. . . . . . . . . .  Silent
                    fog
                    eases
   ­                 in . . .

                    "Enveloping"
                    softening­
                    jagged
                    boulders

       ­             on a mountain top

                    Silence
                    descends
                    deep
          ­          into my ways

                    Numbing
                    away
      ­              caustic
                    pain

                 ­   of hollow victories

                    Buried
                    deep
  ­                  vapid
                    vapors

                    Lockout
        ­            Sun's
                    rays
                    Bl­ack hole

                    Massive attack of Heart

I was a little squirt
The nerd, on mission street, long hair
Seemed ungroomed, cleaned pants, guitar
Posters in my room.
The dead, the doors, the who, the stones.
Concert tickets to make me remember
What it was like high and gone.
So many years, to remember what I've gone through
Now nothing's old no more.
Societies cheapened down to the new.

Summer days , exploring with laughter , reckless abandon followed by a breakfast for dinner , hot bath , tiger pajamas , a kiss goodnight , left to touch the moon , stars and all heavenly wonders with heavy eyelids and a boys anticipation for tomorrow ............

Reading a good poem silences you. ..it make you think.  It also prepares you for death. .

My suitcase is packed,
Memories within,
Won't fit any more,
As it's full to the brim,

Down at the bottom,
My memories from old,
Just beneath my jumpers,
That stop me being cold,

Just above them,
My adolescent years,
Leaving school and working,
Facing adult fears,

Marriage and family,
Lay on top of all that,
Five beautiful children,
Three dogs and one cat,

Then it's an empty layer,
But not to be treated less,
This is when the kids left home,
When they fled my loving nest,

In between are memories bad,
I tuck them to one side,
Or cover them up with happy times,
I still remember when I cried,

Then comes more difficult ones,
I struggle to remember them all,
But some I do intermittently,
I try so hard to recall,

So please forgive my memory,
It's not how it used to be,
But I'm still that same old person,
Who loves you for eternity,

I still have all the memories,
Packed tight inside my case,
Sometimes I just can't find them,
But you can find them on my face,

My wrinkles tell my story,
My eyes hold all my dreams,
My old and frail body now,
Is not all it was it seems,

But I'm here, I'm still here,
Just look at me, with my case,
You will see my life and memories,
In layer's etched on my face,

My suitcase is packed,
Memories within,
Won't fit any more,
As it's full to the brim.

Let's take a walk mum,
A memory walk,
Down that lane,
That's not the same, to you,
Anymore,

Let's have a talk mum,
A memory talk,
In that lane,
That's not the same, to you,
Anymore,

Let us remember mum,
Remember it all,
That the lane,
Is the same,
Forevermore,

Can you remember me mum,
It's me, your T,
Please remember me,
I'm the same,
I am that lane,

That lane we walked,
That lane where we talked,
That lane filled with love,
Do you remember,
Do you remember,

Let's take a walk mum,
A long, long walk,
And visit your memories,
We will talk,
Along that lane.

They're taking down our crown,
The crown that's sat on the heads of a million men,
Women and children,
They're taking down our crown,
The crown that made us feel safe, again and again,

We grew up in it's shadows,
And so did our ancestors,
The pride of Garston town,
But they're taking away our crown,
They're breaking our history down,

A crown that grew so old,
Holding secrets never told,
Lives that came and went,
Memories gone and spent,

They're taking away our crown,
Garston will weep for the memories,
They're taking away our crown,
Our symbol of Garston town.

You really have to watch those liberal males,
they'll spend hours and hours with you having
deep intellectual conversations.

They'll discuss deep ideas, contemplate esoteric
theory and spiritual ideas. They'll make love
for hours and write deep and meaningful poetry
about you. Sure, they will probably wear their hair
long and most likely won't own a television.

But, they'll understand art and architecture and
literature. It's true that they probably won't give two
shakes about who won what football game, but they'll
dance with you late at night under the stars and they're
always looking for new ways to please you and usually
understand your deepest thoughts, often before you
understand them yourself.

They'll be your best friend and always treat you as
an equal, in fact, it will never even enter their mind
that you're not. They're almost always physically fit, too,
because they're usually the outdoorsy type and love to hike.
They never make fun of others, or discuss small ideas.
They enjoy discussing ways to improve the world and
the lives of others.

Sure, they won't slap you on your *** and tell you to get in
the kitchen and cook them some dinner and bring them a beer
while you're at it like those macho men on the right. Instead
they'll probably tell you to relax while they whip you up a
gourmet meal and serve it to you on the best dishes.

Yeah, you really gotta watch out for those liberal males.

Isn't is amazing how there are
a finite number of words,
that try to describe my entire
existence.
They flow from my hands
like honey across computer keys.
My life in forty-seven lines.

It, to me, is inconceivable that
a text box can contain a person,
like a frame might contain a photo.
So those words
might have flown from my fingers,
but they are not me.

I am in my work.
Puzzles solved and projects planned,
each one has a small part of my
self within it's ink-stained pages.
My poetry and photography
represents me far better
than forty-seven lines.

If a university turns me away
based on a personal statement,
I would not be ashamed.
After all, those forty-seven lines
are not my words.
They belong to convention.
'Interpersonal skills' and
'self-confidence'.

I know those words are not me,
although I'll write them
because I know they are what
you want to
see.