The Silver Fox

Tags

alcoholism, Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, despair, desperation, emotion, fear, homeless, loneliness, longing

 

Slouching
in forgotten tap-rooms
dirty old men,
forgotten old men,
slop piss-colored beer
from, wet, dripping glasses.
The hollow din,
the retelling of “the good old days”,
echoes sadly
as life quickly passes.

“They used to call me ‘The Silver Fox’
What do you think of that?
They used to care.”

An empty glass crashes
to the muddy floor.

“I guess I’ll be hitting the street tonight.
Sleep in an alley tonight.
Nobody cares.”

Slouching
in forgotten tap-rooms
dirty old men,
forgotten old men,
slop piss-colored beer.
Nobody cares….

 

Image: http://ow.ly/RNSi3

…

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frost

Tags

abandonment, despair, desperation, emotion, emptiness, eternal, fear, forever, loneliness, longing, lost love

 

a dove sits on a snowy bough,
her song cuts through my heart.
we both know how the lonely feels
when love is torn apart.

there never was an emptiness
the way I feel inside.
the ache is deep within my chest,
i have no place to hide.

was once a time my heart was full
when spring was in the air,
but Frost has draped me with her cloak,
my tears fall in despair.

the midnight train is leaving soon.
my bags are packed to go.
i shiver on the platform bare,
a spectre, slinking low.

…

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frost

Tags

abandonment, despair, emotion, emptiness, eternal, fear, forever, loneliness, longing, lost love, worthless

  

 

a dove sits on a snowy bough,
her song cuts through my heart.
we both know how the lonely feels
when love is torn apart.

there never was an emptiness
the way I feel inside.
the ache is deep within my chest,
i have no place to hide.

was once a time my heart was full
when spring was in the air,
but Frost has draped me with her cloak,
my tears fall in despair.

the midnight train is leaving soon.
my bags are packed to go.
i shiver on the platform bare,
a spectre, slinking low.

 

…

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Lover Boy

Tags

desperation, emotion, erotica, fear, kindness, loneliness, longing, lust, mystery, Prostitute, romance, sighs

 

 
 
I knocked softly
on her apartment door.
A sexy voice called out
“It’s open. Come on in!”
I entered the dimly lit room,
hazy with cigarette smoke
and incense.
“I would have greeted you in the hallway,
she said, “but, as you can see
I’m not dressed.”

I sat on the edge of her bed,
luxurious with gold
bedspread and pillow covers.
It was not a bed for sleeping.
She lay there languidly
in a black camisole
and black, thigh high,
fish-net stockings.

Between blowing puffs of smoke
she said, “So, what will it be, Lover Boy?
The usual, or do you want me
to add a little spice?
I think you should beg me.
Get down on your knees,
show me how much you want me.

“Did you bring me a gift?
You know how much I love sparkly things.
You did? How nice!
Do you think you deserve a reward?
Come closer, don’t be afraid,
Lay your head back.
I’m going to take away
all your troubles.”

 
 
 

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Prufrock

Tags

compassion, despair, empathy, fantasy, fear, imagination, longing, mystery, personal, philosophy, universe

 
 

While pondering Prufrock, and his unanswered, “overwhelming question”
I consider my world of insecurities,
the fourth dimension,
the meaning of life, of afterlife, how high the sky, how deep the sea.
A lot of questions; but, most of all, is that woman looking at me?
And if so, why? Is it admiration? Perhaps my fly is undone.
Is she smiling or snickering? Are my clothes too tight? I’ve just begun. I like to think I’m individualistic, independent;
not a slave to the crowd. My clothes suit me – rather vintage, resplendant.
Or, am I a joke?
Is my style inappropriate, my hair too long?
The words float in space and, in my head, I hear the music to a song.
I’ll admit some insecurity; a lot of insecurity —
more learning, more questions. I like to think of that as maturity. I openly seek, and appreciate, the approval of my peers.
I know that contradicts;
but that’s the way I’ve become throughout the years.
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
It is the sum of who I am, what I’ve done and where I’ve been.
I’ve had much more than my share of restless nights
in one-night cheap hotels.
Unlike Eliot, I consider myself more of a new age seeker. Yes, I have heard the mermaids singing
and no, they do not sing to me.
I have become the watcher, putting in my time, dreaming of the sea.
Infinite waves, at times lapping at the beach,
or crashing on the shore.
Sometimes, I think that life should have more meaning,
that I could be much more.
I have accomplished what I could – “cat will mew,
and dog will have his day.”(1)
As always, the beautiful women smile, and chatter, and walk away.
…

 
 
(1)[1600-1 Shakespeare Hamlet v. i. 286]

Phrases in italics are quoted from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S.Eliot, one of my favorite poems. What I like most are the daily observances, recollections, distractions, insecurities and the questions.

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Icarus

Tags

blues, death, despair, emotion, empowerment, fear, free, love, mystery, personal, philosophy

Icarus (Photo credit: Jim Moran)

.

there is a space
between the mind
(that tends to seclude)
and the universe
(all-encompassing)
i travel this space

there is a space
between musical notes
between words
between lines
(very important)

there is a space
between the breathing in
and the breathing out
between the fullness
and the emptiness

between ascending
to the sun with Icarus
and the inevitable
plummeting
to earth

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Whisper and Moan

Tags

compassion, despair, desperation, down and out, dreams, drunk, fear, haze, longing, lonliness, lost love

 

Troubled blues with feeling
may ease my tortured mind;
free me from the clutches
of those I left behind.

These dirty hobo rags
hang on a wasted frame,
haunted by the memory
and rhythm of your name.

Walking through this alley
shrouded, dark with death.
Evil deeds will haunt me,
until my final breath.

Craving me some whisky,
a friendly word and smile.
You can spend my money,
just stay a little while.

Whisky clouds my thinking.
Your face is just a blur……
Few more drinks together
I may think you are her.

Guitar strings, whining steel,
a whisper and a moan.
Use me and abuse me;
don’t leave me here alone.

 
 
 

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The Morning After

Tags

confusion, conscience, despair, fear, forgetting, guilt, hangover, imagination, memory loss, mystery

 

There’s a misty place between nightmare and dawn.
Moving shadows are frightening to look upon.
There’s another world where reality ends,
Friends become enemies; enemies — friends.

Reluctant to move or to open my eyes.
There’s a body beside me — that’s a surprise.
Hearing their breathing, an occasional whine;
Knowing they’re alive — that’s a positive sign.

Opening one eye, a little, just a peep.
Whoever they are, I think they’re asleep.
I sneak out of bed to take a look ’round —
Finding wallet and clothes, I don’t make a sound.

Tiptoeing quietly, on little mouse feet,
when a voice behind me, so soft and so sweet,
says, “Come back to bed, dear, you don’t have to work.”
I feel very sheepish, I feel like a jerk.

“It’s the weekend; we have two whole days to play,
so come back to bed and we’ll start right away.”
Now it makes sense, I’m home — I belong.
How could I have been so confused and so wrong?

Last evening’s a blur; I blame it on drink —
there were faces, places — it’s so hard to think.
Somehow I got here, so it must be okay.
I’ll figure things out, some other day.

 
 
 
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The Silver Fox

Tags

alcoholism, Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, despair, desperation, emotion, fear, homeless, loneliness, longing

 

Slouching
in forgotten tap-rooms
dirty old men,
forgotten old men,
slop piss-colored beer
from, wet, dripping glasses.
The hollow din,
the retelling of “the good old days”,
echoes sadly
as life quickly passes.

“They used to call me ‘The Silver Fox’
What do you think of that?
They used to care.”

An empty glass crashes
to the muddy floor.

“I guess I’ll be hitting the street tonight.
Sleep in an alley tonight.
Nobody cares.”

Slouching
in forgotten tap-rooms
dirty old men,
forgotten old men,
slop piss-colored beer.
Nobody cares….

 
 
 

Image: http://ow.ly/RNSi3

Image: http://ow.ly/RO5Ye

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Banshee

Tags

death, fear, folk tales, Irish, legends, mystery, myths, spirits, spiritual

In Irish legend, a banshee wails
around a house where someone is about to die.

 

Brittle bones rattle and shake,
shadow me through the windy woods.
Shiver, quiver, quail and quake.
I’d forsake my worldly goods
if I thought they would suffice.
Keening cries of the banshee
penetrate like spears of ice.
Her cloak of gray, I cannot see —

Clammy presence proves she’s here.
From her curse I cannot flee;
I must face my deadly fear.
Death of kin hails the banshee.
Is it Mother, Father, Son?
On my neck her icy breath.
My sanctuary comes undone —
journey’s end will find a death.

Nearing home I hear the wailing,
sobbing, crying, clothes are rent.
Hair is pulled, arms are flailing —
heartbreak, tears are almost spent.
How to comfort, what to say?
Grieving knows no tomorrow.
How to live another day?
Stagger on, bear the sorrow.

Silent now, sits the banshee,
hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray,
spirit that we cannot see.
Pray her presence stays away.
More than that we cannot ask
as each footstep nears the grave,
toil at every weary task;
life is meant to spend not save.

Soon enough will come the time
when others wail, sob and cry.
Drums beat slowly, church bells chime;
it will be my time to die.
Hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray
the spirit wails right on cue,
as she will some future day —
when the banshee wails for you.

 
 
Image: http://www.thecosmicgypsy.com/embracing-the-madwoman/

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Street Angel

Tags

Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, despair, desperation, emotion, fear, homeless, kindness, Sociology, unconditional love

 

I met a woman
who lives on the streets.
All her belongings
fit in her backpack.

She has sparkling blue eyes,
a smile that would light heaven itself.
She looked cold.
I asked her how long
she’d been on the streets.
She replied, “I don’t know….too long.”
She is forty-four,
but looks older.

She told me her story.
I won’t repeat it,
but, to give you
some idea,
recall your worst fears,
your worst nightmares
rolled into one.
That’s the way
her story starts,
it only gets worse
from there.

I brought her a sandwich
and a coffee.
She said, “God bless you.”
He did
immediately,
A wave of joy spread
throughout my body
and stayed there
all day long.

I have been blessed
by an Angel.

 
 
 
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1977

Tags

destiny, dreams, fantasy, fear, loneliness, longing, love, mystery, romance, sighs

I sit on a stool
at Woolworth’s lunch counter
staring into the swirls of my steaming coffee
served in a Buffalo China cup and saucer
edged with double green stripes
(I have no interest
in my coffee)

Sitting
two stools down
is a young woman
with dark hair and doe eyes.
Her presence — electric.
She parts her ripe cherry lips
as she looks up from her book
and glances at the clock.
Five minutes left
before she leaves
for work.

She stretches
in her tight, white sweater
as she slides her arms
into the satin lined sleeves of her coat
previously draped
over the stool back.

She gazes
in my general direction
with no sign of encouragement.
I should be more assertive —
my coffee is cold —
maybe tomorrow…

 
 
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Tales of the Dragonfly: Tamara Ferguson

Tags

abduction, crime, FBI, fear, fiction, kidnapping, love, mystery, romance, thriller

.

 

.

The dragonfly is believed to be a symbol of renewal after a time of great hardship.

Book I: In Tandem

Separated by circumstances fifteen years earlier, Jake Loughlin and Danielle Reardon are fatefully reunited at Dragonfly Pointe.

But the mysterious Dragonfly Pointe has a history of tragedy. An unsolved brutal assault and murder of a six-year old girl over twenty years before has remained unsolved.

A successful entrepreneur, Jake has hidden his status as a special investigator for the FBI. As owner of the Dragonfly Pointe Inn, Jake has returned to restore and renovate the abandoned property.

But, unofficially, he’s investigating the theory that a ring of human traffickers is operating in the area. With three to five kidnappings occurring at the end of each year, over the states of Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, Jake can trace a pattern going back as far as thirty-five years.

And there could be a connection to the death of the little girl at Dragonfly Pointe twenty-two years earlier.

Grieving after the death of her grandmother several months before, Danielle has finally returned to Crystal Rock. A former model and vocalist for a band, Danielle escaped her chaotic life as a celebrity when her boyfriend died of a drug overdose. After obtaining her horticulture degree, she opened a successful landscape business in New York.

When Jake and Danielle finally meet again, it’s magic.

But something odd is going on at Dragonfly Pointe.  Several times during the reconstruction process, a suspicious stranger is sighted in the area.  When a young girl is kidnapped from a nearby community, the FBI investigation becomes official, and Jake is put into action.

Then lovely, eighteen-year old, Lucy Callahan, is kidnapped. Granddaughter of the former police chief of Crystal Rock, Lucy is like a sister to Danielle.

When the FBI investigation leads back to Dragonfly Pointe, Danielle, herself, is put in danger.

Despite its tragic history, the beauty and power of the magic at Dragonfly Pointe enables new beginnings.  Suffering tremendous loss, or surviving abuse and tragedy, each character featured in the series will create their own new beginning, aided by the power of love.

Visit author page at Amazon.com/Books/Tamara Ferguson

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My Five Star Review

Tales of the Dragonfly Book 1: In Tandem, enchanted and compelled me to continue reading. The writing is flawless. It was readily apparent why this book received two literary awards. They are well deserved. Tamara Ferguson describes the main characters and the other townspeople in a way that enfolds them to our hearts. We suffer their insecurities, cheer their victories and are consumed with fear when girls and women start disappearing from the surrounding communities.

Addictive and highly emotional, this book kept me totally entranced. When I read the last page, I couldn’t wait to start, Tales of the Dragonfly Book 2: In Flight, second of the Dragonfly trilogy. Bravo, Tammy Ferguson!

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game

Tags

animals, emotion, empowerment, fear, freedom, life, mankind, personal, philosophy

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“If a monk was physically attacked, the Buddha allowed him to strike back in self-defense, but never with the intention to kill.”

by

Thanissaro Bhikkhu

http://buff.ly/1G8Y6DW

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Dennis and his shiny motorcycle

.

when i was younger
i considered life a game.
i’d try anything once
for the experience.
there was nothing
i wouldn’t do
on a dare

that wasn’t a period
of great decisions.
they seemed
like good ideas
at the time —
seldom,
they were

now i’m concerned
with what i can accomplish
in the finite time ahead.
i don’t expect to die
in the near future
but the end
will come

each day i become
more of an activist
for the rights of all humans
and animals.
that’s a bit scary —
new territory for me.
i feel vulnerable
to attack

when i was younger
i said, and still say,
‘if your back’s against the wall
fight your best fight,
take your lumps —
the rest’ll take care
of itself’

there’s blood on the wall, blood on the floor,
some of it’s mine, but he spilled more.
got what I came for, took a lot of pain for.
watching my back, i leave by the side door.

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Trust Conquers All

Tags

destiny, dreams, emotion, fear, forever, lifetimes, loving kindness, romance, sighs, unconditional love

.

.

… on occasion

— from the corner of my eye —

I glimpse my reflection,

that alter being

who harbors all my fears;

questions the unquestionable;

tears at trust

.

Trust

mediates the differences,

binds the gaps,

holds everything together,

pushes us to believe

we can conquer all obstacles

so love can heal

.

Desperation Drive

Tags

apathy, despair, desperation, destiny, dreams, fear, longing, lost love, mystery, romance, sighs

.

Just kicking stones, down a long dirt road — nothing much to do.
Got my Stetson and my ridin’ boots — soles are worn clear through.
Leaving heartache, going nowhere fast, more dead than alive.
At daybreak, feet are pointing to, Desperation Drive.

When you’re down and out, in a hard luck place, no stars shine at night;
I’ve been looking down, such a long, long time, just can’t see the light.
Haven’t got a cent, haven’t got a friend, no will to survive;
That’s the reason why, I’m heading for, Desperation Drive.

Venezuela vowed she loved me true, caught the midnight train;
She took my money, left my broken heart, lying in the rain.
Got to leave this place, got to hitch a ride, out on highway five;
If they ask me where, I’m going, I’ll say,  “Desperation Drive.”

I miss that woman, she’s on my mind, the breeze still sighs her name;
She’s mean and evil, but my lonely heart, loves her just the same.
On the waterfront I’ll check the bars and every lowdown dive;
If she’s not there, I’ll rent a place on, Desperation Drive.

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Baggage

Tags

death, despair, destiny, dreams, emotion, fantasy, fear, imagination, lifetimes, loneliness, longing, lost love, memory

.

 

.

I’ll admit

that I’m a result

of all the decisions I’ve made in the past;

all the people who have influenced me,

in a positive or a negative way:

my loves, my breakups, my disappointments.

Without them, I wouldn’t be me

but, I don’t carry them on my back

they don’t define who I am now.

I create myself

from moment to moment;

otherwise,

what is the point of living?

The past is faded, imprecise memories —

people who are no longer what they seemed to be —

a view from a faulty lens.

I have baggage —

everyone does.

.

 

 

 

 

Voodoo Queen of New Orleans

Tags

blood, death, fear, folk tales, mystery, ritual, spells, spiritual, supernatural, voodoo, witch, witchcraft

 

She was long and lovely from ‘way down south,
she had blood on her hands, blood on her mouth.
She’d got voodoo spells and incantations.
She lived on one of those big plantations.
Had she done something bad? Well, I don’t know.
She went by the name of Marie Laveau.

She had golden skin and curly black hair,
down near the bayou you could find her there,
with her big old snake wrapped ’round and ’round,
it was party time when the sun went down.
Cauldron would bubble and naked they’d dance,
potions concocted, ’round the fire she’d prance.

She had a mojo hand, a black cat bone —
wouldn’t want her to catch you all alone.
There were stories told of the men she’d hexed;
husband Jacques unaware that he’d be next,
he just disappeared, he never returned —
just ashes left and the incense she burned.

Stroll though the graveyard down near Bayou Street
upon St. John’s Eve when the spirits meet.
There on her tomb is perched a big black crow
masking the spirit of Marie Laveau.
She leads the rites and the ritual scene,
forever known as the the Voodoo Queen.

Photo by Samantha Corfield
Tomb of Marie Laveau
St. Louis Cemetary #1
New Orleans

Marie Laveau lived from 1794 to 1881 on North Rampart Street, New Orleans. When requested, she used the Voodoo religion’s magical powers to control one’s enemies, lovers and acquaintances.

The type of music I have in mind for this has twanging guitars and a heavy drum beat reminiscent of the Creedence Clearwater Revival song, “Down on the Bayou” or the Colin James song “Voodoo Thing”

refuge

Tags

abandoned, alone, despair, empowerment, fear, free, lifetimes, lost, lost love, love, refuge

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.

lost my way
on rocky ground
no footprints
to be found

through the briar
to parts unknown
abandoned
and alone

changed direction
climbed a hill
saw your fire
burning still

lifetime gone
’till saw your spark
my refuge
from the dark

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Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/116285526@N07/12289713085/

Paranoia

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, fear, imagination, low self esteem, mental illness, obsessive compulsive, Paranoid personality disorder, psychiatry, psychology, trust

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“…telling an alcoholic to control his drinking is like telling a guy suffering the world’s most cataclysmic case of diarrhea to control his shitting.” ~ Steven King

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“Paranoid personality disorder (PPD) is a mental disorder characterized by paranoia and a pervasive, long-standing suspiciousness and generalized mistrust of others. Individuals with this personality disorder may be hypersensitive, easily feel slighted, and habitually relate to the world by vigilant scanning of the environment for clues or suggestions that may validate their fears or biases. Paranoid individuals are eager observers. They think they are in danger and look for signs and threats of that danger, potentially not appreciating other evidence.[1]”   ~ Wikipedia

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Somebody said to me, “…you feel the need to place yourself at the center of every word so that every hurt seems aimed at you.” This poem is meant to answer this concern.

.

.

I don’t trust people.
There are medical reasons:
bipolar, obsessive compulsive
and paranoid personality disorders.
I take medication for them,
and practise daily
meditation.

I do irrational things;
even while I’m doing them
I know they’re irrational —
I do them anyway.
I can’t help it.

Usually, I live
a relatively sane existence;
then a trigger goes off
Bam!
Somebody’s talking
behind my back.
Somebody’s writing about me
for all the world to see.

Sleepless nights
rereading
what did he/she mean by that?
more sleepless nights
more rereading
more anxiety.
Why,
are they doing this to me?

What do I do?
There may be other explanations.
There are other people in the world
that may act the way I do,
say the things I say,
fit my description…
But, all of this,
all at once;
impossible.

So I ask,
“Are you writing about me?”
They say, “I sometimes write about people,
but not about you.”
Problem solved —
or is it?
They write about people —
I’m people…
more sleepless nights,
more rereading,
more anxiety.

I don’t trust people.
I’m not acting rational.
I’m not rational.
I know, I’m not rational.
I’m acting paranoid.
I am paranoid.
I know, I’m paranoid.
I should control my paranoia.
I should control my shitting.

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What Do I Mean?

Tags

abandonment, death, despair, desperation, emotion, fear, free, personal

.

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I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
He said to me, you must not ask for so much.
And a pretty woman
leaning in her darkened door
She cried to me, hey, why not ask for more?
(From “Bird on a Wire” by Leonard Cohen.)

.

“It is impossible to say just what I mean.” [1]
The truth has many viewpoints
each painted by the brush of experience,
trauma, abuse — the list goes on.
What we see and what we hear
depends on who we are and where we’ve been.

Emotions are unreliable —
they may be triggered
by childhood fears of abandonment,
years of bullying,
disease, alcoholic parents.
We all wear our visible and invisible scars.

Some scars we wear with pride,
others we try to submerge,
yet they rise to the surface unexpectedly
like putrefied corpses.
Their corruption taints everything we see
feel, hear or experience.

Worst of all is the insecurity,
inability to trust, unexplainable emotions.
Fears which no longer have relevance
can pull our carpet of security
out from under our feet and leave us sprawling,
helpless as the children we once were.

Is there any hope for the future?
Is there an escape from a haunted past?
Perhaps, for some of us, there is hope —
“Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir” [2]
We can try in our way to be free.

.

(1) From “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot.
(2) From “Bird on a Wire” by Leonard Cohen.

Please, Take My Hand

Tags

Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, emotion, empathy, fear, homeless, kindness, loving kindness, psychology, unconditional love

.

.

There you are
an almost stranger.
Who am I to take your hand?
What I give is almost nothing –
but the heart to hear
and understand.

You tell me
you’ve been beaten,
stabbed with a machete,
made some choices
now regretted.

Sparking
eyes of azure blue
show a spectrum of emotions,
happiness, frustration,
pain and sorrow,
but, always
love.

Arisen
from behind a dumpster,
to living in a clean, safe house,
your life in order,
independent —
a miracle.

Inspiring
to me, and to everyone
fortunate enough to know you.
I would like to introduce you
to a wider audience
so that they too
may take inspiration
and see the miracle
that is your love,
that is you.

Please,
in friendship,
take my hand.

.

Sleeping Rough

Tags

compassion, despair, desperation, emotion, empathy, fear, loneliness, longing, loving kindness, mankind, personal, philosophy, spiritual, unconditional love, universe, world

.

Before I open my eyes
I’m aware of a dull roar;
air brakes hissing,
cars honking,
the sound of high heels
on concrete.
It must be morning.

The cold
is unbearable.
I found some cardboard
to insulate me
from the sidewalk
but, my sleeping bag is thin.

There was freezing rain
last night.
I couldn’t sleep
for shivering.
It’s starting to snow.
I can’t feel my feet.
Sometimes, I think
it would be better
if I didn’t wake up,
but, here I am.

 

 

.

Panhandling

Tags

compassion, despair, desperation, destiny, dreams, emotion, empathy, empowerment, eternal, fear, loneliness, longing, loss, loving kindness, mankind, philosophy, unconditional love, universe, world

Sleeping on the Sidewalk, Atlanta, Georgia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I sit on the sidewalk,
my upturned hat
in front of me,
hoping for spare change.
I’m forty years old.
I look older
because of the beard.
I’ve been on the streets
for twenty-two years.
I sleep on the sidewalk.

The sun is blinding.
My throat is parched.
I’m vaguely aware
of people walking past.
I feel disoriented,
light-headed.
I can’t remember
when I last ate.
I can’t remember
much of anything.
My life is a blur.

Occasionally,
someone will throw
a quarter
in my direction.

Some jerk just said,
“Get a job!”
“Hire me!” I said.
That’s a joke!
Most people
won’t look at me,
let alone employ me.

If I sit here long enough
the cops may run me in.
At least, I’ll get to eat.
I’ll be safe
for one night.

.

A woman waking up on a sidewalk in Bijapur, India, under a Pepsi advertisement. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There Are No Horses Anymore

Tags

animals, compassion, despair, desperation, destiny, dreams, emotion, empathy, eternal, fantasy, fear, forever, free, imagination, lifetimes, longing, loving kindness, mystery, personal, philosophy, spiritual, unconditional love, universe

It’s like you’ve been reading Dostoevsky
and your mind is heavy,
so you go for a walk.
You haven’t eaten,
but instead of soup,
you order two glasses of beer.
You know how Rodion felt,
because you’re him.
You walk into the street
and a dark horse is being beaten,
but, that can’t be,
because there are no horses anymore —

that was only a dream;
only in the book.
You think you’re going mad,
but, it’s alright,
you don’t have to worry.
Someone has just closed the cover —
you’re tucked away, safe inside.
Everything is alright.

Midnight Blues

Tags

battle, blues, cinema, compassion, despair, desperation, destination, destiny, dreams, emotion, empathy, empowerment, eternal, fantasy, fear, forever, free, imagination, lifetimes, loneliness, longing, love, loving kindness, mankind, mystery, nature, nightmares, personal, philosophy, purpose, reality, self esteem, sighs, soul, spirits, spiritual, trance, unconditional love, universe, world

Down and Out Blues (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

.

I walk the empty rain-soaked streets.
Footsteps echo against brick walls
as formidable as a prison.
There is no escape from loneliness
that devours the soul from within;
an endless cinema of despair.

Locked within this kaleidoscope;
distorted images from my past
haunt my dreams and nightmares.
There is no room for reality.
Players in my mind pull the strings,
dance this mournful marionette.

I follow the cooling evening breeze
with no purpose or destination.
My feet lead me forward in a trance.
I try to empty my mind of thoughts,
the destroyers of my self-esteem —
momentarily held at bay held at bay.

Life is a never-ending battle,
one foot in front of the other,
seconds follow tedious seconds,
breaths counted entering and leaving,
heart beats it’s pounding rhythm
walking these, empty rain-soaked blues.

.

Banshee

Tags

Banshee, Crying, death, despair, desperation, destiny, emotion, eternal, fear, folk tales, forever, Grief Loss and Bereavement, imagination, Irish mythology, lifetimes, loss, lost love, mystery, sighs, spirit

In Irish legend, a banshee wails around a house where someone is about to die.

…

Brittle bones rattle and shake,
shadow me through the windy woods.
Shiver, quiver, quail and quake.
I’d forsake my worldly goods
if I thought they would suffice.
Keening cries of the banshee
penetrate like spears of ice.
Her cloak of gray, I cannot see —

Clammy presence proves she’s here.
From her curse I cannot flee;
I must face my deadly fear.
Death of kin hails the banshee.
Is it Mother, Father, Son?
On my neck her icy breath.
My sanctuary comes undone —
journey’s end will find a death.

Nearing home I hear the wailing,
sobbing, crying, clothes are rent.
Hair is pulled, arms are flailing —
heartbreak, tears are almost spent.
How to comfort, what to say?
Grieving knows no tomorrow.
How to live another day?
Stagger on, bear the sorrow.

Silent now, sits the banshee,
hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray,
spirit that we cannot see.
Pray her presence stays away.
More than that we cannot ask
as each footstep nears the grave,
toil at every weary task;
life is meant to spend not save.

Soon enough will come the time
when others wail, sob and cry.
Drums beat slowly, church bells chime;
it will be my time to die.
Hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray
the spirit wails right on cue,
as she will some future day —
when the banshee wails for you.

Street Justice

Tags

blues, compassion, death, desperation, destiny, emotion, empathy, eternal, fear, forever, homeless, kindness, lifetimes, loss, love, loving kindness, mankind, motorcycle gangs, personal, support, unconditional love

I sit, in sadness,
holding hands with an injured friend;
her ribs broken and fractured,
her breathing painful and difficult,
her head aching and dizzy,
her face bruised
and scraped.

Another friend
is absent, in hiding; yet
he has no sanctuary,
there is no place he won’t be found.

At last, he had his life
in some semblance of order.
Two months sober;
he had an apartment, furniture;
his pride and self-worth had returned.
Then, he spent his rent check on booze —
starting with triple tequila shots
at a biker bar.
The universe
had given him a fresh start —
he threw it away.

Street justice will prevail;
sentence has been passed:
a bruise for a bruise,
a broken bone for a broken bone,
and something extra
so it won’t happen again.
Punishment will be exacted
with ruthless,
emotionless
efficiency.

.

Lonely

Tags

compassion, death, despair, desperation, destiny, dreams, emotion, empathy, eternal, fear, forever, loneliness, longing, loss, love, loving kindness, mankind, personal, philosophy, spiritual, support, unconditional love, universe, world

I wandered into Lonely
about a week ago.
I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t know where to go.

I’m not alone in Lonely
we gather all together.
I look into their lonely eyes;
I see they’re lost forever.

We sit in understanding,
I hear about their sorrow.
Death looks from their teary eyes;
they’ll not be here tomorrow.

My heart I unfold to them.
They look on me as a friend.
I give them all the love I have.
I’ll embrace them ’till the end.

 

 

 

First Kiss

Tags

desperation, dreams, fantasy, fear, forever, imagination, longing, love, loving kindness, mystery, nature, personal, romance

my first kiss
so long ago
(not yet in high school)
in the back seatof a ’51 Ford
at a drive-in theatre.
I’ll remember ’till I die
my nervousness,
perspiration,
her perfume
(Tigress by Faberge)
her warmth,
angora sweater set
(pastel yellow —
no buttons
to hinder progress)
sweetness of her kiss.
She knew much more than I
about such things

another world
had opened to me
desire and heartache
go together —
there’s seldom one
without the other
but, would we want it
any other way?
would we want
a safe, yet loveless life
without the up
without the down?
or, take the ecstacy
and risk our hearts
being trampled
to the ground