Dollars to Dimes

Messed this shoulder up one winter.
Blew this knee out chasing streets.
Had my heart attack one autumn
And it knocked me off my feet.

My right hand is nerve damaged.

Got that with my TBI.
Family all gathered at my bedside.
Guess they thought that I would die.

Got shot at in Chicago

When I was trapped in a crossfire.
Thank the Lord that guy missed me.
Shoulda aimed a little higher.

I’ve got lots of scars you can’t see

‘Cuz they aren’t carved upon my skin.
Guess I’m responsible for most
But I’d do it all again.

But, mister, don’t call me “boy.”

And I sure ‘nuff ain’t your son.
I can tell you don’t know me
Or you’d go home and get your gun.

I may smile when I want to.

I may frown from time to time.
But if you really want to try me
I’m holding dollars to your dimes.

Like No Other

Riding beats walking
Most every day.
But flying beats riding
Don’t care much what you say.

I’ve done a lot of both

Worn down lots of heels
But I’ve never worn wings out
Can’t say how good it feels.

Climb up there in that seat

Spin up that old prop
Reach out for those tall clouds
You’ll never want to stop.

Pull that old stick back
Give it a bit of rudder
Fall back in a tight spin
It’s a feeling like no other.

Stand upon your right wing

And look down at that ground
Pour on a little throttle
Just listen to that sound!

Chase the angels ‘round the sky

And get lost among the clouds
Let the sun spin you crazy
I swear, you’ll laugh out loud.

You can walk if you want to

Or you can ride instead of fly.
But if it’s all the same to you
I’ll soar until I die!

Three in the Morning

Three in the morning

Three in the morning
It’s the loneliest
Time of night.
The time when memories
And haunted dreams
Take flight.

They scurry ‘round

The ceiling
Slither across the floor
Even though they
Come unbidden
They come all the more.

Three in the morning

Dragged from
My deepest sleep
Dreams and memories
Taunt me
Seeking which I choose to keep.

It’s a ragged, rugged

Lonely hour
Come darkest 3 a.m.
When dreams and memories
Wake me
And play me at their whim.

Wish I'd Said That #4

Nothing is more dangerous than an obvious fact.
~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes

The West Wind*

PTSD

The sigh in the eaves
Is nothing but the west wind
I remind myself.

There’s nothing human

In the sound
But it’s so damned close.

I listen to the vocabulary

Syntax and sentence structure
Of the complaining wind.

The sigh in the eaves

Is not the moaning
Of the lost I could not save.

It is not the open-mouthed dead
With sightless eyes
Looking to me for explanation.

That’s what I tell myself
When the west wind sings
And the leaves of autumn scatter.


*PTSD is a terrible partner and a tall price to pay for the good one attempts. There are thousands whose struggles make mine seem silly. God bless them.
  

Guess He Forgot*

Late last night
My best dog bit me
Just before he
Grabbed the dinner off my plate.

I snatched that

Critter up
By his collar
And made him throw up all he ate.

It ain’t no good

When I can’t trust
My little pal
To keep his distance from my food.

Tell ya what, though

The worst part
Is that he
Put me in a rotten mood.

But I forgave him

And started feelin’ bad
That I reacted
The no-good, crazy way I did.

I packed his things

Then showed him to the door.
Buddy musta forgot
When it comes to chicken, I do not kid.


*Yeah, Buddy did bite me. And he sure 'nuff grabbed the chicken off my plate. But I didn't make him vomit (he did that on his own), nor did I pack his gear and head him out the door. But I thought about it. Reckon he loves fried chicken as much as I. We negotiated...next time he gets a leg or a wing. Maybe both. (But, according to the treaty, I get one tooth for every bite he gives me). Wink/Grin.

Rebels in the Rafters*

Got a few
Rebels in the rafters
That don’t wanna go away.
Doesn’t much matter
What I want
They sleep there night and day.

Sometimes

I hear them singing
Tunes I thought were dead.
I’m not sure I actually
Heard them.
Maybe it was all just in my head.

It feels like

They belong there
Like that’s their rightful place.
I don’t know
What I’d do though
If I ever met one face to face.

Sometimes

I listen to their weeping.
They all sound so melancholy.
Reckon I’ll just
Leave them in peace.
They’re just Rebels in the rafters to me.


*Pvt. Thomas Wood
[ X ] 5th Mississippi Vol. Inf. Co. A, 1861-65  [ X ]

Nothing Less Than Forever

This tour of duty
Has no end.
Somewhere in the distance
Parallel lines converge.
That is the point
I disembark.

What I said I will do

I will do
And I will do it
For the term of my enlistment.

My term of service is
Nothing less than forever.

Pardon

The way I said that.
I meant no bravado
No pitiful sense of greatness.

Actually

That understanding leaves me
A bit tired.
Weary even.

But I enlisted

A long time ago
And I will remain enlisted
Much longer than you may imagine.

I am the eternal soldier

And I will serve
Nothing less than forever.

A Cold Burn

There is a certain feeling
Accompanied by
A slap in the face.

Call it

A cold burn.

It telegraphs from your face

Down your neck and spine
And ricochets around
Your spirit
While you deliberate whether
To strike back
Laugh
Or walk away.

So far I’ve walked away.

But I think the heart has a limit

To the number of slaps
It can sustain
Until it does something reasonable.
Reasonable.

But I may be safe.

I’ve not done one thing reasonable
Yet.

'49 Merc

Long.
Chopped and raked.
Black metallic.
Evil.
It growled
Across the intersection
Its frame lit
In purple light.

Sinister.

I fell in behind it
Noting its plate
Bright in the gloom
SATAN 1.

It was a translation

Of a ’49 Merc.
It slithered rather than rolled.
Every window tinted black.
Four chrome pipes jutted
From each side
Blue flame
Whispering from each port.

There are moments when feeling

Is the dominate sense.
The wise man knows
When to obey his gut.

I pulled beside him at the light
And rolled my window down
Indicating the driver
Of the ’49 Merc
Do the same.

In a moment

His window hissed down.

I looked into the face

Of the fool behind the wheel.
He tilted his head in question
Wanting to know the reason
For the interruption.

I’d been eating an apple

When I’d noticed the ’49 Merc.
All that was left was the core
Which I tossed like a grenade
Onto his buttery leather seats.
His eyes flared in malevolence.

You can have your apple back

I said.

 

Then I turned right
At the light.

Trying Too Hard

Trying too Hard

You’re trying too hard
She said.
Just let it come naturally.
You’ll feel it inside
And it’ll come out easy like.
But you’re trying too hard, baby.

She was right

Of course
But I never did anything
Easy.

So, I nodded
As if I understood.
But we both knew
I didn’t.

I would keep on pushing hard

And forcing things
To happen
Making a big do over
The smallest accomplishment
Even as they melted
In the fire of her truth.

Someday soon

Would be the
Come to Jesus speech
I’d heard before.
You know the one?

It starts with

You just tried too hard, baby.

Azaleas

Azaleas

She touched my face
The way she did azaleas.
Tenderly.
Hesitantly.

Her eyes told me

What her lips could not.

I backed away, slowly.

Her fingertips left my cheek
But her eyes held me
All the way.

All the way to the corner.

I did not look back.

Had I, perhaps things would be
Different.

I felt her gaze on me

The way azaleas feel
Spring rain
And the softest puff
Of a fleeting breeze.

A Wisp of Smoke

He asked me for gloves
And I had a new pair
So I gave them to him.
He was effusive in his thanks.
He is always effusive in his thanks.

Every time I see him
There is less of him.
I expect some day
He will turn into
A wisp of smoke
And blow away.

He was sober this time.
But by noon
He will find some liquor
And pass out on the porch
Of the abandoned house
Across the street.

He could be sixty

But he may be thirty.
The streets exact its fee
In years.

I will see him again.

Probably as
A wisp of smoke.

Wish I'd Said That #3

Things work out the best for those who make the best of the way things work out. (Anonymous)

The Snows Kept Falling

Nothing pushes back
The midnight snows
In Iowa.
Each flake is alive
Has purpose
Is determined to sweep away
Every human traveler.

My little car followed the ruts

Carved by large trucks
Lumbering
Like the last dinosaurs on earth.

I prayed like a saint

Destined to die
Permitted a few
Our Fathers
And Hail Marys
Before the sentence
Is executed.

Morning came agonizingly slowly

The skies transforming
Into the pale colors
Of spoiled milk.

I took an exit some blessed soul

Had plowed.
Collapsing into a booth
In the back of a truck stop
I drank strong coffee
Wrapping my stiff hands
Around the warm cup
Glad to be alive
Even as the snows
Kept falling.

Wish I'd Said That #2

Young pop singer Daniela Andrade (Google her music...incredible!) in her original work, Don't Care, said, A man is only as good as his unbroken word.

Worse Than a Stranger

She was a voice
I used to know.
A voice
That would
Send an electrical charge
Through my body.

I could not listen to her

Enough.
She gladdened my heart.
Once
I wanted her
Always.

Much time has passed.

Her voice
Is a memory
Stilled.

So, when I heard her again

On the telephone
I expected
The same old rush.
But she came to me
As a stranger.
Worse than a stranger.
She came as one
From whom
I wanted to turn away.

I hurried to end the conversation

Hoping to hear her no longer.

She used
The language of 'hello'
While I choose
The language of 'goodbye.'

Wounded Animal

Hyenas on the Serengeti

Last I saw her 
She was in her circle 
Of friends. 
I walked as quickly  
As possible 
Around them and out.

Her laughter coughed

And they picked it up

Like hyenas on the Serengeti.

Their shrill cry scoured my ears

All the way to my vehicle.

I hear it still

When silence presses me.

That cold

Clattering laugh

Like china breaking on the floor.

Her laughter pierces...

Like bats bursting from their cave

Like tires squealing

Like ice breaking on the river

Like a tree snapping in weather

Like the cry of a wounded animal.

Yes, just like

A wounded animal.

Wish I'd Said That....

Leonard Cohen, who recently passed, was a noted writer and singer. The remark below is attributed to him. I wish I'd said that.

"When your life is on fire, poetry is the ash."

Never Better

Been a while
Huh?

Sorry.

You know

How it is.

So, tell me.

Have you seen her?

Don’t play with me, man.

You know who

I’m talking about.

No.

No.

I’m doin’ okay.

No

Don’t tell her

I asked.

In fact

Tell her you saw me

And I’m doin’ fine.

No.

Tell her I’m doin’

Great.

Okay?

Will you do that?

Because I am, you know.

I’m doin’ great.

No, man

Don’t come over.

Not tonight.

Another time, though

Okay?

Place is a mess.

But don’t tell her that.

Tell her I’ve never been better.

Okay?

Never better.

Well…

I better go, man.

Outta cigarettes.

Thanks for the call.

Remember, man.

Doin’ great.

Never better.