No trains in this town
Not the passenger kind, anyhow
Unless you are a hobo
Riding the rail
Singing clickety-clack, clickety-clack
Dreaming of a girl
A pint of Beam
A lost dog named Woof
wearing a red bandana
Warm nights
Sunshine
Sweet Georgia.

r ~ 5/25/14

Today the sun stared down around me. The light I saw through wasn't of the yellowish warm kind, or the blue tinted light that speaks of summer coming, nor was it gray like those days that make me long for something else.

Today the light that I looked through was clear like mountain water. I saw the tree for what it is. A tree with hands that reach out to be touched. With leaves the air needs for breathing. A tree for perching.

Today I saw a snow-white butterfly upon a yellow daylili. The butterfly had no markings. The lili stood in the shade of my porch. I remembered that in the fall when butterflies chase each other, it will be time for the fishermen to gather their nets repaired during hot summer months and return to the sea. The white butterfly reminded me.

Today I saw a hummingbird with a ruby necklace darting around my empty feeder. The one hanging out front. I took it down and refilled it with cold sugar-water from my fridge that I keep in an old milk bottle. I refilled the one out back, too.

Today I watched a blue grosbeak splashing in a clear pyrex baking dish that I keep water for the birds in next to my feeders. The grosbeak bathed while a male cardinal watched, spitting sunflower seed hulls onto my wooden deck. A housefinch waited patiently for water and a turn at the mixed-seed feeder.

Today I saw ants crawling on the dried dead body of a wasp. This made me like the ants. They like their wasps dead. So do I. Eat up, guys, I thought.

Today I saw that the breeze had scattered petals from my rose bush across my porch. My dog dozed on the petals. That made me smile.  Reddish pink petals clinging to a black dog when she walked onto the grass. The breeze smelled of roses.

Today I saw clearly what the sun was staring down upon. Things that need watching. Remembering. Today, I saw through a light clearly.

5/25/14

Ah, Nora.
I don't know why
I still think these thoughts.
It's been so many years.
Never mind the why of it,
I doubt even you could know.
How you could have taken such a part
of me.  Of us.  All of us.
It's the how that dogs me.
Those years when we were apart,
me busy trying to raise the boy,
you doing whatever it was you did;
those were unhappy years.  For me,
I can say.  For you, I can only think so.
O, Nora.  
It's been such a long time.
Now that the boy's all grown, almost,
what will be left of us?
When you came back, I didn't look
this far down the road.  Here we are.
What can I do?  What's done is done.
Forgiving's easy.  Forgetting, well...
not so.
Nora, Nora,
that time so long ago
that never should have been.

r ~ 5/24/14

I missed my revolution.
What's a boy to do?
Don a balaclava for jaysus?
Smoke a fat havana?
Think I'll buy me a beret.
Brush up on mi español.
Grow a fumanchu.
Move fifty years down south.
Find me a spanish speaking babe
to dance the dance in a red dress
shouting viva la vida all night long
till the sun comes up
and roosters crow
at hungry dogs
in a dusty street.

r ~ 5/24/14

I've seen too many quiet nights;
no conversation,
no wine to drink to us,
no explanations.
I compete with the Game of Thrones
for your attention.
I lose. The king still dies.
Dragons fly. Same old story.
I lie here reading Pablo
till I weep.
I want to say I love you. But I don't.
Say it, I mean. I want to think
you love me, too.
But you don't. Say it.
Let's have that conversation.
Dragons don't fly.
It's true.

r ~ 5/23/14

Hey God, scoot over a bit. I'm feeling kinda tired. Would you fluff that cloud for me?  Ah, thanks dude, much better. My head's been feeling heavy. The closer I get to the end of the road, well...makes me wonder why bother with the rest of the show. The endings are all the same.

To be honest, it hasn't been quite all it was hyped.  We start running low on that joy thing and all of a sudden it just seems so ...pointless.  I find myself wondering if my dog is going to outlive me. ****'s that about?  I've had a dozen or so dogs and this is the first I've ever worried about whether one would be sad if I checked out tomorrow. Another sad lonely old dog ain't going to be the end if the world.

Even poetry's not doing much for me. Face it, mine's fallen flat, and with the exception of a handful of golden pens on HP, it's kind of gone to hell. Oh, I don't blame eliot. That's what happens when us old ***** play around with technology that the youngins know more about. Algorithm doesn't know **** about poetry, and all I know about hash is how to smoke it. Think I'll just stay up here and rest a spell. This fluffy cloud is feeling mighty fine.

r ~ 5/23/14

Joy.
That temporary high.
Fleeting feelings
in a short-lived life.
The rush that makes it
seem worthwhile.
A one way street.
Joy.
Intermittant peaks,
highs then lows.
All things in between
till you run out of road.
A dead end street
on a one way trip.
Joy.

r ~ 5/23/14