THE EMPTY ROOM

THE EMPTY ROOM

Plain white walls broken

by the odd window and

a paint chipped door.

The wood floor makes its

own statement with ancient

scuff marks and a coating of

dust highlighted by rays of

sunlight peeking through

dirt stained windows.

An iron cot rests in the corner,

covered with a paper thin

mattress, a loose threadbare

blanket thrown roughly over it.

The empty room offers no warmth,

only the distinct smell of a spavined

chamber, a reminder of what

once was, or could have been.

I am the prisoner, locked in my

own silence, a broken heart

beating in a withered chest.

The random memories pulsing

in my head are like pebbles

in a brook, rattling around

then washed away with time.

The room is empty, I am there,

raging against the dying of the light.

TRACKS TO NOWHERE

TRACKS TO NOWHERE

Twin rails stretching out

so shiny and cold, frozen in

time with stories not told.

Bound by dark ties, separate yet

tethered,the rails cannot meet

though placed close together.

One searches for love on any

condition, while the other has

travelled the road of perdition.

This is the rail bed where fear

is a factor, only isolation bears

witness to a defect in character.

The irony here can be held as

so daunting,as both of the rails are

cursed with the same haunting.

They stretch out in solitude

oblivious to one another

sadly they are bound with

neither father nor mother.

There is no beginning, nor

is there an end, they reach

out to nowhere with neither

hope nor a friend. There are

no trains that pass over these

rails, just a journey without end

and a story that pales.

JON GOLDSTEIN

FEBRUARY, 2011

"PLATEAU"

There is a plateau in my mind,

Endless in size as it is flat.

I wander it’s smooth surface,

Overcome by it’s dimension,

Frightened that I can see no

Depth, nor landscape offering

The answer to why it exists.

I want to race to the edge, peer

Over the side, that omnipresent

Dangerous edge” sans safety net.

I yearn for anything that may provide

An outlet to this boundary, this single

Dimensional purgatory. My endless

Plateau-always shrouded in a stark

Hopelessness-penetrating every

Nook and cranny of my mind.

It holds me back from a real-or

Imagined-glorified destiny of purpose.

The drinking stopped, the anger abated,

The allowance of others to be first,

All an effort to move off this plateau.

Do I live that timeless quip:“Horror Vacui,

The fear of the nothing that is”?

So often I ask:is the end no more

Than a remorseless coffin?

Is this really the last plateau?

If I peer over the edge,

Will anything be there?

ONTHE STAGE?

ON THE STAGE?

I am trapped in the fifth row,

The theater that is my mind,

Waiting for my father to race

Across the footlights, leading

The way to my destiny(?). Yes,

Giving me the script of life to

Follow, the path to tread, and

How to behave like a man.

I am that forever actor, a

Frightened subaltern waiting

For my “director”to place me

On the right “spot” of the stage

To play my part in life, yet

Knowing when the curtain descends

That thunderous applause

Will be for anyone but me.

DAYS GONE BY

Every day that I have trouble

Getting out of my bed,

The bones start to creak

And the circus starts

Playing in the back of my head.

Is this what it’s like getting old

And all gray, my skin starting

To wrinkle with seventy degrees

Much too cold for the day?

I lay there wondering

Which day will be my last,

Then I crowd out those

Thoughts with memories

Of days long past.

Playing ball in the park

And riding on my bike,

Swimming at the beach,

What’s not to like?

There were party’s and

Girls and dances galore

The music was terrific

And I always wanted “more.”

I wish I could forget the

Mad behavior and drinking,

The damage I wrought,

What was I thinking? But

I have to concentrate

Just on today, leave yesterday

For the biographers and

Hope for another good day

" 10B1141"

The sharp clank of

the prison doors,

then the deathly quiet,

leaving only a chill

and sudden emptiness

that screams despair.

You are surrounded by

the pale, lime green walls,

dirt caked windows too

high to see out of, and

steel bars, steel bars

where ever you turn.

You want to scream,

“let me out, I’ll never do

it again”, whatever “it”

might be that landed you

here in the first place.

Inmates stare at you, those

vacant eyes, devoid of hope,

or any expression of humanity.

You look down at your forest

green “uniform”, worn thin by

those who came before you.

The block letters of your new

home, the name faded by

too many washings. Echoes

of furtive conversation suddenly

broken by the harsh commands

of “The Man” twirling his baton,

grinning wolfishly in hopes that

he may find his next victim..........

There is no individuality, no statement

that separates you from someone else.

Your identity has been replaced by

a number, one of many lacking a

past without hope for the future, nothing

but counting down the days and weeks

until the sun shines again in your eyes.

TRUTH

TRUTH

The search

for truth lies

within the soul.

You cannot see

You cannot hear

You cannot taste

You cannot feel

You cannot smell

TRUTH

It is beautiful when

used wisely, cruel

if used as a weapon.

Truth resides in all

mankind and its

purity is in its use.

My truth is not your

truth, nor is your

truth my truth.

It is the path between

the finite and the infinite

Happily, truth is the

foundation for love

and hope for tomorrow.

DOUBT

The slow drip of doubt

Slides into view like a

Raindrop curling down

Some slick window pane.

The tiny drop is there,

Hardly noticeable, then,

Like the rain-splattered

Window, more drops form

Until all trust is drowned.

Clarity, valued with its

Naive transparency, has now

Dissolved, taking with it

The foundation of all hope.

Gone is that treasured bond,

Washed away by the tears of

Sadness and despair, sinking into

Abandonment and obscurity.

Time's Tape

The head aches

The hand shakes

The skin flakes

The eyes agape

The wrinkled nape

The stomach quakes

The mind slakes

The heart breaks

There are no breaks

So you cannot escape

GRAY MIST

long walks

gentle footsteps

cushioned by

green loam

on a rain

spattered path.

a gray mist

embraces you

in it's damp cocoon,

then disappears

into a silent twilight.

the quiet resilience

of today offers hope

for tomorrow as

the pain of yesterday

fades slowly into

that damp, gray mist.

SENSING SEDONA

Listen as:

The wind roars

Through the red

Painted canyon,

Howling against

Scorched walls

In a desperate

Search for release.

Watch as:

A setting western

Sun carves hollow

Shadows beneath

Snow tipped peaks,

A stark contrast caught

In a frozen tableau.

Smell as:

The scent of blood red clay

Stings the nostrils, a

Harsh reminder of

Natures omnipotence.

Feel as:

The cool wind washes over

Your entire being, leaving

You cold but refreshed.

Taste as:

The icy cold waters of a

Stream provides an

Incomparable taste while

Rushing to some long

Awaited destiny.

A BIRTHDAY BASHING

A birthday arrives, with it

A trumpeting demand to

“Open that door” to a hollow

Space in the corner of my mind.

It beckons me to travel back

Through a mist of yesterdays,

The questions erupting with

A spiritless conventionality,

With the arrogance and fear

To ignore unwanted answers.

Who was my birth mother?

Is she still alive, and if so,

Does she remember the pain?

Or the miracle of a new life?

Does she wonder, or care

Who I am?

Has the time come-or gone,

To reach out to that baby? The one

She held for only a moment,

So long ago? Is that her crucible?

Will she fail it, again? Do I want

To know the answers, today? Ever?

GETTIN' OLD

Starting to grow old

Gets to be a drain,

The mind is always

Racing but the body

Just remains.

Going to the gym is

All about working out

But go look in that

Damn mirror and

All you see is

STOUT.

Trying on those old

Jeans that use to

Look real cool, but

The button won’t

Go in that hole

And you look like

Some old fool. You

Know you put things

Somewhere, a place

You won’t forget,

Then you try and

Remember and can’t

Find them on a bet.

It seems that loss

Of memory is equal

To weight gained,

You keep on getting

Older but some things

Remain the same.

It’s all about the mind,

Ready to go on a tare,

But the body lags behind

Screaming “Hey, slow down,

I’m too old and this just isn’t fair.”

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.