NOW

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Oh, just another day

Calling out: “Here is

A gift of new hope,

New opportunities”,

Perhaps a vision of

NOW?

Yet, the fear strangles

My gut, the question,

Always that question:

Is there a tomorrow?

The dread permeates

My soul and I can hear

That clock ticking, ever

A reminder that time is

A limited allusion, sifting

Through the fingers

Like hot sand on a July

Day at Coney Island.

Desperately I try to hold

On to those “sparkling

Diamonds”,knowing it

Is only a futile gesture.

Child like tears trickle

Down time worn cheeks,

Leaving random spots

On a threadbare shirt.

There is nothing left

To say or think, only

The painful effort to

Move forward, into

The only moment I have.

TIME

Time floats by, as if on a river;

In childhood, ever so slowly, then

Drifting through the teen years

Only to be ignored after college.

There is marriage, careers and

Suddenly, the children have

Come and gone,to be replaced by

Smiling grandchildren, allowing

Us to drift once again in the warm

Waters of fantasy, untethered by

Thoughts of yesterday or tomorrow.

Yes,time permits long, wistful looks

Backward through hazy memories,

And reminders that clarity is now

Not in the future nor in the past.

AGAIN

The unruly tattoo beats

Methodically through

My head: “Unworthy,

Unworthy”,again and again.

Sometimes ever so lightly,

Yet again ever so loudly,

A roiling thunder reminding

ME of failures and sadness.

This ends too often in the

Battle of the bottle, the elixir

That flows into the empty

Playground of my mind.

Why does this never end?

Will I always crawl into that

Cocoon of denial awaiting

Some liquid savior? Again?

The questions persist, why:

-Must I exist, like this?

-Must the mirror be cracked?

-Must I cry tears of failure?

In this court of doom and gloom,

Who is the judge I stand before,

This denigrator and chief? Yes,

It is ME. Again.

NOT SO MUCH

There have been too many years

Filled with too many tears, memories

Adrift in a dark sea of liquid dreams.

Yet,this was never about booze, or

The haze that blinded reality, or

Not having made an effort at anything,

Other than lifting that glass filled with

No tomorrows. This had been about

Being lost in a vatic reality, a lifetime

Attempting to escape the feelings of

Failure and inadequacy, a child not

Knowing who he was, or if there was

A tomorrow with love or comfort in it.

The growing into manhood, feeling

Lost and without direction or courage.

Understanding? No, only that

Unyielding bed of loneliness where

There was nothing left to feel or touch.

And hope? NOT SO MUCH

PLAYING WITH TOYS

The lens captures the image,

Gold and burnt orange leaves

Caught in the wind, finally

Settling on a grassy surface.

For one moment I have been

Able to capture the color of

Today, the brilliance of autumn,

Replete with cool breezes, and

Fading sunlight struggling to

Shine through bare branches.

If only time could be embraced

So poetically, to be poured over,

Tinkered with on ones computer.

I have seized the moment, not

Realizing that I am trapped in

A story, out of focus, playing with

The conventional toys of today.

Will I ever learn that I cannot

Recreate the past in order

To ignore the perils of the present?

Who Will Lead Us?

Teddy Kennedy is gone.
A leader has left a vacuum.
Who will lead us now?
Who will have the compassion?
Who will have the wisdom?
Who will have the vision
To say “Yes we can”, today?
AND
Who will stand up to the:
-Pejorative speeches?
-Those who decry dissent?
-The specious reasoning?
-The hate mongering?
-All those canons of canards?
Yes, Edward M. Kennedy is gone,
Yet the standard is there, a path
Clear for those who wish to dare.
The question remains:
WHO WILL LEAD US

Larger Than Life

A mighty voice has now been stilled
A country mourned as Teddy
Was buried upon that “hill.”
He did so much over the years,
He stood so tall among his peers.
He “sailed” the Capitol as
He did the seas, making
Every move with consummate ease.
His many accomplishments helped us all,
He left this country standing tall.
Oh, he made mistakes and would admit,
The worst of which was Chappaquiddick.
For that eventful day he made amends,
Yet lived to regret it right up until the end.
On the campaign trail or Senate floor
Teddy stood to help both rich and poor.
We are all the better for his life on earth
And miss his wisdom, caring and the mirth.
Now that his boat has left the shore
That lion’s roar will be heard no more.

67 & 68

Plodding through life

The comfort is knowing

Not where you have been

Rather where you are going.

Time slips by at a terrible pace,

So how do we prepare

For mortality’s race?

Reviewing the last three score

And seven years, I search for

The smiles and suffer the tears.

There are painful memories of

All those issues in the past,

Now the humor is in what

The future has cast

Before I arrive at destiny’s gate,

I must concentrate now

On reaching sixty-eight

“SLIDING BY”

 

Time slides by,

Thoughts of

Long July days

Are now crisp

Autumn evenings.

How easy to become

Mesmerized by the

Sunset exquisitely dying

In the shadows of dusk.

Sadly, the pages of the

Calendar turn quickly,

Showing no quarter for

Missed opportunities.

Reaching for a coat, I

Long for yesterday,

With shorts and tees,

Forgetting summer's

Penalty of bug bites

And aching sunburn.

Hopefully, the panorama

Of drifting autumn leaves

Will offer some magical

Elixir justifying my having

Found a way to smugly

Lounge through life.

OUT OF CONTROL

 

The fear inside is palpable,

Causing a mumbling and

Stumbling in a headlong

Effort to simplify heroically a

Life spinning out of control.

There are desperate words to

Scream for help, but no one hears.

There is only the wild, staccato of

Threats, bouncing off hastily

Erected walls used to fend off

All attempts at reason.

The message is loud and clear

“Enlightened arrogance is here.”

Where do you go now?  Who cares?

The noise drones on, fear lives.

 

IT’S  HARD

 

Trying to establish your

Identity is hard, 20’s or 30’s,

Doesn’t matter, it’s hard.

You feel marginalized- by

One and all-through their

Exhaustive indifference,

It’s hard.  You are the

Undisputed leader of

“Nowhere Ville, it’s hard.”

Don’t know if it’s pride,

Don’t know if it’s denial,

Asking for help-it’s hard.

You’ve made it through

High school and college,

Time to find a job-now,

It’s hard; doors slammed,

Phone calls and emails are

Ignored or politely dismissed.

It’s hard, yesterdays dream

Has become today’s nightmare.

It is everyone else’s fault with

No one offering a helping hand.

Maybe it’s time to try being

The hero in your own life,

             IT’S HARD.

Nature and Inspiration

 

I stood there like a mast

On an old Spanish galleon,

Swaying in the winter wind

Being pulled in all directions.

The intensity of the storm

Tugged at my hair, stung

My eyes and cheeks as needle

Like spray knifed into every pore.

The steel pewter clouds above

Hung carelessly, so close to the

Whitecaps they seemed to touch.

I could smell the rain even before it

Washed my face in a wet frenzy.

Nature had spun her damp web,

Squeezing me with her fierceness,

Both frightening and awe-inspiring.

Then, with a final shriek it blew

Out to sea leaving me with a

Shiver in the gloom of evening.

 

THE GARDEN

 

Time stands still in

That granite garden

Etched in the hill.

Names and dates

Are carved in stone,

But those entombed

Lie there alone.

We wander by

The “stones” and urns

Wondering when

It will be our turn?

The cold wind blows

Across gray skies,

The mother shakes

While her baby cries.

There is no beginning,

There is no “end”, just

The deafening silence

Is your only friend.

Time has sent a calling card,

That this is home

For this lonely bard.

MY JOURNEY

There is a void  I try to span

Between  the image and who I am.

I have to hope that all I need is

To take that plunge to set me free.

I must take that first step down the trail

To stand in place I will only fail.

Why is it then my knees do shake?

Is my entire future now at stake?

I have sought wise council many a day,

The answer given is "find your OWN way!"

The time has come to search my heart

For there is no other way to start.

The vacuum that is deep in me

Is so obvious a lack of humility.

I shall offer my hand to those who wish,

The failure is in not taking the risk.

So off I travel on this path to learn

Life's true fortunes that are hard to earn.

TAKIN’ A LOOK

 

When looking in the mirror,

Do we really see who’s there?

The wrinkles and the ripples

Below the thinning hair.

When we look more carefully

Through glasses to help us focus,

Are we searching for that cream

To provide some “hocus pocus?”

Is it becoming more difficult to

Remember where you’re going?
Or finding yourself on some bus

Without even really knowing?

The meals we plan then cook

We do with such delight,

But the joy we had in eating

Is forgotten the following night.

The questions keep on coming,

The answers “not so much”,

Getting on in age can be a bitch

But dying early really "sucks."

 

BETWEEN MIND AND BODY                  

    The distance between the mind and body

Becomes ever greater as time passes.

I struggle to run faster, eat more, oh,

Just demand greater effort to seem younger.

Yet, the muscles ache longer, the wrinkles more

Pronounced as the hairline recedes further.

Memory plays her tricks leading me to believe

I could some how run a 5 minute mile,

While owning a 34” waist wrapped around 

A desirable six foot, sub two-hundred pound body.

The “shades” are now gone, replaced by the

Not so fashionable wire rim bi-focals.

The “muscle” shirts-once worn with arrogance-are

Now replaced with thread bare flannels

To keep the chill out and the unsightly flesh in.

The rag top convertible has been replaced with

A three letter behemoth that has a sun roof to make

Me feel “cool” and forget the risk of skin cancer.

Fears of my mortality creep into my thoughts;

I wonder if my body will support enough years

To see my grandchildren dressed up for their

Senior proms, fly off to college, or even married?

Or, will my once-and always-beautiful bride

Still find me handsome and gallant as I struggle

To open the car door?  Or put the garbage out?

The heroics which resulted in the chronic back pain,

Now are only dim memories, a life’s story no one

Cares about, nor would be foolish enough to imitate.

The tools to record these thoughts have become

More sophisticated, out pacing the author’s

Desire to chronicle , if not impede, a slowing journey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SAYING FAREWELL

 

Brighton by the sea

Damp and cold, the

Angry waves pounding

On the deserted beach.

The leaded grey clouds

Hurl across an icy sky,

Pausing only to empty

Their “bladder” on the way

To some unseen forever.

I stood there, clutching  

The remains of my parents,

Heavy packets of ash,

Waiting to be discharged

Into a damp winter wind.

Then, the grey particles

Fled towards the sea,

Leaving me behind with

Little more than tears and

A lifetime of blurred memories.

Suddenly, a rainbow appeared,

A colorful arc across a pewter sky,

Reflecting a sun in all its brilliance;

Then, just as suddenly, the rain,

The wind, and the lonely silence.

 

          JON GOLDSTEIN

 

JUST SOME FISHIN'

Driftin' about in an open boat,

Fog wrapped around you,

Like a wet overcoat.

Feet tucked under you

In a painful slouch,

Wonderin' what the hell

Made me desert my couch.

Thoughts of fishing seemed

Like just some kind of lark,

Now I'm worried I'll be dinner

For some big old shark.

There aint nothing biting

Except this morning chill,

How could I be thinking

It would be some kind of thrill?

Guess I'll close my eyes and

Hope that line will give a tug,

Mebbe some mermaid will

Pop up and give me a hug.

IN THE COLD

Too many years staring

Down at my feet, 

Too many nights

Too frightened to sleep.

The images that appeared

Left me shivering with cold,

The painful thoughts choking

All hopes of growing old.

A dawn now descends

With a sky painted gray,

Tears on frozen cheeks

Reflecting another lost day.

I plod along slowly embraced

By these sad thoughts,

A lifetime of hope

Having never been wrought.

About "This" Fork

What is so special about "this"fork?

To spear some fish, or perhaps some pork?

This shiny tool is just lying there

Awaiting my desire to attack the fare.

An eating utensil cannot think

And when finished work it lands in the sink.

My fork works hard but it has no hope,

The morsels left on it are removed by soap.

I blame this tool for my bulging waist

It performs its duty with haste, not taste.

This trusty fork held in my fist

Will be there always to "assist".

THROUGH THE LENS

 

Thoughts blowing in the wind,

Visions like autumn leaves

Swirling about, momentarily

Caught in the lens of clarity, only

To be swept away again, sans focus.

I am THAT camera, the magical toy

Created for today’s memories left

To search for an image tomorrow.

Why this struggle to wade through

The vast wasteland of hedonism

If there is nothing worth saving?

Perhaps, I am just that tyro with

A camera only to have a blind eye.

The journey continues, propelled by

The belief that beauty does exist and

Can be saved through the lens of hope.

 

NOW AND THEN

How often I have wanted

To drift back through the years,

Searching for the “happy times”,

You know, the ones without pain and

The unquenchable thirst for…….?

Without even a hangover, or

One that would not be remembered.

There would be no back pain, nor

The memories of knee replacements.

The hearing would be better and

The eyes clear, covered only with

The “cool” aviator wrap rounds.

Hair was slick then, the sideburns

Giving way to a chin not marred by

Scruffy growth or poor judgment.

The music was slow, time stood still,

Summers never seemed to end

Nor did our innocence, or dreams.

Who knew the word “nostalgia”, or

Could envision using it in a sentence?

Days seem to pass by now, crowding

More memories into smaller books.

The pages are worn, some marred by

Sadness, loneliness and, yes, even death.

The richness of life Is there, chronicled

In a weathered face now lined and scarred.

The eyes still twinkle, though less often,

And the stomach protruding just a bit

Over blue jeans not in need of a belt.

Yet, this is the morning of a new day,

Without need of drifting nor looking back.

THEATER OF THE ABSURD

I stand alone on this barren stage,

The tears now gone along with rage.

My mind is a theater of collisions,

Following a script of absurd revisions.

The stage I'm on is drenched in confusion,

The audience around me has no allusions.

I plod along from scene to scene,

Wandering about in a Peripatetic dream.

Time flies by and there are some laughs,

More often than not I drown in gaffs.

When the lights begin to dim, the audience

Is aware why my life is grim.  The curtain

Falls on this amorphous production,

Its hero lost to a specious seduction.

IN THE GUTTER

Lipstick smudged cigarette butts

Littering the oil stained pavement

Like so many pimples on the face of

A newly pubescent teenager.We pass by, 

Scarcely noticing neglected rubbish,

Carelessly discarded, and soon forgotten.

Beer cans and bottles, the "dead soldiers" of

The "now" generation, lie in the gutter

Awaiting claim by countless denizens, or

The occasional street cleaner.

We are the spirit of carpe diem, with

Little concern for our footprints and no

Vision for the future of our children.  So

Our heels beet a rapid tattoo as we walk

Hurriedly through theses concrete and 

Glass walled canyons, a pilgrimage

In need of a new destination and an exit

Out of darkness.  The question remains:

DOES ANYONE CARE?

MARKERS

The granite markers, a solemn testament

To those brought home in the shadow of

Night so not to disturb the tranquility of

Those paladins of power, too important

To fight the real-and imagined-enemy.

Names and dates carved into grey stone

Commemorate the fallen-our youth, Lost

To mistakes, lost to fear, oh, just plain lost.

We have learned nothing from these battles, both

Won AND lost on some distant and barren field.

We forget all those canvas bags returned to us,

Filled with the body parts of our loved ones.

We are too busy destroying our future leaders

With pithy comments relevant only to tired eyes

Trying to focus on some late night talk show.

We swell with self-importance as we honor

The Dead, too intent to appreciate the living.

Those granite markers, will they comfort us?

Will those cold stone reminders help us?  Ever?

Memories Kept Of George W.

We we were sending boys off to war,

Politicians kept on talking but

We kept shipping out more.

You'd think we had suffered

More than enough pain,

And we had learned a lesson

That there was nothing to gain.

The body bags kept coming,

The tears kept on flowing,

The man in the White House

Smiled without "knowing."

He had his chance a long time ago

But "daddy" pulled some strings and

George W. did not have to go.

Night after night we kept on crying,

Lives kept on being wasted and

The White House kept on lying.

The story kept on playing,

The tragic carnage was still there,

Who would stand up to be counted,

And show that we cared?

FOOTPRINTS

Footprints  cast along the shore,

The path of the old man's journey,

Fading into a relentless surf.

He struggled with the nets,

His gnarled fingers fighting the rope,

An endless battle for the ancient warrior.

I wept for him as I listened to his plea

To the heavens for just a "little more time."

I called out:  "Do you need some help"?

My words were lost in a shout of salty noise.

The fisherman pulled his hat low across his brow,

A vain attempt to hide from nature's wrath.

He was at one with the fury swirling around him,

A lonely man lost in his toil, the heavy burden

Of the day weighing on his shoulders.

Finally, the hours of silent effort and his

Footprints slowly disappeared in the evening light.

A MOTHER'S WISDOM

Eyes bright yet damp,

Crows feet stretching

At the corners showing

Only time, not sadness.

Her lips parted, ready

To reveal all those years

Wrought with pain, joy,

And the wisdom of a life

Close to the earth, her reality.

IN THE BOAT

 

We are cast about as though

Sprawled in a boat, a gale swirling

Around us, and very little hope.

We ignored the reminders that

We always have a choice, yet here

We are with so little to rejoice.

The soldiers we sent-off to Iraq-had

Very little hope of ever coming back.

The houses we bought without

Spending a dime, ignored the caveat,

“There is no permanence nor time.”

Our health care system, created by

The corporate “shtick”, has offered

Little hope to those who got sick.

Mr. Obama is here and directing our sails,

With pundits like Limbaugh hoping he fails.

This radio dilettante with a tiresome canard,

Is doomed to be hoisted on a very sharp petard.

This country is in trouble, that you can be sure,

Yet a sycophant like Rush is never the cure.

The “gale” will continue, causing more grief,

But in the end we’ll prevail, that’s my belief.

 

 

                          

"JUST ONE"?

The tulip shaped goblet,

Crystal clear in it's simplicity,

Offers its blood red liquid 

For my embrace.  I wince at 

The distorted reflection in 

The glass, while my lips are

Parched in thirsty anticipation.

The mind spins with justification of

"Just this one", and "what possible harm"?

Questions asked thousands of times,

Giving way to the denial gnawing in my gut.

The glass seems to wink at me, a taunting

Recognition of the agony churning within,

Sweat beginning to stream down my cheek.

The "tapes" continue their dull refrain,

The rose colored elixir waiting to be savored,

But not by me, not by me, ever!

THEM

We are polarized, so many of us,

"Looking through a glass darkly"

Wanting only what WE want,

Not caring-nor sharing-with them.

The wealth and fancy automobiles

Whisk us through garbage strewn 

City streets, tucked behind tinted glass;

We are safe from them, they cannot see.

But who really is invisible, us or them?

Who should we really fear, them, or us?

Soon, we will become them, then what?

IN THE END

When you are closer to the end

Than you are to the beginning

Time seems to race by laughing,

Oblivious to an expiration date.

Hazy memories, jumbled thoughts,

All reeling in that giant playground

Covered by a receding hairline, the

Color reminiscent of a winter sky.

The questions, always the questions,

Breaking through to prod me to

A bleak distraction, not allowing for

A return to a spiritless conventionality.

Who am I?  There is a history, but

What of my [past?  Is it tied to my future?

Am I really the man who sits here?  Or,

Am I acting out some Thespian drama,

Set on a stage made of Jello, with the same

Stability and security but lacking taste?

I stumble along, pondering the issues but,

In the end, does it really, REALLY  matter? 

OH, WHAT A PITY

The simple things in life

Are what I hope to find but,

The empty sense of loneliness

Is all that plagues my mind.

I travel here and there with

The need to find some peace,

When I end this pilgrimage

My life on earth will cease.

The elevator I travel on 

Has stopped at many floors,

The fear that now confronts me

Is what's behind those doors.

I do not understand what it is

That makes me want to look,

All that I can think of  is

My life's a comic book.

I want to smile and laugh

And jump up to the sky, but

The only thing I seem to do

Is lay right down and cry.

CITY IMAGES

I walk the path again,

One that you and 

I have travelled.

The streets, teaming 

With people and

Surrounded by all 

The sounds and smells

The city has to offer.

I search for your image

In a shop window, hoping

To catch a glimpse of

Your carefree smile, an

Easy laugh playing on your lips.

I ask "where are you?"

Knowing the answer is

A pain deep in my heart.

I long for your kisses and

The soft caresses in the night.

Walking slowly, I imagine

The moon casting a gentle light

On your tender face, its image

Reflected in your hazel eyes.

You are always there, a reminder of

Eternal love and life long caring.

The memory of your smile dries

My lonely tears and offers a glow

That keeps my hopes alive for

A love not lost or forgotten

THE CANDLE

The candle flickered, a beacon of hope,

Sending out blurred images in the gloom.

I moved closer to the shimmering flame,

Like some moth drawn to the pungent

Odor of wax drifting up to the rafters.

Thoughts of a lost childhood emerged,

The light still bouncing around me,

Creating clouded memories of long ago.

Childish fears returned, those of a small boy

Wrapped in a blanket, little tears washing

Down pink cheeks waiting, wanting

To be loved, not forgotten,  The smiles of hope,

Much like the flickering candle grew smaller,

The light becoming dimmer, but those little 

Tears of a small boy remained forever.

REALLY?

There is a moment of clarity

When I let go of yesterday,

Banish thoughts of tomorrow,

And embrace only today.

FLOUNDERING

There is a world out there

Spinning out of control

With a few that "have" and

The rest on the "dole."

The plight for most is an awful shame,

There are those who wish only to blame.

The political pundits who traverse this scene

Are bereft of ideas and can only demean. 

The country flounders, leaders can't cope,

We wander a landscape devoid of hope.

Enlightened arrogance is ever growing,

Failure our destiny without care or knowing.

Isn't it enough we struggle to eat, have

A roof over out heads, shoes on our feet?

The path we tread will test our will,

For us to survive will take real skill.

I only hope we can travel as one,

If we cannot nothing will get done.

CANDLE LIGHT

The orange flame shines in the night

Piercing the gloom with its tiny light.

The candle flickers all aglow,

Hiding the memories of long ago.

Puffs of smoke drift away,

Like kitten paws in relentless play.

I huddle closer to the flame

Moth and man we are the same.

I wonder how long my candle will glow?

Is there a message that I should know?

My little candle melts down in size

And will soon be gone before my eyes.

Will there be an ethereal light?  or,

Will I be lost to that endless night?

DOORS

The old doors close,

Locking away memories,

Squandered opportunities,

Spilt drinks and all

The missed kisses.

A daughter with tears

And no bedtime stories.

A little league game fading

Into a colorless haze.

I search desperately for

A new door to open, the one

With sunlight shining on a day

Filled with love and smiles.

There is a life worth recording, not

The dance of the damned or a song of

Forgotten hope with no tomorrows.

Running With The Wind

Running with the wind,

Branches swaying with

Autumn leaves dancing

To natures eternal song.

Blades of grass sparkle

With the morning dew

Providing a carpet ready

For the September day.

My heart is pounding as

Rivulets of sweat pour down

My weather beaten face as

I continue to grind out

Mile after mile, enduring

Pain and loneliness in 

The hope of staving off

Infirmity, illness, muscle fatigue

And yes:

        DEATH

Fear of the inevitable, an eternity

Without warning, the last stanza of

A poem written with tears, and a 

Recording of a life in search of resolution.

I charge on, hair matted on a damp scalp,

Eyes stinging from perspiration long ignored.

A golden sun rises offering a beacon of hope

As it traverses a blue, cloudless sky.

The pressure in my ears shouts a warning,

"You better stop this torture or you will......"

The thought ends as I see my puppy waiting

At the hill top, tail wagging, ready for the day.

FEAR

Fear is standing still, doing nothing.

Fear is waking in the morning and

Not letting the sun pierce the darkness.

Fear is dwelling in the shadows of my mind,

Watching the world turn, not giving a damn.

Fear is walking down the street, feeling naked,

Having people pass by not seeing me, not caring.

Fear is the loneliness crowding a languorous mind.

Fear is a tear falling to the floor with with

No one to see  it, or care, its fate only to dry up.

And fear is being lost in your own story, without end.

On Senility

Reflecting on senility,

It is my fragility

Which leads to hostility,

Preventing my ability

To achieve some humility.

IN THE SAND

Time drifts by like

Sand sifting through 

My fingers on some

Deseserted beach.

All those memories

Now lost in the angry

Sound of an ocean surf.

Thoughts carried away

On a white geyser only

To crash harmlessly

At the waters edge.

The hopes of too many

Yesterdays are waiting

For a meaningful tomorrow,

A tomorrow that never comes.

Natures beauty is timeless

And I just the visitor awaiting

Some epiphany, the hope

That I can move on, to......?

WHY DO I FEAR?

Why do I fear........

Being wrong?

Or just singing a song?

Making a commitment,

Or taking a chance?

Wanting to ask you 

To the school dance?

Appearing crestfallen,

Or maybe meek?

Is it really that I am weak?

In reality the fear within,

"Tis not where I am 

But where I have been."

Just One More Time

My mind drifts back, decades now,

Too many drinks, the empty vows.

The road to to ruin awash with pain,

One more drink to keep me sane.

It never works but there's always hope

That one more swallow will help me cope.

I am that crusader replete with cape,

"Hey barkeep, just one more" I must escape.

The haze engulfs me, the hope now gone,

With any luck there will be no dawn.

The forgotten glory, the light and flame,

The sadness a shroud, I have no name.

This is my life and I have lost it all,

My only thought just one "last call."

The liver enlarged and the heartbeat fast,

"Just give me one more"it may be the last.

ONLY this ONE

The palpable feeling of drama

Roaring through my mind as

I begin reaching for THAT glass,

Transfixed by the tiny rivulets  of

Moisture tracing a steady path

Downward, only to end up at

A cigarette burned bar top.

The voices are saying "it's ok,

This will be the ONLY one."

The lies continue piling up

While the ice creates a 

Tantelizing vision melting

A path down the side of the glass.

My mouth is dry, parched lips

Thursting for the goblet's offering.

"What is the harm?"  I ask myself,

Right hand trembling as I reach out.

"It will ONLY be this ONE............"

The darkness engulfs me, the drama

In my mind explodes, giving way

To a solitary jouerney to nowhere.

QUESTIONS

Where was the pride,

That of country?

Where was the concern,

For others, and ourselves?

Where was the anger,

That children shoot each other?

That a noose is used as a threat,

To a college professor?

To a police officer?

To anyone, anyone at all?

Why do we accept destroying Iraq,

And refusing to fix New Orleans?

Why is "No child left behind" needed,

If no healthcare for that child is not?

Does anyone care, at all?

Coming Home/Pilgrimage

The summer heat radiates off the tarmac.

Shimmering waves of light bounce off

A black background announcing

Death's imminent arrival, fresh from

The killing grounds of Iraq.

Teary eyed families stare motionless,

Waiting for that giant silver coffin to taxi

Towards the hangar's cavernous entrance.

Black hearses silently await their cargo

For the final long  trip home.

There are no reporters, camermen, smiling faces,

They are forbidden by the people in Washington.

There is only the heat, tears, and the silence of

                               THE DEAD

Will we smile again?  Laugh again?

When will the carnage stop?  And the lies?

When will we stop pretending Iraq is for others?

The only sound heard is the mournful cry of a child,

Not understanding why daddy has returned

Without a hug, just a canvas bag with a long zipper.

A Glass Wall

For too many years,

And too many fears,

All of the pain with

The sadness and tears.

Caught in that bell jar,

A transparent glass wall

Unable to reach out and

Removed from it all.

The world passes by, the

Deafening silence within,

I am trapped in the present

Like a laboratory specimen.

I want to pound on that glass,

Shouting "Let me out now",

Hoping someone will hear

my frantic pleas and sad vows.

But it is I who must slip under

That brittle glass wall, hoping

Just to be free from the pain of it all.

A Reflection

I remember my father sitting by the window,

Back stiff against the wood spindle-back chair.

His plaid woolen shirt, long faded by the sun,

Now thread bare from mom's attentive washing.

His metal frame glasses perched easily at the end

Of his nose, while a five o'clock shadow swathed a stern

And aging face ready to smile with bemused interest.

He was lost in another Abe Lincoln biography, a fabled

Life absorbing all his attention,the heavy tome in his lap.

It really didn't matter that he was alone, my father WAS

Those "Four Score And Seven Years Ago", those fabled

Words a foundation of our country, the Lincoln  legacy.

He would sit there quietly, absorbing monents in the past,

It never ocurred to him that it could never last.

Even "Honest Abe" understood history's great value

Is tody's path to the future, but my father just never knew.

Minutes would turn to hours, natures light giving way to

The antique hurricane lamp, positioned "just so."

I have often wondered if that would be me some day,

A life on the wane, alone, with so little to say.

A Final Farewell

The barren hill top

The bitter November wind

The marble tombsones

The gaping cavity in the ground

The shovel lifting dark earth

The flowers on the coffin lid

The pounding of dirt on wood

The desperate cold

The fading memories

The silence