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jim-timonere
jim-timonere
The things I write about seem sent to me at the moment the are written. As if my Muse, whoever she is, demands to be heard though me. I don't always get it right, but I love writing this down.
I was born in a red brick hospital when doctors still came to the house and nurses were nice older ladies of 35. The town was small but large enough for us to play together while our parents had coffee without worrying who had invited whom. Good things, happy things went on then. The proud men worked the plants while our mothers made our homes and no one said either was the lesser. I grew up in this believing the life was endless. Then the town got big and the people shrank. Concerns became fears and fears reality. Today I saw a bulldozer destroy the old hospital. It was many years too late to do any damage.
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Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 6:21 PM UTC
Too Late
There is a train beyond my window tonight. Far away it is, too far to hear the wheels. Only the whistle calls lonely in the night, Reaching me here in my exile From who I should have been. How I wish I were among the passengers Bolting through the night aboard a Fate that couldn’t be derailed by foolish choices Or missed opportunity…or fear. Sliding past the landscape in the night Sure of arriving where you belong. In my memory I feel the sharp edges of My Broken dreams and recall the times When the train that carried me was still on time. That was then, now I lay awake and listen To the whistle in the night and imagine What might have been.
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Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 2:17 AM UTC
The Train in the Night
I slumped into my friend the chair and Waited for sleep to carry me away somewhere While reruns reinforced my nightly monotony. , Then the first wind of autumn ran ahead Of its due date and rattled my windows rousing me. I raised up and killed the tv. Soft amber lamp light filled the room And I could hear the low roar of the lake Rolling under the wind. I got up and opened the door to the deck Then closed it behind me. The wind carried the lake up to me While the constellations danced through The moonless sky. The glow of Port Stanley rose from The far horizon, between us one of the last Boats of the year struggled against the Wind and waves, making for Detroit. The moment pulled me out of myself My name was lost, my hopes and desires meaningless; I became the smallest part of the endless night Whose purpose was to be no more than this. But the chill is more at home here Than a human trespasser; It drove me back toward The mediocrity that sustains me. One last look across the lake Wondering if a Canadian stands on his Deck wondering about me…
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Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC
Autumn Wind
Her face was an indifferent mask As I questioned her about The child she was surrendering. She confirmed the neglect As if she forgot to feed a dog. We went on together playing The unfeeling ***** and the annoyed Young lawyer feeling the power Of who he thought he was. The questions narrowed and She fidgeted, then squirmed, then A few tears leaked and the boy Playing lawyer woke up When he saw what I was doing And how I was doing it. He fought me with thoughts of Our mother, and pity, and mercy; But the lawyer had to continue Even if his voice lost the condescension. He went on as the girl playing ***** Began to sob then fell apart When she said, “Yes,” The boy became a man Who has never forgiven the lawyer.
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Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
The Act
I knew he wasn’t there, but I had to stop Tried to drive by.  Couldn’t do it So I pulled up to the glass wall he sat behind All those years in exile from what Should have been his and looked in to see Where he’d been the last time I spoke to him. No surprise, he wasn’t there just shock He’d never be again. They hadn’t taken his things.   His glasses were still there and car keys; A picture of his kids. Business cards with his picture. I went in pretending he’d walk in from Somewhere in the back and say hello Then tell me to get a haircut like he always did. He didn’t walk in.. “No gots,” he used to say When something didn’t happen. No gots anymore. He’s gone and he took a part of me with him. But I took one of his cards Just in case I need some advice.
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Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
Just in Case
He sends us here for a moment When the best of us burn with desires and needs And the drives to light the world. Others hang back in the dark, Content with the anonymity of the blackness, Comforted by letting leaders lead; Even false ones whose excesses force them Out to make things right again So they can drop back into the limbo Of ordinary lives where soaps and football reign. And we do it all in moments, Blazing time that is to short to count From the stars.
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Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 5:25 PM UTC
We Live Moments
"55 years,” she said, “That’s a long time.” She couldn’t know the length meant nothing What mattered were the moments We did unforgettable things together. Unforgettable only to us because they were ours As we walked, ran, and fell through our youth Burning past loves that were not And challenges that were All of which left movies in my mind Of what we did when the future was limitless And all that happened in the years it narrowed Turning us into flawed men who Tried hard nonetheless not to be. 55 years of who we were together from then To today when a voice on a cellphone Said, “He passed peacefully.” I find no peace in this and I will tell him so when the time comes.
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Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 3:19 PM UTC
55 years
The petals which had been so red Are browning now and bow their heads The limbs which held the greening leaves Are garish colors now instead. Everywhere that I can see Summer is prepared to flee From cooler days the autumn brings Before the winter's frigid sleep I stand among the morbid scenes Of the dying beauty Nature gleans By calling back what She bestowed To the earth with summer's heat They'll rise when springtime melts the snow I wonder if the same is so For me once I am put to rest I wonder, will I even know?
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Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
Broken Cycle
She carries the weight of simple things Forgotten people cannot carry for themselves: Where to sleep, staying safe, How to eat enough without selling yourself. She works in an office smaller than a closet. There is a picture on her desk of the day they opened. She stands between ragged people and Smiling politicians wearing suits in an election year. None of the suits has been back since, but she is here Working among the lost souls and feeling guilty For going to a home with heat, a bed, and food. She remembers best the ones she loses, And the rate of what she thinks of as her failure Would drive her to quit if it were not impossible To forget the next one who comes to her may be The one who needed her most.
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Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC
The Trenches
I looked away and you were gone. Though I can still feel you here, Smell you in your clothes, Touch the things we hold dear… But you’re gone and the only place I can find you now is in my dear and Painful memories of us. I am only an echo of who we were Bounding from the sharp edges of this life Searching for my source, which is The love we share even now. How can I stay here without you? And yet I must for there are Others who would look for me With the same terrible longing I suffer now. They will suffer soon enough and need no help from me. So I will live for now and pray for the day When I will be again with you.
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Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 5:07 AM UTC
Lost