NINETEEN

We walk together through scorched ravines.
Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.
Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,
The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.

Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,
We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.
Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet
And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.

And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,
They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.
Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….
And with swift exploit they entrap the men.

As the men peer through the flames they see Angels on the Horizon.
And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.
Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,
Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.

A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!
And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.
No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds
Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.

-Kurt Carman 2014

planting and then digging up the past
like grasping hands of shattered glass
scattered patterns come back fast
an attachment to the splattered mass

blackened fragments of first and last
spattered paths that lead right back
stabbing agony that will never pass
shackled to the everlasting black

Each day, I’m deep in contemplation
What is this life, to be made of

I don’t know any answers
So, seek guidance from above

Reflect on this creation
And marvel at its trove

The universe and its formation
And how, it interwove

So I make, this simple dedication
Send it winging, on a dove

Accede not to temptation
Hope my soul is my salvation
And put my faith, in His pure love
BOEMS BY JA 554

Sometimes when people can’t see you for whom you are,
They try to force you to be someone you really aren’t.
Real beauty is being true to oneself, Not by trying to be someone your not
A flower cannot change its color nor can Spring become Fall.

Don’t lose the person you really are
Because you are you and only you;
The mold was broke when they formed your star
Cheer up young one don’t be blue

I once knew a boy who always bought shoes two sizes larger,
Because he couldn’t bare the ridicule of having small feet.
You see, when you were conceived, genetically you became one of kind.
There’s no else like you, and believe it or not we all have physical imperfections.

Don’t lose the person you really are
Because you are you and only you;
The mold was broke when they formed your star
Cheer up young one don’t be blue

I once knew a boy who was thin as a stalk of corn,
And he if turned sideways and stuck out his tongue, He looked like a zipper.
He would get teased unmercifully, but if he had done just one think different,
Because when you laugh at your own flaws, disparagement and criticism are defeated.

Don’t lose the person you really are
Because you are you and only you;
The mold was broke when they formed your star
Cheer up young one don’t be blue

**Happiness doesn’t depend on any external conditions,
          it is governed by our mental attitude ~Dale Carnegie

My father died
from a gun shot wound
to the head

self-inflicted

Don't get all weird about it.

Fathers die
and their passing
though certain
is rarely easy.

So what can I say of this man
so many years
after his emphatic end?

I can say what Whitman said
of Lincoln:
"O Captain, my Captain.
Rise up and hear the bells."

But he will not.

He was ever-present
wise and alert
a boxer in life
a fighter in every way.

And I grew up with the gloves on
quick
elusive
and thanks to him
successful in every ring.  

He died
******* on a lit tobacco stick

Emphysema was gonna
take him down
so he pulled his own trigger
saved his family that way
though that's a longer tale

Therefore
and whereas
this is a belated requiem
for a man I loved.
My Captain.
Dear and departed
these many years
may he rest in peace
as he never rested
in life.

In memory of Bill Berkson Poet - Rest in Peace**

...  cantered light-heartedly downstream to their doom.
 — Patrick Leigh Fermor

Somebody down there hates us deeply,
Has planted a thorn where slightest woe may overrun.

Disorderly and youthful sorrow, many divots picked at since
Across the thrice-hounded comfort zone.

Can't cut it, sees permanent crones
Encroaching aside likely lanes of executive tar

All spread skyward.
You got the picture, Bub:

This world is ours no more,
And those other euphemisms for grimly twisting wrath,

A wire-mesh semblance bedecked
With twilight's steamy regard.

Look at the wind out here.
Delete imperative.

Hours where money rinses life like ***,
Whichever nowadays serves as its signifier.