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Just underneath his Wickett tree
Douglas Milford died, you see.
He died the way old men die
When pausing deep within a sigh.
And there he stood and watched
The world, his world
Slowly fade.
Into the deep, the darkest,
Empty, soulless shade.
Shaded well, and sadly so,
For Douglas Milford discovered secrets
All dead men come to know.
That time, she waits for no one.
And that it was time to go.

Time called him
And Douglas Milford heard
Every cold
And empty word-
'Follow,' she said,
And Milford knew
It was but one more thing
He was required to do,
And he felt that lingering,
Haunting sting,
Like the gentle turn
Of a gossamer wing.

And Death paused,
Ever briefly,
At a raggedy pond,
And said, "You must leave
Your dreams here,
Before moving on.
What you were in life,
That emotionless shell,
You cannot be in death.
It will not do you well.
So discard it right here,
And we'll be on our way.
It is part of the fee
To the price you must pay."
And so Douglas Milford
Collected each dream
Into a small satchel
He'd taken along,
And he poured them inside,
Every hope, every scheme,
Every wish, every want,
Every childhood song.
And he wrapped them up tight,
Without any delay.
And then he watched Death
Simply toss them away.

"Death is unkind,"
He thought with a sigh,
Not quick to noticed
There was no longer a sky.
And that the air
Tasted thin,
Rusted metals and soot.
And the road was not easy
To travel barefoot.

He was poor
And not so right.
His boney feet
So thin and small
Did not show
He'd been quite large in life,
For, now Douglas did not seem so tall.
The cool wind against his face
Carried such a nasty sting,
His mind thundered in a rush,
And he remembered
Every little thing.

Ten years old he stood
And saw his mother cry,
And somewhere deep inside he ached
As he watched again his father die.
And his little baby sister -
Who came with the harvest moon,
Faded into the red and cold and gray,
Called away far, far too soon.
It was a pain that he could
Not deny.
And he cursed himself and
Hated life.
And there Death smiled,
Somewhat pleased.
For this pain had cut him
Like a knife.
"Why do I have to cling to these
Damned and fool-hearted memories?"
And he shivered with a quiet fear
As he wiped away a tear.
And Death told him,
"They haunted you in life, my friend.
And they'll haunt you to your very end.
They are the Ghosts in life
You could not change.
Cancel out or rearrange.
You've trained yourself so very well -
With your selective memory.
And you've crafted yourself quite a cell
By seeing only what you want to see.
All these years you've carried these
Little haunts you've hid so deep,
And you never could forgive yourself
For sins you did not plan to keep.
I am afraid they'll linger in your heart
And echo back from time to time-
It is the price you have to pay
When a haunt of guilt clouds up your mind."

And images danced against
The shaded thoughts within his head.
Every cold and empty thing
He'd ever briefly said.
Those words he'd shared with strangers,
Was he just arrogant,
Or completely blind?
Far too many moments when
All that he spoke
Was heartless and unkind.
Will they haunt me too? he thought,
Damn this vile retrospection.
Must I drag up everything
Accursed with indigestion.
There must be something good I've done
That Death cannot steal away.
Some memory locked so deep inside
The fates cannot betray.
And there he saw a spark of good,
A hint of gentle grace.
Was that Grandma? he wondered
As he saw her rosy face.
She shined with such compassion,
He longed for her embrace.
Her smile was so welcome
She brightened up this
Shaded place.

But something in his mind snapped back,
And offered no reprieve.
"You are no victim, Douglas.
So do not grieve.
In life you lived just for the day.
You did every single thing your way.
You had no faith, and damned to hell
That eternity the preacher's sell.
You cared less for those with less than you-
And you cannot return to fix that.
It's a something you can't do.
There's so much you had no faith in,
For it wasn't your ideal.
But just because you don't believe in it,
Doesn't mean it isn't real.
This is your inheritance.
And you've worked hard for your reward.
You've hidden all your fortune,
And this it where it's stored."

And Douglas Milford rested some,
As if the day was finally done.
His bones, they ached,
His knuckles bled,
And there was a pounding
In his head.
And he swallowed dry the metal air,
And imagined a softly moving sea,
And tried to dream that he was there,
Still underneath his Wickett Tree.
That upside where it was cold and gray
Blue sky still welcomed in his day.
And that this ground,
Just shards of broken glass
Were soft and cool as new grass.
He tried to drift into his dream
Of peaceful quiet on a hill,
That gentle breeze that carried every
Song sung by the whippoorwill.
He wanted blue sky overhead,
And crickets chirping by his tree.
He longed to hear a story read
About how good a life should be.
But the jagged thorns that pricked his heel
Brought him back to skies of gray,
And to the shaded shards he knew as real,
That Douglas Milford died today.

Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­..
"For death begins with life's first breath
And life begins at touch of death."
~John Oxenham
.............................................................­.

I once wrote something in his
diary for my birthday, but I
actually read a page or two
of his life. A particular story
in which he wrote, all I
want to do is wake up
and make her breakfast,
that is my dream and at
the time all I could do was
smile. I wish I had written
more, but don't we all?

Alabaster Affair

her skin was like a pure driven snow
laid behind the deepest blue eyes  
and the brightest ruby red lips

you could not look at her and not
want to kiss those soft velvet lips
want to stare into those eyes
want to touch that skin

feel her run her long fingernail
up the spine of your back
to the back of your neck and chest
the nerve endings all over your body
exploding messages of pleasure

the chance meeting in the park
in an early spring warming sun
flowers beginning to burst with life
trees reaching up with their new leaves

you could not take your eyes off
sitting on the edge of the fountain
spewing a water spray from an angels mouth

two angels together in one slice of time
you waited as long as you could
it was time to return to work from lunch
and you had already run 10 minutes over

you walked past her dreading leaving
she looked up with those big blue eyes
and those ruby red lips began to move
you transfixed not realizing she was speaking

you stopped abruptly trying to clear your mind
but still no sound could be heard
only her big rimmed straw hat of white
the the bluest blue eyes
and reddest red lips
and her white alabaster skin

luckily she recognized the symptoms
and smiling put her hand on your arm
and waited patiently for the blood
to return to your brain

oddly she spoke with an island accent
how could this creature come from the islands
the sun and sand and alabaster
she was a princess mandated to sanctuary
on a holiday with her father
who was on business stop here in Atlanta

she knew no one here and the park
was just across the street from her sky suite
for some reason she felt okay speaking with me

now I was 30 minutes late as I took
a quick peek at my watch
you must go she asked?
Yes but can I show you the city later
Yes she smiled to me
I think I would like that

after getting her room number
I triple skipped, jumped and hopped
back to my office my head still abuzz
I stared into dreamland for the next 4 hours

you gonna stay over my boss yelled to me
I shook my head OMG it was 5:05
he yelled you gotta date Rob
yes an affair to attend to I said
an alabaster affair
  
Gomer LePoet ....

I am the vacant sea,
Bereft of sentimentality apparently,
Gallantly, I uncannily resemble,
An assembly of mistreated heroes,
And a villain or two;
I am a wave at its lowest ebb,
Further now from the shore,
Furthermore from the door,
Of the love I want to blow,
Me away;
Obsolete, I’m Pac-man in the penny arcade,
Ms. Pac-man’s fucked off for days,
Or months or years; or was she ever even here.

Always holed up in my cave,
Staring at the razor blade,
Waiting for divine intervention,
Some totalitarian convention,
To drag me away;
No cares, this lust,
This pushed me over the edge,
Through the hedge- funded by my
Need for mediocrity; indemnity,
Insatiable, eternally caught far,
From what I seek;
Could anyone love a Devil like me?

Going on a diet of bread and water,
Lamb to the slaughter,
So that someone’s daughter,
Might love a creature this bleak