if a single stick is questioned
then all must be

undoing life’s belief system
undermining life's foundation

as each stick interlocks
with the next

affecting and infecting
each connected one

all must be undone
all must be rewoven

outside wicked things
like manatees and dragonflies
truly lurk about,
tricksters known for much no good,
tickling little toes
walking on little noses
messing with your hair
buzzing all over your ears
splashing faces wet
with forceful tails, wings and fins,
manatees love to sneak
a kiss, so watch out they have
a muzzle that is
abrasive beyond belief,
learned trust not those that
are of restless heart and soul
such as these lively
manatees and dragonflies that
dart endlessly point to point

books, papers, journals
too long, too messy, too much

short, simple clean lines
minimalist writing style

in the barest words
using one sheet of paper

longer than ten words
no sentence needs to become

nonessential words
simply are abstract fillers
corrupting the true essence

today, august first
in a month september first
not accepting this
ninth month an omen of cold
aptly named as much
beginning of four “ber” months
that time of year when
conversations begin with
brrr, cold enough for you now

moments enjoyed when
the house is softly quiet

no sounds to be heard
yet this stillness speaks to me

calming my spirit
removing agitation

sleeping nightly deep
becoming safely encased
within strong arms of quiet

fleeting time becomes
running late from place to place
dealing with something,
when softy she asked, please, come,
sit awhile with me,
quietly, time simply stopped,
gently holding hands
feeling pained by having time
while hers now is short,
exchanging words while shadows
danced slowly across the floor

the west embodies
the simplicity of dry

dirt. dust. sweat. bleached bones.
open spaces. strong angles.

weathered skin. pale wood.
abandoned mines. strong contrasts.

scrub brush. deep shadows.
unforgiving lands. ghost towns.

hard light. endless sky.
lighting strikes. wild fires. veiled springs.

dry wells. windswept paint.
tumble weeds. rusty barb wire.

cracked paint. endless roads.
crumbling lonesome wind towers.

canyons grand and slit.
mountains. peaks. vistas. plateaus.

the west is simple
the west is bewildering
a simplicity of dry

how will it all end
under ukrainian blue

of an ancient land
freedoms are dust on rubble

dreams, hopes, place, and lives
lay shattered among glass shards

only wanting their
country for life and culture

how will it all end
under ukrainian blue

how will it all end
on ukrainian yellow

after countless red
has been spilled upon its soil

death in destruction
has been brought upon its land

scorched, burned, barren lies
a once rich, plentiful land

how will it all end
on ukrainian yellow

by a crazed bald bear
its land brutalized, swallowed

normal life becomes
mass graves, running terrified

its people scattered
among four distant corners

how will it all end
under ukrainian blue
on ukrainian yellow

a few days after
graduation i was gone,
many miles away
working a summer career
engraving horseshoes
upon a tourist island,
four years of college
a job in another state
finally back home
eleven years absent,
but this home, this world
and i separately changed
gone were childish dreams
replaced with bills, marriage,
and responsibilities

achieved the art of
becoming extremely quiet

achieved the art of
never wishing to engage

achieved the art of
wanting to be left alone

achieved the art of
becoming a wallflower

achieved the art of
wanting to be overlooked

achieved the art of
dreaming of things never done

achieved the art of
comfortably holding back

achieved the art of
observation, listening

achieved the art of
living as an introvert
with peace of heart, mind, and soul

deep into the night
enjoyment is the stillness,
with a single light
undertake this time to write,
good, bad or so, so
i care not, joy just matters,
known this is not my calling

a sun disappears
behind a low horizon
summer solstice ends;
starting tomorrow six months
of shortening days
ending in long winter nights;
cold winds have begun
cutting deep into my bones
a frostbitten nose
ice fingers around my throat;
soon summer is spent
then another year has passed
our final winter draws near

ticks forward

i grew up knowing of the doomsday clock. hearing it tick. accepting it, but knowing people were working to make sure never would midnight ring.

today people seem to be working hard for midnight to sound. ones that would have tried to avoid such an event before. wanting to have the world slip back into another era of evil. though they will deny it.

another era whose legacy will be millions of faultless lives extinguished.

after all cried, never again, the world has forgotten, become distracted, begun living in denial. it sits ready for the command to reignite the flames of destruction.

here i stand nearing the end of my time witnessing mankind’s journey. dejected and wondering, what have the reasons been for in overcoming countless struggles.

when they become forgotten. when lessons are never learned. when sacrifice no longer matters.

so much good wasted. so many innocent lives taken. so much pain and heartache endured.

always for personal, megalomaniac, grandiose reasons.

the clock ticks forward
never again now ignored
midnight is at hand

happily writing

i had dreamed of wanting to get away from everything and everyone. just to become myself. to find myself. to create. no distractions. no interruptions. a romantic life.

never saw myself as an office bee. felt more of a free-spirited soul. yet that was not the journey charted. went inside and most everything died. a lack of sunlight i guess. yet not quite all. a pilot flame burned on.

strange how life wonders about. never in a straight line. never how we planned or expected. so here i am nearing the end of my office career. looking for something to help fill that void.

in my spare time began writing poetry. plans call for that to continue after leaving the hive. i am as surprised as anyone at this turn of events.

being the first to say i can not spell. never liked english classes. never have enjoyed reading. speaking? pronunciation always trips me up. never was good at writing. long it still takes to write a single line. going digital must have saved a million trees from landfills.

writing poetry brings enjoyment. i do publish to websites for anyone to read. if they like my works great. if not they move on.

my mind is not as sharp as it was. truth be told. never was it sharp to start with. with writing i hope it helps.

a few scores later no longer wanting to live a hermit’s life. not on the side of a mountain. nor upon a wind and rain swept island.

realizing interaction is needed to draw inspiration from. being surrounded by and observing life is always better than imagining.

making a small home my retreat. where i can slip away to but not isolate. in a scottish village. in the english countryside among the lake district. on a florida key or a barrier island. within a tall hobbit home.

someplace where i can stretch my legs. open the windows and wonder with bare feet.

hemingway had it right. so here i sit happily writing.

a lost soul that dreams
oh to live a poet’s prose life
pen and pad in hand

three wonders

as a family. we took a trip to washington dc in the year 1968. the year it burned. the year i turned 9.

i carry memory fragments of that trip. washington monument. lincoln memorial. mount vernon. the smithsonian. national guard troops stationed about.

most importantly our solemn visit to Arlington National Cemetery. a hallowed land far removed from the chaos engulfing an outside world.

from that day i carry memory bits of three wonders.

endless white headstones in neat rows.

the grave and the eternal flame of President John F. Kennedy. it would be seven years later while in dallas we would stand where he was assassinated.

watching The Changing of the Guard at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

all witnessing stood silent and still. any sounds came from the guards. giving orders. acknowledging orders. presenting firearms.

once completed the crowd slowly went their ways to other parts of Arlington.

i have wondered what my father was thinking. how he felt silently standing there. it had only been 23 years since his service had ended with world war two’s conclusion.

probably of the guys he knew that never made it back now buried at Arlington. the ones that had made it home but are also buried there. that he could have known the pacific theater Unknown. thoughts of the world he had helped save. how much it had changed since his childhood. how much it had changed since the war’s end.

he never said. i never asked.

i was 9 years and a tourist. unable to understand or know the importance or magnitude of all that i saw that day.

i am in awe knowing the painstaking work continues of identifying our fallen heroes. those lost during service to their country. relentlessly searched for. finding and identifying. for they have not been forgotten.

one of them being the Unknown from the vietnam war. a family was given the ability to gain some sense of closure.

that is progress.

major progress will be achieved once sons and daughters no longer have to fight. leaving terrified mothers, fathers, wives, and husbands behind to wonder.

no more wars. no more Unknowns.

for freedom they fought
in Arlington they now rest
known to god above

leaving

a wave of time nears. futile it will become trying to stay ahead. yet choosing to rerun this losing race. convinced this time you will win.

boxes. bags. suitcases. some with old peeling duct tape lay piled about. bulging. ready to go.

as a chaotic scene unfolds. your heartbeats equal a cheetah’s seconds before it pounces.

trying to say your goodbyes to those that mean the most. you run.

making promises never to be fulfilled. running in circles. faster and faster until time is a blur.

some are never found. never seen. never held. never spoken to. never again.

mercifully time ends this manic quest. as a deadline passes not all words were spoken.

waking with a start you find yourself looking back from a ship. thinking to return. then reality firmly says no. you can not.

just as ropes are cast off. so has this home.

a time bond was broken forming a chasm.

a last look to that distance land. one already foreign. winds tangle uncombed hair. you turn away facing forward. pushed onward into an unknown future.

in that frenzied mess much was missed. forgotten. overlooked. tossed aside.

another short story ends. same as the last.

there was no time to think. only to frantically run. for years what transpired is recalled. causing screams. head shakes. gentle smiles. guilt and tears.

if visiting an outsider looking in will you forever be. no longer are you part of its loop of life. with nothing to claim. little connection. except once you lived here.

time gives opportunities to create lifelong bonds. discover true friendships. a bit remains behind. a bit travels on. reshaping your soul from these places lived.

yet a life bond never dies when your stories are retold. from these places you resided.

from our places lived
much joy and sorrow given
as they shape and form

private doubts

parts are needing a change. to become willing and learn the art of letting go of worries and history. ending the useless scenarios of looping the unknown. moving past the fearful prospect of stepping out of the zone. overcoming all those that create meaningless stress.

it boils down to avoiding the usual suspects. great discomfort and embarrassment. mostly embarrassment.

easing the mind’s mantra of never can the wall, the facade, or curtain become compromised. never can the real person become known.

usually, nothing really bad ever comes after days of needless worry. some discomfort, but not truly bad.

i know this. i see this. i get this. frustration lies in knowing but never being willing, able, or understanding how to overcome.

learning to believe in myself. moving past trust issues. because it will be all alright. it will be all ok. it will turn out fine. maybe not as hoped, but it will.

taking to heart what luke tells rey, "this is not going to go the way you think."

casting private doubts
worried becoming exposed
is a daily fight

worry ******

some are real. some are fake, created just to have a few around. because never can you have too many worries.

worrying, it is my normal state of mind. believing it is wrong when worry is absent. convinced something was overlooked or forgotten.

simply put, i worry too much. mostly over stupid, meaningless stuff.

worrying developed into a personality trait. making my complexion complete. creating worry just to achieve this frame of mind.

after years of introspection, i believe the reason is having become addicted to worrying. it fills my free time. it tells me life still flows.

an adrenaline ****** i would rather have been. they have more fun. but instead a worry ****** i became.

always looking for my next hit.

i live to worry and worry to live.

a worrier is who i am. it is what i became but not wished for.

my brain grows to calm
this is not its normal state
now demands a hit

ship’s haven

it had been a dark and stormy day in the small fishing port of ship’s haven. a forgotten town barely clinging to its rocky shore with rotting timbers.

most lights remained lit during the day. the heavy rains had passed out to sea leaving behind a damp, chilly and blustery night.

residents remained inside their homes all day. few had reason to venture out during sheets of rain. night brought different reasons to feast upon their fears as they continued staying behind locked windows and doors.

no one with clear thoughts would be walking streets littered with puddles this night. streets mostly shrouded in sea mist.

anyone out possessed nefarious reasons. those that can disappear in between the randomly placed light poles with dim illumination.

compounding the poor lighting, half seemed to be out. while others irregularly flickered on and off. unnerving already frightened people  that much more.

the collective fear and knowledge was not everyone would remain indoors. winds of the cold night called the others to wake. they would appear, yet never be seen. only heard. in coming days their handiwork would be discovered scattered about.

those at sea were safe. those trapped on land knew what the churning waters meant and what soon would be spit out….

tales with twists, terrors
believable unknown fears
live deep in our souls

rains fall gently deep
into the nighttime’s still air
cleansing the world all

into sidewalk cracks
small seeds fall, reappearing
white flowers of peace

spinning stars, planets
gears powering galaxies,
floating night machines

wind chimes hang still, quite,
hummingbirds dart, hours later
graceful tones play

time stopped, held my breath
skies cleared into azure blue
all had become right

deep, gray sky backdrops
golden wheat in soft, dusk sun
ends a day of storms

in horror, people cried
ducks were waddling on the edge
quacking, off they flew

on the horizon
pushed onward by salty winds
sails in florida

rains fall, palm trees sway
lighting flashes, thunder rolls
storms in florida

clouds rumble deeply
below, worlds tremble and shake,
distant land’s laughter

blue skies, azure waves
tan sand, red and orange clouds
hues of florida

beach towels, beach tents
beach *****, beach castles, beach kites
sands of florida

unseen arriving
turns silent night’s foggy air
light shadows figures

i moved to key west
when told to lower my salt
life in florida

air only moves if
pelicans flap feathered wings
in tropical air

on sidewalks rain falls
creating a leopard look
fading into gray

marking autumn's close
endless shadows of bare trees
lay on sleeping lands

mercifully short
still february lingers
under cold, wind clouds

burnt orange, teal trim
beach cottage apparel splashed
against pastel clouds

i sit back, eyes closed
feeling the sun’s tranquil warmth
envelope me whole

north’s pale april sun
a faint, hazy, chilly sun
low in long shadows

reckless abandon
as early birds splash and bathe
liquid diamonds fly

shiny wind chimes hang
though a breezeless summer day
silently sleeping

words, inefficient
many are used describing
a single raindrop

the firefly cometh
glowing hot in july nights
summer is passing

leaving summer’s heat
a pink flamingo flew south
then danced on white snow

black wings are spread wide,
cormorants, anhingas dry
plume in coral sun

you heard the call
signed your name
drilled then went off to war,
so far from home
to do your duty
to do your job
to fulfill the mission,
you came home
home as a hero to all
 
you say the real hero's
never returned
i can not debate that point
i was not there,
in our eyes
you are a hero just the same
 
saying only you were doing your job
carrying out the mission
protecting your buddies
as they watched over you,
completing a pledge
made among each other
a lifetime ago
 
you obeyed your oath
while performing a sacred task
fulfilling that pledge without hesitation
making sure any fallen buddy
returned home
 
home to their country
home to their land
home to their family
home to their remembrance
home to their resting place
 
having completed far more
then was asked of you
to a grateful nation
you did return,
home you came to me
for eternity to stay
never leaving my side ever again

when i was young
of course i dreamed
dreamed of adventures
dreamed of excitement
what i would do
where i would go
once i grew up

upon the high seas
soaring among clouds
painting desert sands
living by a foggy fishing port

but from the outset
these wondrous dreams
where handicapped
born with a fatal flaw that was me
never would they come true
never to be followed
never fully committed to
never to see the light of day
they would simply die
as my childhood waned

dreams are stories we tell ourselves
dreams are dust in the winds
lost dreams
emerge as cherished memories
like warm july nights

i knew myself

driving east

along m46

though richville

kingston sandusky

after sunset

christmas eve

passing sleeping

fields surrounding

farm homes

with living

rooms dimly

aglow by

christmas trees

shining brightly

though windows

of frosted

glass framed

by darkness

an only

light for

miles around