Smoking a cigarette with the Schizophrenic Socrates.

He tells me I'm being childish; young.

Few ways past that-- and good!

Growth!, Growth!, Natural growth!

Childishness and impish hormones--such inspirations!

Motivations until the paling end!

How stupid, how dumb,

How backwards I had it then-- Good!

A new lesson flourishing!

Sad destruction by his standards; perspective!

New reasons to speak, finding reason to grow!

Groom! Growth! Groom!

Loudness and disorder, Anarchy! Freedom!

Freedom of tongue and mind! Broken back, broken arms, broken neck! Purpose!

Loitering and loathing! End your voyage laughing!

Curiosity has been struck, tell them to be young, tell them to be middle aged, and old, dead! Immortal!

The observation of self must continue past myself!

Study me!

Study yourself!

Always!

Entertainment comes in many forms
One without Nielson ratings
presents daily shows
below the garage gutter

Weathered leather shoestring
strains under the weight
of unfilled feeder
long exposed to wind
and air until
it's original surface
contains only flecks
of it's original varnish

When filled, squares of suet cakes
fitted between wire grids
entice chickadees
early in the day
before nuthatches, wren
and downy woodpeckers
peck and feed on the
nut, corn and protein
snack.  Bluejays struggle
without success to
hang sideways and gather
specks of nuts from the tallow.

Other large birds, cardinal
and red-bellied woodpecker
show-up the jay as they feed
with ease at the suet rack

Each day suet sinks
slowly descending until
little is found by
winged visitors

Begrudgingly he rises
from his chair, tramps to the
garage to find a new
insert for the feed box.
Hands, weathered like the
pine of the feeder
unpack the next cake
to refresh the lure
as the scenery of wild birds
return to their feeding
and refill his soul

Dear sweet poet
can you write me into your story?
Take me out for coffee
I'll tell you some interesting plot twists
and turns
details ...
about a burning need
I didn't heed
the warning signs
I am here anyway

I'd like to find an alternate ending
I'd take a love story
one of honor and glory
Sweet poet..
my handsome young man
Take my outstretched, wanting
waiting.... hand

Take me out for coffee
Write me into your romantic story
I promise you won't be sorry
let's go
while we're still young
and while the sun
is shining on the silhouette on my bedroom wall
while time is still kind
and it is smiling on my face.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

It seems time can only dig holes
I can’t keep falling in them
I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel them
But I do

Rivers flow downhill
And where it goes
Is where only tears know
They know
And so does my heart

Why does everyone pay so much for nothing
Love is free but it costs too much for you to call me
Maybe it’s because you can’t buy it
It’s safer to pick out a star for your own

It seems that time is trying to make me old
It’s not weary eyes
It’s not tired feet
It’s saying goodbye so much while I pray

I’m not afraid to tell you I love you
That is a gift you know
But you don’t have to open the box
Maybe the ribbons are pretty enough for you

Rivers flow downhill
And where it goes
My tears will follow
Emptying into my heart
It's how heaven raises my spirit

An infant, eyes wide open, stares into the world and sees nothing. An adult narrows his vision and sees what he wants. An old man closes his eyes and sees everything.
Phil Lindsey, August 10, 2016