.

You !

Long time ago . . .

Indigo . . . ha !

What a name


There on 22nd street south

. . . Midnight's Voice . . .


Remember ?

We were young . . .

real , mean and lean . . .

invincible !

or so it seemed


Those nighthawks in the night sky . . .

diving in the lights

And those inside the bar
looking for a light

It was "Us" and "Them"
and anyone else foolish enough to join

Money was short
but we always made do



Red Mountain . . .

Vulcan . . . before the cage

Jones Valley . . . down below

Everything was up
turn around
and come down


God I loved that Mountaim

. . . it vibrated in magic

Long live the magic . . .

that I've lost


Living within but without

. . . how I wish you were here


________

Tribute to the early 1970's
Birmingham , Alabama

Vulcan - the largest cast iron statue in the world . Made in the image of the God Vulcan sitting on top of Red Mountain . At the time open free to the public 24 hours a day with stairs going up to the top of the head where a 360° balcony overlooked Jones Valley down below . Later so called improvements imposed a hefty entrance fee , an elevator replacing the stairs , and a cage built around the balcony and only open from 8 a.m.to 5 p.m. seven days a week . All of which ruined the magic of seeing uninterrupted views , sunrises and sunsets , stars and lights of the valley below .

Midnight's Voice - a bar downtown Southside where bands played

Nighthawks - a band from Washington D.C. that played often at Midnight's Voice

Indigo - Vietnam vet . I don't know if he was crazy
before 'Nam' but he sure was after . Real name was Ray . Could play one hell of a guitar especially when he got together with Mike McEachern .

It will always be . . . (us , us , us , us , us and them , them , them , them , them . . . after all we were only ordinary men) Pink Floyd

I look at the words
lying on the paper
And my heart begins to ache
I tried with much effort
But I see that
they're all fake
Somewhere deep inside
the torment does reside
Sometimes one has to accept
that the truth has arrived
Maybe the time has come
The one you ignored but feared
Every writer faces that day
The end to their
writing careers
I take a deep breath
as I look across field
still dreaming of that masterpiece
that to the masses would appeal
It's still all but willing to escape
But what more can I do
to alleviate the pain
when the words stop
flowing through

It's gone, but
we still

hang on to some myth
of an endless Summer

of growing and renewal
or

come to think of it

Isn't that Spring

A cornucopia of wanderlust rushes through your heart
And out comes the sing of a daisy-covered alter
Bleaching the wind beneath your limestone arches
Giving rise to the spindling spider unburdering its web
Let yourself be cuddled within the feral carnage
Of a crawling lullaby seizing the perfection
Only crafted by a darkened rainy day prolonged
By the flutter of a butterfly's wing in the night
A twilt knighted fighter emerges through power
Of outdated appendages ignorant and stumbling
Into the daytime needed to cleanse the confusion
Of his or her worship in the picture of a castle
As if it is her as if it him as if it is only an idea of reality
Plastered across the pages of another digital escapade
Landing in the marshes that make up your life now
If only you could be found in that messy forge

Raking leaves--walnut, maple, mulberry, ailanthus--
I saw how it was.

My dog Molly--sweet, skittish, a rescue--
knew the Aussie was the favorite.

She hid his favorite toy in a pile of leaves,
but not well enough--I saved it.

When we were finished, all the leaves at the curb,
the toy was gone, second time the wicked charm.

When you lose something--you lose the place you were
when you first saw it, who you were with, what you were doing.

Fragile things can fall and shatter and when you see them broken
your heart can break a little too--and there's nothing you can do.

I am thinking about broken things, lost things, hidden things.
The leaves have fallen, grown again, fallen again.

My Aussie is gone and the pure clear blue of September sky,
the lofted toy, and Molly too, have all passed.

Today I sit outside, careful with the mug on the chair arm,
even knowing that everything--and I as well--will fall in time.

Taken. I feel like I was taken from me
And took away from others too
Most people didn't care to see past
The vague smile of productivity
Until it wasn't there either
But others knew right from the start
And it crushed them like I am

Crushed by the weight of others
That they place on themselves
Or don't even recognize are there
Just so I can feel it too- all alone.
Deeper than they ever felt
The weight of their emotions

So why is it that people think
I don't feel anything normal
And by that assertion to mean nothing
Rather than the flooding
Weight of emotions felt more
Than any one of them could imagine

Well except for you, if only
There was trust in our mutual burden
Shared in ability but not scope
Makes for uncertainties

In a field of landmines eager
To go off on me or on you
It's all the same to them

The scars that left you wanting
But unable to accept, in whole

Let me help us heal

~
Hear me, and heed my woe,

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
              how thy smileth reaches
                            thy eyen and
                                    crinkles the c'rn'rs
                                                  immensely.
Thy confidence, a flame
          yond burneth with f'rvent might,
   intimidating, yet draweth me in,
                            as moth to candle's lighteth.
Thy passion is contagious,
                 thy excitement a thrill,
    i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
                                    but mem'ries ling'r still

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
          as thee gazeth into mine own eyen
                                        bef're our lips meeteth
    our intimate moments,
                                 a sensual rapture,
           thy corse, a w'rk of art,
                           sculpt'd p'rfectly in all its
                                                   muscular stature

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
             the way we w're,
                     young with a future,
                                         we couldst not seeth.
      What ifs and maybes,
               a maze, i tryeth to escapeth,
                      longing f'r what couldst've been,
           a heart yond acheth.

Ev'ry fare thee well,
                             a pang in mine own chest,
         feareth of nev'r seeing thee again,
                                      and all yond is repress'd
Thy absence, a weight
              yond i doth striveth to shaketh,
     wond'ring wh're thou art,
                                       what thou dost maketh.
   Art thou joyous, art thou free from careth?
i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
                     yet some days, 'tis hard to beareth.

In sooth,
    i am not depress'd,
           n'r doth i feeleth the blues, wh'reupon
i f'rce myself to not bethink on Thee …
                            by mineth owneth shall, anon.
~

the indifferent blue,
the remnants of love.

the warm and longing eyes
once wide with wonder
now so cruel

because time is cruel

when love drifts down slowly
like fog and then dissipates.

have you ever ridden
the pale horse of death,
sought relief in madness or love,
and so reached for the sky
hoping for a miracle?

a hand to hold, a bed to share,

only the lonely feel the quiet ache
of one shadow falling on snow.

Parents are your first teachers;
But if they were permissive,
Teachers have rules they follow through on.
If parents were too strict,
Teachers cut you slack.
If you fall, they may or may not pick you up.
If you were abused, they will report it,
Despite all your objections.
If you've been excluded, you're now in a class.
If you're really smart, they'll show you how much there is to learn.
If you're struggling, they'll show you how to learn.
If you're afraid, stand beside a teacher.
If you're a bully, you will confront your victims.
If you're in doubt, they'll search you out.
If you're cocky, they'll trim your spurs.
If you're lonely, they have room.
If you need solitude, they have a room.
If you're in love, they know the season;
If you know hate, they know the feeling.
When you compete, they're in the seats.
When you're sad, or conflicted,
Teachers listen.
They taught Moses, Jesus and Mohamed,
Yes. Teachers beget teachers.
They instructed Socrates, Aristotle and Plato.
They put us in North America and on the moon.
They worked with Salk and Banting, Gates and Jobs.
Anyone can learn something.
They even taught our parents,
But not everyone learns.
Hey, Teachers, don't leave those kids alone!