down.
hit the pedal on the open
road to see what she's got,
then drove
it back to the salesman
and said, i'll take it.
she's mine, where do I sign,
show me the dotted line.
he put the contract in
front me, nine pages long,
the print so small I
couldn't read it.
Trust me, he said, slapping
me on the back, she's
a beauty, she'll last.
she's one of a kind.
we just put a clear coat on her,
and ignore all those
miles on the odometer.
it's a lot, but those are church
going miles,
flea markets, that sort of thing,
occasional trips to the market.
okay, okay, i said, I believe you,
but I didn't read the fine print.
I missed the part about
the flood, the wrecks,
the transmission fluid leaking
and the axle being broken.
I didn't have a clue about
the three
previous owners who
abused her, never changed
the oil, or filters, let
the tires go bald.
and left the top down
when it rained.
I didn't see the dings
on the side, the scratches
and tears in the seats
when you put the light on.
the headlights were
out of line, the brains of
it confused and short
circuited. I didn't see any
of that before I bought it.
I just the gleaming bumpers,
that just waxed shine.

doctor in the house

she puts
a tourniquet
on my arm, my leg,
my vital organs
to stop the bleeding,
then listens
to my chest with her
stethoscope.
I get mouth to mouth
resuscitation
from my doctor.
she rips my shirt off
and gives me cardio
to restart my heart.
she applies
a gentle hand
to my brow, a cold
cloth. she tells me to lie
still,
be quiet and let me
hold you for awhile,
let me hug you,
squeeze you,
this will help get
the poison out.
when I calm down
and open my eyes,
she says, you'll be fine,
i'll get dinner ready,
but here's a gin and tonic
and the remote, there's
a football game
about to start.

lamp love

there are so many lamps.
fabric shades,
or vinyl.
stiff or soft, the base
porcelain or
stone,
glass or metal.
contemporary or modern,
perhaps,
an antique
or something
from the fifties,
mid century
old,
like me.
there are
thousands and thousands
of lamps to
browse and oogle.
i'll have to peruse
them further though
when I return
at the midnight hour,
from
a long night of mirth
and dance.
the lamp can
wait, but you know it
when you see it,
the right lamp,
the light just goes on,
as it does
in love and other things
in life.

Congratulations

mike
the plumber
sees me on the street
and says
hey.
how's the leaks,
the pipes,
the plumbing.
all good, I tell
him.
all good.
not a drip in
the house.
by the way, he
says.
I heard the news.
congratulations.

the in laws

the brother
in law is kind,
sympathetic, we know,
he says.
everyone knows, everyone
but you
saw it coming.
no worries. we like
you,
we're still your
friends.
the sister too.
let's go out, have
drinks,
have fun,
like normal people
do.

the apple of his eye

her father was mean
and nasty,
cruel at times. self centered,
a narcissist through and through,
it was all
about him,
abusive to the nth degree.
rarely ever speaking
the truth.
selfish and cold,
aloof,
dismissing all others,
belittling their
thoughts
or opinions,
a know it all about
all things.
there was a dark
cloud bout him, no
one really knew who he
was, the lies
and misdeeds.
he cared only for himself,
not his children or wife,
the only thing of importance
was his own life,
what a small distance
the apple
does fall from his tree.

massage her out of me

I go for a massage
to get the kinks out,
to rid myself of the
built up toxicity
from a bad relationship.
it hurts everywhere I tell
nina, the Swedish masseuse.
shoulders, back,
neck, legs, arms, head.
give me the works, deep
tissue.
use your elbows, your hands,
your knees if you have
to, use a rolling pin,
call in a priest for
a quick exorcism if necessary,
I've got to get this crazy
person out of my
system. I need to free my
body mind and soul from
the darkness that she was.
bring in Olga if you
have to.

but, she seemed so nice

I run into the neighbors,
the quiet
peaceful neighbors
with kids
and tell
them what has happened.
they shake
their heads
and cover their children's
ears.
oh my, they say, that's
horrible,
but she seemed so nice
and friendly.
yes, I say.
a lot of people who don't
really know
her, say the same
thing, she's quite
the charmer.

she's waiting for you

let's be honest.
life
is short, and increasingly
shorter
day by day.
no need to be in turmoil,
in emotional upheaval
with
toxic people who
drain your soul of energy
and hope.
life is too precious
to be stuck
in hell
with someone like that.
cut the ties, but don't
run,
just go, walk away
with your head up,
with dignity
and no regret,
we all make mistakes.
be free,
find happiness and love
with a real soul,
the real deal.
the honest truth
that exists out there.
she's waiting for you
now.

pour me another

sometimes it's the gin
talking.
the slice of lime
affecting
my senses, the tonic.
the ice
in the tumbler
making me say what I've
always meant to say.
to kiss who
I want to kiss,
to be where I should
be,
and away from those
I shouldn't be
near.
it's the gin talking.
pour me another, please.

something that will last

as one might
be
be well aware of the thrill
is gone.
the chill
is on.
the fire has died,
the embers
have all turned
to ash.
let's chop down
a new tree
together,
and make something
that's true,
something new,
something that will
last.

divine intervention

in times
of dire need, in trouble,
when lost
and trapped in a world
not of your own,
you pray
for deliverance,
but it seems as if
God is not listening,
or cares.
and the months drag
on.
the misery of life
unfolding
without end.
then finally, you ask
for a message,
a sign,
something unquestionable
to show you
what is true,
something that will free
you from
the nightmare you are
stuck in.
and then it happens.
the clouds part,
the rain ceases
and the wind
stops. you are given
the answer.

holy osmosis

the police
are guiding parishioners
into the church,
waving their
red batons,
frenetically directing
traffic
into the large
parking lot beside
the enormous building.
everyone is dressed
in their finest sports wear
and flip flops.
sweat pants
and
shorts, tights and
sneakers.
church is not what it used
to be.
not a tie, or suit
to be found, or dress,
or heels,
or hat with flowers.
it's like going out for
coffee or tea now.
just grab a cup of faith,
sit back
for an hour or so,
and relax. through
osmosis you will become holy.

we plan a trip

we plan a trip
to the shore, to the eastern
shore,
then talk about new York,
or paris,
maybe Italy too.
we ponder the cruise,
the jet,
the news.
in time, we say,
sitting out with a drink
on the long
white deck.
all in good time.
but for now this is good.
this is real,
and easy,
let's watch the stars
appear,
then go inside.

farm girl

I stretch
and yawn in the early morning.
I hear
the rooster crow,
the tractor
growl
the goats and chickens
are out
across the farm.
I know nothing about
farming,
but here I am
fetching a pail of
water to bathe in,
gathering eggs from
the hen house,
milking a cow.
but I do it out of love,
for my new girl friend
Sadie,
who waves from the field
as she picks
her breakfast strawberries.
she's corn fed and blonde,
strong as an ox,
blue eyed
and sassy. we met on
farm girl dot com.

Betrayal

judas
had his day.
his thirty pieces of silver
in a small
sack,
how easy it is for some
to betray.
to give
up
and surrender those
who have done
no harm,
but only loved and loved,
sweating blood
in the garden
all night as one
prayed.
it's so easy
to dismiss each other,
to let
go
and live in darkness,
destroying lives
without a care
or thought,
so hard understand
how
so many can get lost,
never again to find
their way.

Things Have Changed

i make a check and balance
list
of the good and the bad,
the pluses
and minuses,
of the relationship

once in hand.

at one time it all fell
on one side,
the plus,
the positive attributes
of who I thought
she was,

but now in
hindsight,
the tables have turned.

I can't think of a single
thing
to put on the good side.

I used to say that I
wanted to be with
someone exactly like
her.

and now I say
the opposite.

why work

some work,
some don't, some stay at
home all
day
doing little
but passing time.
living on the fumes
of money
tucked away
for a rainy day.
the hours fly by,
reading,
getting in shape,
browsing the web
for jobs
they'll never take.
sleeping in the same
rooms they
did as a child.
the apron strings uncut.
some work,
some don't,
some
have parents to take
care of them
as if they were still
children,
as if they still had
time on their side
as they turn
grey and get old,
staring out
the window all day,
while
the rest of the world
moves on.

the guilt church

it's a cult
of sorts.
there are a lot of hoops
one needs to jump
through
in order to get to heaven.
confession with
a priest, getting God's ear
through Mary,
none of
them biblical,
but
followed with grief
and guilt
on a daily basis.
the rituals
are ancient, and the rules
keep changing
as the basket goes
round and round
again.
there is
the myth of limbo,
of purgatory,
there is no bus stop
between heaven and hell,
today you'll be with me
in paradise, or not.
the up and down
of mass,
bend, kneel, stand,
sit.
repeat and repeat,
pray
from rote.
the long robes and gowns,
the secrecy of it
all,
unnerving. at times
unnatural and lacking
in love.

i told you so

i told you so,
the thirteenth person in a week
says to me
over coffee, or a drink,
or on the phone.
i told you
what was going to happen,
but no,
you didn't listen, did
you. there were
a dozen red flags,
warnings all over the place,
sirens going off
saying run, run and don't stop,
but no,
you're like a moth flying
into the flame.
you just can't say no
to the crazies
that you kiss
and whisper your name.

no one came undone

i should go to work
at some point, but it was a long
weekend
a good
couple of days
of getting away,
stress free
and fun, nice and easy,
no one
argued, no one felt bad,
or guilty,
or lost, or
misunderstood, no one
shed a tear,
no one came
undone.

beating the rug

I beat the throw rug
with a broom.
it's what my mother used to do
in the back yard,
tossing it over the chain
link fence,
keeping it away from the dog.
how she would beat
that rug
with the broom,
over and over again,
clouds of dust rising,
the crumbs and dirt falling into
the blue green grass.
it seemed as if she was doing
more than just
beating the rug, I felt then,
as I do now
that it had something to do
with my father
and his lying ways.
I know that feeling
now,
as I beat the hell out of
my own rug.
I can't hit it hard enough.

Handful of dirt

In a day or two
I'll erase and
Delete
What I've written
With a poison pen.
Enough revenge
On those unable
To defend.
What's the point.
Let it die
It's inevitable
Death.
Throw a handful
Of dirt
On the whole
Mess and move on.

let's work late

some people work
and work
and work. fingers to
the bone,
ten and eleven hours each
day.
dawn to dusk and beyond,
lying in bed at night
staring into
their phones.
for what?
a few dollars more,
a nod, and smile from
the boss.
a hearty pat on the back.
see you tomorrow
lets do some more.
then the years fly past.
seventy is
at the door.
life is over,
and someone else takes
your place,
to work and work some more.

who is that

I never saw him
without a hat.
a white fedora, a
ball cap,
a beret,
a wool ski hat
for those winter days.
I never saw
him without a hat,
so when they
put him
in the casket, everyone
including me,
said who is
that.

the new

I see
the light.
it's bright.
it illuminates
the darkness.
each room
is white.
the old has
washed
away while
the new appears.

shake shake shake

okay, okay.
time for a happy poem.
here goes.

it's nice and quiet at home.

i'm smiling
from ear to ear,
my face actually hurts
i'm smiling so hard.

the music is on as I dance
across
the living room
in my underwear. I can still
dance,
you didn't know that, did you?

oh yeah. shake shake shake.

a steak is on the stove,
shrimp
and bread,
potatoes and salad.

i'm mixing up an apple
martini with some grey
goose, pouring the wine.
it's Friday, yahoo.
and the house
and my life is once
again mine.

tomato off the vine

go left, then make a right,
the woman
says,
as she tends
to her tomatoes,
standing up to stretch her
back.
you aren't from
around here, are you?
she asks.
no, I tell her.
just traveling through.
going home,
going home at last.
well, god bless you,
she says
then reaches down to pluck
a fat
red tomato off the vine,
here,
here's two,
enjoy, nice to meet
you.

something in the air

a cup
of hot coffee,
the paper.
the short day of work,
and
a chair outside
on the patio.
the trees are filling
up nicely
with green.
there's something in
the air.
it smells like
joy,
like gladness,
like
hope,
the absence of despair.

the roads untraveled

the old man
in the beret at the coffee shop,
takes
me by the elbow and says,
if I knew then
what I know now,
the mistakes I wouldn't have
made,
the missteps
and guffaws, boy, I tell
you, how different my
life would be if
I could go back into that time
machine and
change a few things.
the roads I left
untraveled,
the crazy women I married.
I must have been out
of my cotton picking mind
when I was younger,
he says, shaking his head.
I nod and pat him on the back,
me too brother,
I tell him, me too.

taxes

the tax lady
smiles and jokes.
she has a pencil
behind her ear,
and ink stains
on her fingers,
machines are clicking
in the back.
not too bad, she says.
better than most.
sign here, and here
and here.
so you dodged a bullet,
she says,
with a grin,
be grateful that you
escaped
from that hell
after only a year,
and whatever
you do, come see
me first
before you do it again.

if they only knew

if they only knew who
she really was,
what she's done for the past
ten years,
if they only
had a clue of the lies,
the deception,
the continuing saga
of her strange and
dark love
for someone as equally
as bad,
just across the yard,
the fence.
the married man with a
grin
and an open wallet,
a fist full of promises
that this year,
this is the year i'll
leave my wife
and marry you.
if they only knew, and
only then would the free
ride,
the blind love,
and the adoration
end.

are you cheating on me?

i'm not happy
about what you've been writing
lately,
or reading,
or watching on television,
or what you've
been looking at on your
computer.
I noticed that you've been
texting a lot too,
and not just to me,
in fact,
I saw you glance at a woman
the other day,
and yes, I know it's your
mother, but
still, you looked at her,
and she is a woman.
and by the way, your pants
are a little on the tight
side, aren't they,
and that shirt you're
wearing,
a little fancy, isn't it,
a tad on the seductive side,
is that silk or polyester?
you know I prefer cotton!
did I see you wink at that
waitress and give
her little bit too much
of a tip. i'm on to you
mister mister,
not to mention
I smelled cologne on
your face the other day,
what's up with that, do
you have a secret date
planned, are you
cheating on me?

lunch box

for years his wife would make
him an egg
and tomato sandwich for lunch.
day in day out.
the same,
he laugh and complain
about it to the boys.
two cookies, some chips,
a soda.
all packed nice and neat
inside his lunch
box.
the one day, the first time
ever that he forgets
his lunch, leaving it at
home on the kitchen counter,
he goes to the local deli
at noon and gets
the same.
an egg sandwich with tomato,
two cookies,
some chips,
and a soda.

suddenly

suddenly
anxiety is gone.
acid
reflux, no more,
palpitations,
tremors
and panic attacks,
none, zero,
zippo.
sleepless nights
and crying jags,
gone baby gone.
fear and suspicion
have left
the building.
I like food again,
movies
and books, life
seems
fun once more.
I can breathe once
more.
one martini will
suffice.
as will a kiss,
and affection.
something has changed,
something
wonderful
has happened.

some love

some love
last forever, while other
brands
of love
that aren't really love,
but infatuation,
last a short while.
some love
is fast food, some is
a buffet
of bad
food. your stomach
churns
and burns the whole night.
it's not good
for you.
it's the gourmet love
we're all looking for.
the five star
meal,
the Michelin rated
spot
on the map of life.
it's that kind of love
that lasts
forever, true and real.
nourishing
and right.

i move the table an inch

i move the table
an inch
to the left, then move it back
to where it was.
i dim the lights,
then make them brighter.
i put a vase
of flowers on the mantel
then
move them to the window
sill.
i hang a picture.
i change my mind and take it
down.
i open the window
a few inches,
then close it.
i slide the chair over to the
middle,
then back towards the wall,
i sit in it.
things are not quite where
i want them
to be, but i'm getting there,
honest
i really am.

it's over

be happy,
she says. be thankful.
be grateful.
the worst
has happened and look,
you're still
here. you survived.
wiser, smarter, more
whole
than you've ever been.
let me hold you,
she says.
come here and let me put
my arms around you.
you are blessed.
you are loved.
be happy.
it's over.

the dogs are barking

the dogs
are barking, someone's
in the yard
tip toeing
across the ground.
a stranger looking for food,
or money,
or
who just wants to peek
inside the window
to have a look
around.
it's not an easy life
being a stranger.
going around like this
at night,
with no where to really
go. I've been that stranger
too,
wondering what others
are up to.
the dogs are barking.

call me in the morning

she's a good
a soul, a good doctor.
she's not
against a
house visit
or two when time
allows,
she carries
her little black bag
with a white
cross, stethoscope
in hand.
she's gentle, she's
smart
and kind, her beside
manner
is impeccable.
she places
her head against
my chest
and listens to my
heart,
my lungs,
my rescued soul.
take two of these,
she says,
and call me in the
morning.
let's see how you are
by then.

free at last

with distance
and time,
with days passing by
in slow procession,
I see the light of day,
the night
behind me.
like water
in a tall clear glass,
I see
the truth, I see
what matters
and drink it up,
free again,
free at last.

the night is young

i follow the recipe.
step by step.
the unsalted butter.
the unbleached flour,
the vanilla,
the chocolate chips,
the baking powder.
chopped walnuts.
i measure and pour
to the exact measurements,
mix and fold,
blend it all together
per instructions, then
turn the oven
on to 325 F.
i grease the pan and
drop the batter in groups
of six.
in fourteen minutes i'll have
a dozen cookies.
the milk is cold.
the night is young.
i can hardly wait.

sparkle blue

the dad is a rock.
sturdy
and squared, even at
ninety,
the blue
sparkle of eyes,
the wit
and memory, nothing
is impaired.
the gait is slower,
the vision
blurred, but he gets
it all,
takes it all in,
and spills a joke or
two
with an aging grin.

clear the land

most likely you'll
go your way and i'll go mine.
Dylan
sang
on blonde on blonde.
so true.
so true.
the dust is settling,
the smoke
has cleared,
the fire is out. let's
clear the land
and debris,
cut down the charred
trees
and rebuild.

the last round

not unlike
a boxer, I get up
again
from the canvas
and dig in, swing hard
to the gut,
to the chin.
the blood is everywhere.
I can't be knocked
out,
not me, but
i'm not in it to win,
just to end.
to climb
out of the ring alive
and move
on to greener pastures,
where
love and joy,
where happiness resides.

rejoice

the beauty of life,
of nature
is that after
a harsh winter,
spring arrives,
green
becomes the forest.
the ice melts,
the heart heals.
all that was so dark
and miserable
for so long
is now bathed in
sunlight.
the abuse
of wind and sleet,
of cold long nights
is
forgiven, but never
forgotten.
lessons learned are
kept close.
we once again
rise
in spite of it all.
the world moves on
in grace,
and faith. hope
and rebirth,
we rejoice in being
alive.

the imaginary life

her phone was her bible,
her true
rosary beads,
her
one true love.
she slept with it
cradled in her hand,
took it
to the bathroom,
it went everywhere with
her,
never more than an
arms length away.
it was filled with the past,
the dark secrets of her life,
the shadow world
of lies,
all that
she couldn't share, but
safe inside
the metal box.
the ding, the constant
ding, throughout the day,
long into the night.
like pavlov's dog
she salivated at each new
text, new e mail,
new picture from
him, and that imaginary
life.

those days

there are no shine
shoe
boys anymore, no paper
boys,
or milk men,
or mail twice a day.
there is
pleasant greeting on
the street,
a tip of the hat,
a neighbor
who sits on the porch
with
tea
to chat.
no clothes hung
on the line,
while talk
goes back and forth
across the fence.
those days are gone
as we stare into our phones
and lock
down into our
own secluded world.

smoke

how much we care,
then
don't. how much we loved,
then
have it go away,
like
smoke.
up and away
into the clouds
as if it never
happened.
no fire.
no burn,
no destruction or pain.
just nothing,
a vague memory of
nothing.
and into another day.

the fade

it fades
in time. all things
change.
the colors
washed out,
the wood gone from
dark
to blonde.
the hair swept
grey.
even the sea
has
weakened, from
a sparkle of green,
to
a weak
browned tea.
all things die
and disappear
in time.
get used to it,
we say,
but never do,
never do.

early bird

what's for dinner, I ask
her,
feeling the need
for food,
stomach fluttering,
feeling faint,
taking a cold cloth
to my head.
i'm starving, I tell her.
I haven't eaten in over
three hours.
she sends me a picture
of a roasted chicken, potatoes
too with a pad of butter
melting on top.
beans and bread, chocolate
cake for desert.
oh my, I tell her,
oh my, can I come early?

the final curtain

when the curtain finally
closes,
the audience stands and gives
a mild
ovation.
it was exhausting, this play,
this drama.
it was a story
of love
and betrayal, lies and deception.
not a single
hero in the mix.
not a good person to look
up to
and admire, or trust.
all hiding their true selves
in cloaks
of religion and politeness.
the cast of characters were
all flawed
to the nth degree, and you
knew where the tale
had to go. you knew from the first
word spoken how
it was going to end.
all that for this, you say
to yourself as you grab
your coat, and hat,
and cane,
what purpose was there to
any of it, what was the point
of all that pain.

better things to do

to each his or her
own
life. their own troubles,
and self
made strife.
let it be and let it go.
take
with you
what you want,
leave the rest behind.
no need to worry
anymore about me,
pick your own path,
your untraveled
or well beaten road,
and take it to suit
your needs, walk in
your own
direction, to a place
you find light,
where you can surround
yourself
by those
without eyes, who won't
confront you with wrongs
or rights.
I have better things to
do than to carry
your burdens too,
to tote
your endless troubles and wounds
that never
heal, just bleed and bleed,
not red,
but blue.

my mother, yours too

her mother cries.
she's sad
at what's happened
hearing just
the one sided news.
she only knows half the story,
half the truth,
which is for
the best, but
there is little she can do
but put her hands
together and send
up a prayer or two.
how parents weep for
their children,
my mother, yours too.

true to every word

the balloon
leaves my grip.
I sigh
in deep relief. the pressure
is off.
I let go
of the thin thread
that
held us together.
let what
wasn't real,
and never was,
fly away into
the clouds.
it was just a shiny
pink
balloon full of
air, nothing more,
nothing less.
off it goes. I follow
it with
my eyes until
it's gone, high
into the sky. i'll
stick now
to what is on
the ground. safe
and solid,
true to every word.

i want to bite you

the news
is
old, stale as bread
left
out on
the counter.
nothing new.
wars
and death.
lies and betrayal,
evil
in every corner
of the planet.
the world
hasn't changed a lick
since
eve
and adam
ate the apple, but
I have you,
and that makes
all the difference.
come here
and let me have
a bite.

out the door

the uber is out
front
on his horn.
hold on hold on I yell
out the window.
i'm looking
for
my fancy shoes.
I haven't worn them
in ages.
and my
coat and tie,
there's a dab of cologne
still
left in the bottle,
let me slap
some of that on.
just hold your horses,
mr. uber man.
i'll be out in a
new York minute.
where's my wallet,
my cash,
my rabbit's foot
and good
luck charm?

i need some honey

it's right over there,
moses says,
pointing his staff,
and shoving sheep out of the way
with his roman
sandal clad foot.
right over yonder,
over that river,
that there is the promised land,
my brothers and
sisters,
the land of milk and honey.
birds and bees,
water and wine.
but let's wander a bit more,
circle around in this dry
god forsaken desert
another 39 years
and then go over.
who's with me?
dang, I say under my breath,
then yell out,
let's go now.
giddy up, I urge my bedraggled
dust covered oxen.
I need some honey in a bad
way. like tonight. I've
plum run out of patience
with this wandering.

no more holidays

I used to love
the holidays.
the lights, the wreathes,
the little
love
cards.
valentines and birthdays.
I used to adore
the small gifts,
given
or received.
with bows and ribbons.
the music, the love
and laughter
of it all.
the turkey on the table,
a ham,
the cakes
and pies, the poured wine,
the friends all
around,
in prayer.
I used to love the holidays,
and all that they
entailed,
but things have
changed,
the world has gone
awry,
there is nothing
left to celebrate,
there are no holidays,
anymore.

how much do you make per year

my crazy lawyer,
with a lazy eye and a stammer,
is all
excited. he smells a payday
up
ahead.
he's a car chaser,
a grave
digger of marriages going
down.
slip on a floor and he's
there
with a law suit in hand.
he rubs his clammy
claws together and
smiles
across his enormous desk.
real wood, he says knocking
on it. but I digress.
so do tell, but before
we start,
coffee, water, gin and tonic?
I could have my secretary
rub your shoulders
while we talk,
she's from the Ukraine.
she's a beauty, isn't she?
no, okay, no problem. so
go on,
tell me the whole sordid
story
from start to finish,
every salacious detail
and then we'll see
where we go from here.
by the way, he says,
before we go any further,
and I hate to ask,
how much do you make
per year.

the ice age

there used to be these
cold
spells
during that time,
a wintry mix
of emotions.
it would snow inside
the house,
ice would form on
the floors.
it got freezing inside,
the heat
was broken,
the windows open,
there was no one
there to keep
me warm. it was survival
of the fittest.
at some point
you go out into
the frigid air and find
someone
with which to build
a fire, to make a go
of it
during these
brutal climes.

a world gone away

the talking part of the program
is over.
silence
is loud enough
right now.
the phone is dead.
the door bell quiet.
I hear
a piano next door.
the tinkling of keys.
it reminds me of someone
I used to know.
someone
from another life, another
time,
a world gone away.

turning of the screw

it takes two hours,
but I get it done, the piece of furniture
that came
in one hundred
and thirty one pieces
is put together, each
screw tightened,
each cam turned,
each peg
pushed in to its proper slot.
I stand it up,
and look at it, proud of my
ability
to read
and use a screw driver.
I sigh, and turn the light off,
and wish there was
someone here to see how handy
I've become
in my old age.

attachments

I ask
the man on the street
why is
he so happy, what's up with
the smile,
the pleasant greeting
that he always has
for everyone that passes by.
I get asked that a lot,
he says.
a lot.
well, I ask him, what's your
secret, is it God,
or religion,
luck or health,
money, wealth?
what keeps you in a state
of perpetual bliss.
I own nothing, he says.
no one.
I am attached to nothing.
what comes
what goes is not my
concern.
this is the way life is.
let go and surrender.
attachments
brings suffering,
enjoy all that you have
while it's there,
but understand that all
is temporary,
nothing is forever.
what tastes sweet in your
mouth today
can easily go sour
by tomorrow.

just a nose bleed

it's just a nose bleed.
a simple
running
of red, no need for
the stretcher
or to bring the priests
around to pray.
no need
to panic, or rush
to the phone
to let the world know
what's wrong.
it's just a nose bleed,
a simple
thing,
that will stop in short
time.
save the crazy for later,
when it's
really
almost the end.

surrendering to a higher power

it's best to burn
what triggers you,
what reminds you of the hell
on earth you
endured, to toss
it in the waste basket,
out the window
of a moving car,
to bury in the deepest
part of the ocean.
it's
better to let go
and disconnect,
to disarm
and turn the other cheek.
it's better
that we
walk away with dignity
and grace, out from
under a strange regime.
there's no dishonor
in surrendering
to a higher power, none
whatsoever.

the weight we carry

we carry guilt
with us, sorrow and sadness.
the pain
of youth,
they are pebbles in our shoes,
thorns
in our side.
we carry the weight
of memory,
either good or bad
adding
to the load
upon us, heaped
upon our backs.
we carry love,
dismay and disappointment,
we carry hope,
and trust,
betrayal and lies
are with us too,
like lice
under our skin.
we carry
tomorrow and all the yesterdays
with us
as we walk
and walk,
from one point to another,
all just bus stops,
temporary homes
and relationships
on a trip that has
no no end.

after the storm

it takes time to recover,
to get back
to normal once the storm
has finished
doing what storms do,
turning your life upside
down.
the wind has no conscience,
the rain
no heart as it floods
the street.
I take a hammer and nails
and go about
the house,
hanging doors and shutters,
putting things
back in place,
washing
the floors, opening
the windows.
the house is still here
though,
faith still in tact.
what doesn't kill you,
makes you stronger, as they
say,
no use in looking back.

island monkeys

the small monkeys
that run all over the island
are cute
and mean,
taking bites
out of hands
and shoulders as they
are used
for props,
pictures to be sent
back home,
to you or me.
a trickle of blood
spills
out, as they run off
with the nut
you gave
them, the banana,
the sugar cane
now hanging from their
mouth.

stuck in second gear

we argue,
go back and forth, debate,
but
there is no
middle,
neither sees the other's
side.
both blind
and ego driven, unable
to let
go of the past,
stuck
in second gear in
the present, neither going
slow,
or fast.

arrivals at the north gate

as the wheels
hit the tarmac, screeching
to a smoky stop
and gulls scatter, and the jet
swings around
on the runway, slowing
to a stop
I realize
what I've missed
and who.
the flight to get
from there to here is
strange indeed,
but
the plane has landed.
the wonder
and worry is over.

a friend for lunch

i meet a friend for
lunch and try to tell her
about my
big life changing events
over the past year.
the pain and agony
of it all, but
she stops me in mid sentence,
putting her hand up,
as i'm about to get to the really
good parts and says,
with dismay on her face,
you won't believe this,
but i have a wheat
allergy.
i can't eat gluten anymore.
can you believe it? me?
she finishes chewing
a leaf of romaine lettuce
that's been in her mouth
for five minutes, then
puts her hands over her face
and begins to sob.
can you believe it? she says again.
no more gluten for me.
but, i say, but....
oh well, i tell her,
giving up on my story,
that's a shame.
while she collects herself,
i take a slice of freshly
baked bread, still warm,
in the basket and lather
it with honey butter,
smoothing it all the way
around to the crust.
i take a bite. it's really
really good.

you have to laugh

you have to laugh.
no use
crying
anymore. you have to see
the absurdity
in it all,
or go down with the ship,
a ship
of fools I might add.
cut bait and run.
drop the mic.
exit stage right.
you have to laugh
and see the humor in it
all.
it's too crazy
and unbelievable, not to.