Baseball was my passion
that year when the world
still seemed like a safe place
to hang my hat.  Dad was
buying horses left and right
while Mom shook her head
and kept her silence knowing
this was just another one of
his wild-*** hairs that seemed
to get a little crazier each year.
Credence Clearwater Revival
was hot and singing songs
about rain on the radio.  
School was out and I would
go over to the creek to swim
after I finished whatever chores
Mom had me doing those days.
Sometimes I would lie on the
Devil's Bed rock next to the
little falls where the biggest
trout liked to feed and listen
to the bugler from the Army
burial detail playing taps for
that days funeral. I wondered
what it would feel like to be
the son of the soldier getting
buried up on the hill having
to wear a suit and not cry. It
always gave me a lump in my
throat. My brother said it was
a shame and Johnson should
be shot instead. I always agreed.
We all watched the nightly news
together after supper and before
Hogan's Heroes came on.  The VC
were handing it to our guys in
a place called Hue and Mom cried
when a South Vietnamese officer
pulled out a pistol and BANG
shot that dude in the head
right there in front of god, me,
Mom and everybody. I went to
bed that night and  decided that I
wasn't going to pray any more.
We lost every game for the rest
of the season and I didn't care.
I've never forgiven that officer
for shooting that guy dressed
in black right in front of me,
god, my Mom and everybody.

r ~ 6/3/14

Am I so mean to you?
Is that why you leave the
Bed to go and cry alone
When you think I'm
Sleeping?*

No.

I go to think. Thinking makes me
Cry. One hour is worth five
Hours of deep sleep.
I see clearer through tears.

I go to ask. Ask why we both miss
The same sides of love.
Why we both lay on either end
Of a mile wide king size

And wait for the other's arm
To reach across the proud void.
I go to ask why we both feel
Unfairly treated for the same

Reasons. I slip away from
The sensation of sleeping alone
When I'm not; it's worse than actual
Solitude.

I go to have meetings with myself.
To evaluate. Analyze. Criticize my
Act and improve. Take and give
Blame between myselves.

Who wouldn't cry?
No, little girl. You're not mean to me.
I am. I am a poet. I don't leave your
Side to weep.

It's all poetry to me.
Poetry and tears.  
I go to sit by myself and
Not write.

~

A crescent moon now overhead
As I come rising from my bed
Remembering the words I said
A few short hours ago
~
Like linens hanging on the line
The clouds a comfort for my eyes
In secrets whispered on the skies
Along with breezes flow
~
I wonder of this time apart
As longings cling so tight my heart
In gilded frame like precious art
The sun comes into view
~
When then my open eyes can see
The man that I can surely be
If only you would come to me
Whatever I must do
~
With endless trees and hills to climb
My aches, my pains on borrowed time
The distant church bells set to chime
The miles in between
~
I follow on in destined task
Is it too much for me to ask
Within your arms I long to bask
If you know what I mean
~
To stumble on the crooked path
And weep these tears of aftermath
For comes the heat of summer wrath
In everything so new
~
I wander here and wander there
In hopes to show you that I care
With you my dreams I long to share
Until my days are through

I wrote a poem about you
that I didn't want to keep
so I wrote it by the ocean
in the sand beneath my feet

I sat there by it silently
listening to the waves
just watching the tide come in
at the end of this pensive day

As the sea gently rolled in
and washed away the words
salty tears began to fall
as the ocean took away the hurt

I will never share with you
the words written in the sand
I'll never kiss those lips I long to
or feel the gentle caress of your hands

I remain seated here alone
the poem just a memory in my mind
a pain still lingers within my heart
a mixture of loss and longing combined

One day I'll retrace the words again
in the glorious golden sand
maybe you'll see them this time
and just maybe you'll understand

The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that I fall in love daily
Held under so many captivating spells
moulded and crafted by all walks of life
I find myself longing for all of you
the broken, the fallen, the bruised
the saints, the sinners
the righteous, the dispossessed
the holy, the unholy
all meet here
to speak of life
as they feel it
as only we know it.
Onwards, upwards
Downward spirals
kindness, cruelty
crashing through boundaries
bounding across oceans
carried on wistful sighs and broken dreams
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that it breaks my heart
Then brings me back to love again
All within an hour.

I hate to see you dear poet
writing out all your pain
it makes me feel quite useless
like an umbrella without the rain

I want to put my arms around you
to let you know someone is there
we won't even have to speak
it's just to let you know, someone cares

In reality there's a distance
and I'm unable to sit with you
but I hope you don't really feel alone
with this pain you're going through

If every scar could write a story,
then inside of me lies a book.
If ever I dare dig deep enough,
to take a proper look.

To put pen to paper,
and bring to life, Past and Pain,
to scribble out
and exchange,
Words for Scars.
Reality and Truth.
To risk my foundations shaking,
my earth, Quaking.
and leaving me roofless
seems Ruthless.

If every scar could write a story,
then inside of me lies a book.
If ever I dare dig deep enough,
to take a proper look.

And when the sun sets in my eyes,
And the still breeze of my breath stops blowing,
When the dawn refuses to break,
And the light of my life stops glowing,
I pray to God
You remember me, for all i ever was.
Let the catastrophe of losing me,
not taint your memory.
Rest in the knowledge,
that now, i am free.