“What makes a star?” he asks

knowing that everybody has a plan

until they get punched in the face.

So hit me again,

ruin my body for

the pleasure of others.

Knock me unconscious with

a sucker punch I won’t

remember having thrown

…and then come round

in a yellowing delete and

the close-eyed,

bruised acceptance

that the kid I once knew

who was up for the fight,

is now composing himself,

broken knuckled,

ready to be captured

by the camera’s empty promise.

The body I once owned

giving itself up to the star

I thought it might become.

They buried our Heroes

This piece comes from a bad place the shooting of the congress woman in Tucson but I will not let black hearted soulless creatures
Win so I choose to saddle up and ride into yesteryear a mask man rides a white stallion with the William Tell overture playing in this
Mans portrayal of this western hero we learned and knew what it meant to stand as an individual and that alone we could fight and
Win you’re not always able to be surrounded by friends and family battles some time require we strip down carry only bare essentials
This was the requirements of the real Texas rangers that Clayton Moore portrayed they were sent out alone with only a horse and a gun
And hardship was their constant companions they were asked to do extraordinary feats as we ourselves are now being called to do
Civilians at nine eleven were the first Americans to hear and answer the call we all have been served our fighting papers from just a
Fictional character we were trained in childhood to now be ready as adults to face an altered world where madness can pop up at
Anytime they buried Clayton in the attire he wore so well a true hero who in my thinking laid out a picture perfect formula we are
A free proud people our roots run deep in independence walk tall speak softly but be ready at any moment to rush into the breach
To fight and even die for freedom we are well represented and rounded it isn’t all about being austere we can enjoy life and have
Laughs along the way the next hero when buried had a multiple burial known as the clown prince Red Skelton went to the grave with
San Fernando Red, Cauliflower McPugg", a punchdrunk boxer, Clem Kadiddlehopper, a hick who was identified in at least one sketch
As being from Cornpone County, Tennessee, and "Freddie the Freeloader even speaking of him brings a smile but he was not just a
Funny face he was a principled man he didn’t have to do shock comedy he had talent that kept you laughing and coming back for more
This is part of our armor laughter is like a medicine sometimes the hurts linger and make a waste of a life you have to fight back
You have to defeat the negative in us all that will accept this kind of prison we must mourn and know sorrow but not as a steady diet
Can’t leave Red without telling one funny story the holidays were approaching Red was scheduled for an operation he was sedated
Wheeled into the operating room the surgeon probably almost dropped his scalpel he took the sheet down and found a note that said
Don’t open until Christmas thanks for all the laughs now for a local hero well two a father and daughter well daughters and wife but here
Just one at first Jack Jeffrey is a hero if you knew him it is evident with or without a fez he has a bearing and honorable sureness that
Commanded respect in life and carries on into death I am about to do a total selfish act in my mind since I don’t know where the car
Is or if it even exist anymore don’t get down on me for this act as I played this first in my head before coming over here to write it I paid with
Hard tears and pain maybe that still doesn’t give me the right to intrude but I came back to this country a whipped disabled defeated
Person and then Queen Donna lifted her scepter over my life by speaking of this hero I was able to find my writing voice and live once
again so any way there is something about a man and a car and a manly drive I would get into this car lovingly put my fingers on the
Stirring wheel where his used to be put his put the radio on his favorite station look at the passenger’s seat see this beautiful daughter smiling
As they slowly cruise quiet by ways they have known two minds and hearts bonded at the deepest level by love scenes flow by the
Windows old realities revisited the car filled with a mixture of vibrant memories then and now textures that only a father and daughter
Can know and share by the way I got out back a ways this is their new year’s ride together Happy new year Donna

January 7th, 2022

Assaying thoughts gambol,
scuffling as in an affray
née crushing, jockeying, stampeding...
demanding equal airplay
gushing as metaphorical think
spigot turned on full force airway
thru totally tubular cerebral
microcosmic aisleway
vesicular conduit fifty
plus shades of gray
exhaling sigh of relief, cuz

transcending writer's block
innovative talent with words
did once again allay
needless panic, where yours truly
finds himself punchdrunk
in some dark alleyway,
an unfortunate fate
aging baby boomer
once skinny long haired
pencil necked geek
during previous lifetime

branded as Unitarian heretic
and punished courtesy auto-da-fé
avert reminding myself
to utilize ujjayi breath
hard driving gateway
into Pranayama practices
analogous to make
emotional transit thru
golden itty bitty
teensy weensy archway

infinitesimal impossible mission
to pinpoint areaway,
yet crisscrossing meditative
zen zone an array
of utmost nirvana
will never lead effortless
mantra buffeted concentration
not lead astray
and matter of fact
lightness of being
scaling metaphorical kickstarting

rah height aweigh
up yonder within
outer limits of twilight zone
re: supraconsciousness
keeping at bay
non intrusive thoughts
ruff lee collaring, mimicking belay
boring bonafide dog obedience training
pant tum miming begging
for limp bizkit, thus
canine loosening seat belt buckle

one notch braving violating
no trespassing sign
despite restriction
heavily populated tint
head nab yule Haitian
made Christmas benday
eerily resembling voodoo
cursed poppet summoned
if anybody doth betray
not being spellbound
hence, blithely skipping

remainder of my poetry
magic edict I dust not bewray,
no matter red clay
rambling man evincing dismay
upon approaching his endplay
regarding scrimmage with death
when divine creator
mine lovely bones he/she will fillet
impossible mission to get-a-way
grim reaper who will hollar hooray
as one mortal man does inveigh
against purposelessness born
live free and die until judgement day.