I run from the reality of life, from voices within my soul

I run from what I cannot reach, from what I cannot hold

I run from pictures in my mind, from what I cannot see

I run from the life I cannot have, I run so I can hide

I run because I don't understand what life expects of me

I run because it's the only way to set my spirit free

The old man walks down the street
Cobbled and uneven
Bent over against the cold
Of this the winter season

With the aid of a stick he navigates
The badly rutted lane
Deeply etched grooves line his face
From surviving in constant pain

In his head his thoughts are in
A constant random wander
Precious moments of his life
Lost in contemplative squander

'Tis his daily chore bestowed
On him to buy the bread
To fail in this a simple task
Would bring war down on his head

Reaching the store he enters
Hiding from pitiful stares
Head downcast he makes his way
To the shelf of required wares

His basket full he makes his way
To the counter to pay his bill
Purchases paid, he turns to leave
Praying his shopping not to spill

As he leaves the store he hears
The whispers behind his back
"Why does he keep on doing it?"
His drooping shoulders slack

Once outside he hurries
Scurries back from whence he came
As fast as his arthritic legs will take him
An added burden is his shame

Back to his eternal prison
The place he once called home
Never left to his own devices
Perchance he should choose to roam

His wife is standing waiting
For him at the front door
Her face twisted in roiling anger
Her venom over him to pour

A nasty piece of work is she
No patience for his age acquired senility
Treating him like a mongrel dog
With waves of open hostility

So sad to see this once young man
Who has seen life and so much more
Reduced to being a bidden slave
And forced to daily chore

How life can be so cruel and fate
Play the meanest of all tricks
Just by choosing a wrong life mate
Be caught in constant conflicts

Yet day after day he continues
To walk the road of shame
For go he must and listen he does
For the woman who bears his name

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

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.

Shadows from a sunlit tree
Dance on my wall. Dance; that
Winter is over.

Worlds
Between the coldest
January day and this one  

Where the sun kisses your skin
So hard it cries.
I don't miss the snow. Can do

Without the unyielding dark
And scraping of ice from the
Windshields at 4.30am.

There's magic in this country.
In winter it whispers of itself
In the creaking of dry frost

Beneath your boots under
Northern Light veils of
Thin colour enveloping skies

White with stars like pixels.
Now, it's the warm morning sun
Gently parting the fog; leaving

Little glimmers of itself in the
Drops of dew that remain.
Dew, and the little deer drinking.

What will I do when I run out of words to express my love for you?

Will I be consumed by my sorrow if it has nowhere to go?
Will my heart stop whispering your name
Will I stop imagining your weight in place of others
Will my torment end

Will other lovers haunt my dreams
Will I give myself freely to them
Will I love unbound and bright as fire
Will my heart sing of joy

Or will I disappear
curling like black smoke into the ether
silent ruin my comfort
cold longing my grave.

While you, my sweetest muse
my beautiful love
go on, unaware, unmoved
by the diminishing of my light.

i am always amazed at how
my convoluted mind works.

just read sverre,s title...

my cup runneth over....

and was instantly, catapulted,
back to....
a sweltering, sunday morning.
sitting on a slippery gloss
painted bench...navy blue
and white....
in my itchy lace collared
dress....for best use only.
singing, angelicly.
the lord saved me
(sign of cross, then
hands pointing to the sky)
i am as happy as can be
(point to smiling face, then hands clapping)
my cup's full and .....running over.
(hands make cup,heels of palms together. then roll over each other.)
my hands reiterating the
words with the actions,
(in brackets).

i would not have sung
that gospel song,
for more
than thirty years...

my mind....is a funny thing
but the memory is a happy one.

~

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

Hello Poetry
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I tried to write a poem
one that wasn't about you
it's more difficult than I thought
you're like a permanent tattoo

I didn't want to include love
and the way you make me feel
or how my heart is pulled
by the words you make so real

Each and every one of them
touches a place so very deep
piercing the depths of me
even while I'm asleep

A poem without mention
of the lust I feel for you
penetrating my body
just at the thought of 'us two'

I failed at writing a poem
one that wasn't about you
never to rid you from my mind
you have all of me *consumed