So easy to forget what we are about,
or perhaps forgetting is not the point,
for if truth be told it seems we don’t know.
Money, power and yes, sex seems to be a main concern,
only the veneer important, the body, clothes, the car we drive,
the face we put out to others lest they look to deeply inside,
bluster is an art that is developed too perfection
though we all know this, we pretend it is all true.
Running on empty yet we still run this silly race,
I often don’t understand what I am about,
saying one thing then doing another,
wondering all the while at my mediocrity,
my winding journey up the mountain,
fits and starts unending or so it seems,
often ending back in the valley lost and alone
among my own inner demons,
also just a simple fear of going forward.
I seek you and your presence flees,
seeking to hide myself and you gently show yourself,
only to again withdraw.
Knowing all the while
Emergency rooms are places of waiting,
of hurrying to get there and then just sitting,
often in a crowded lobby,
witnessing the human drama of our fragility
played out in living color;
pain, worry, suffering lived out in full view,
though most so preoccupied with their own drama
it can mostly be fazed out.
I suppose I am good at it now,
bringing my reading materials,
and yes something to write in if I desire,
sometimes the wait flows by in ra
She sat in front of me crying softly,
reliving what happened the night before,
her son called her in the early morning
acting in ways unknown,
scaring her into also calling me.
He cried, she told me wiping her eyes,
he has never done that before,
sobbing about his wife,
whom he adores,
after six years of marriage
he still worships her.
The tumor much bigger than they thought,
he is in a panic,
fearful of losing the love of his life.
Ask everyone you know
They are everywhere those people,
we see them under bridges,
living out meager lives;
getting food from our refuse
or perhaps in shelters.
Many have mental problems,
and yes un-bathed.
Many are belligerent and pushy,
manipulative in their games;
it is how they survive.
Trapped I would think
sinking so low in the social order
that climbing back for many perhaps impossible.
I am not sure that is the
I guess we had our first Fall day today,
a very cool morning,
perhaps for some cold,
yet refreshing in its mild sting
with a promise of more and yes colder mornings to come.
Wore a jacket,
a sure sign of age.......
for in my younger days
the cold had very little sting at all.
for the heat no longer bothers me as much as well,
so I have found yet another plus with aging.
My mind thinks of apples this time of year,
the sour ones,
or mayhap the semi sweet,
Doing what does not work over and over again,
unable to learn,
a cycle embedded,
lived out again and again,
War is an act of insanity,
seeking revenge also, for neither work,
yet both are pursued with gusto
like a man plotting to seduce a love one
knowing that in the end
disappoint will come.
Knowing that our habits kill us
yet we progress in them
cling to them
refusing to listen to reason.
Our addictions kill us by the millions
Doubt and faith are partners in the dance,
first one leads and then the other
in the quest of surety,
which never comes.
For some they are friends,
sitting down over tea and cucumbers sandwiches
listening to each other,
spurring the other on,
the quest unending for truth.
For others they live in the same house
but one is in the attic,
the other in the crypt,
communication cut off
leaving bitter fruit.
Doubt allows faith to deepen,
to ask questions,
freedom to allo
Was it rage?
He was a clean cut young man,
known by all,
living in a very small town,
only two thousand souls.
Well perhaps not,
for who could predict the deed done,
the havoc delivered,
the death and pain spread out,
parceled unequally to those 1,993,
His humanity lost for a short time,
long enough for chaos to rule,
six lives gone,
the seventh perhaps will follow,
bullets and pizza don’t go together,
one points to celebration
the other d
Entering the room quietly,
the old man upon the bed heard nothing.
His life grey,
forgotten by loved ones,
or perhaps his memory plays tricks;
Padding softly now,
jumping upon the bed,
the charm worked.
Reaching out the man petted the dog,
moving closer licking his face
the dog drew him out.
laughter came forth,
an alien sound in that room,
a long time
The way it is
So, we go through life,
what else can we do?
Bearing, or perhaps enjoying,
the journey as it unfolds
also the big ones,
leave their mark,
repressed or remembered it matters not,
for we either bleed,
a little at a time.
We give out joy
and yes pain,
we receive like in return,
much of our harvest
a karma of sorts.
or perhaps not,
either to our ruin or
We round people up inside our heads
acting as if we really know them,
or a further conceit, we understand,
which gives the right to judge.
So we wrap them up in tight little packages,
glued down the lid,
then wonder why they scream
as they smother in their tight airless spaces.
I was nine almost ten,
sitting on my mother’s bed,
and I listened also to what she had to say.
Her hair black,
she looked tired and worn
though she was only 37.
“He only lived three day’s”,
they had to force his birth,
knowing that death would be the outcome,
the little one would die.
They tried to save his life,
three months premature back then was often fatal,
tired and simply stopped.
In one so young,
Never get it right
I have a few people who just call me to talk, who are trapped in cycles that they can’t seem to break; very unhappy, depressed, filled with anxiety and fear. All I can do is listen, though I do give some points, but I don’t expect them to either agree with or perhaps do with what I recommend. Like the old saying goes, advice is cheap. Amen to that, hell I don’t often follow my own advice.
Sometimes I won’t answer the phone. When I feel overly stretched I ignore the ca
It was in 1976; I was twenty eight and needed time to think. About things, my life, if the path I was on, the right one. I sort of knew it was, but I was so young when I made my choice, that I wanted to step back and just look at it. I took off for six months; it was interesting to say the least. I hitched across country, met some really nice people, gave some money away, got some given to me, in fact I had more money with me than before I left, go figure. The more I gave away,
It seems that I change from moment to moment,
first this for awhile,
then that comes up,
or things simply happen in the many events of the day.
Emotions, feelings, thoughts,
like a Ferris wheel spinning constantly
pulling me from the center,
becoming scattered in what is only passing.
Amidst the chaos,
the inner voices,
the ebb and flow of events
both inner and outer,
who is it that observes,
seeks to find true peace and meaning?
Under the illusion
I sometimes think that most of my “outer” life is an attempt to not look too closely to what is going on inside of me. I do spend time in prayer and meditation, also I read and study, yet even these activities can be used to avoid going deeper. I am often under the illusion that I know myself, but in the end I only see the surface. To go deeper; well it has taken me 58 years to get where I am at, wherever that is, so I suppose I will die still only experiencing and knowing
It was one of those days where the weather seems to be just about perfect.
Early Fall is often like that, such a relief after a long hot summer and drought;
which we are still in with no real end in sight, have no idea how many trees will die.
The worst drought in a century we are told.
I pulled up to the dialysis clinic; it was time to pick up Clarence, who received
dialysis three times a week. A long grueling procedure that he has been enduring
for about three years n
Violence is loved by all
though few will admit it,
the need to feed the anger is great
the thirst for havoc strong,
people have died for that game.
Love of killing of movies also a great sport
feeding the moguls who make it for us popcorn eaters
drinking our coke,
cheering the killing,
yet never admitting the pleasure we get from watching.
It is only a movie after all,
yet real all the same.
We love to see flesh pounding flesh,
The primitive within
Long ago, I have come to accept that it will always be with me, making itself known whenever;
if there is a trigger I have not found it, unless it is simply feeling at peace, or prayer, or just being. Perhaps it likes to surprise me, catching me unawares, though how one can prepare I have no idea, for this tidal wave of primitive raw, hot, emotion.
I feel it’s faint stomping, then a kind of clanging in my depths, the force of its march growing stronger, until it bursts
I call him the bishop, for he does have a dignity about him,
so many years of suffering from this dreaded horrible disease,
yet he has always retained an air about him of kindliness and even blessing.
He has his days, when his moods are darker and can be difficult but he soon comes around to that gentle smile.
Some nights he looks at me and starts to talk in his confused way,
reaching out trying to communicate what he is experiencing but cannot.
His eyes fill up with tears o