We show the fatigue of Twelve hours
       of duty, to care for those that
Cant even breath without our care..

When we leave those that we wish
could survive till our next shift.

We go to grocery stores to find
             our next meal,
but shelfs stripped clean...

By those who don't need,
but horde more than there need,
                          for either greed or profit.
                                                      We weep,
for we are holding our hands out like Oliver!!

        Sir, Madam do you have anymore,
As we weep with empty stomachs..
      making do with the scraps left behind..

            "Sorry not till our next delivery,

                             But ill be at work then..
A tear drops lonely down a cheek.  

             Yes I've seen eBay, or online selling sites...

They make me sick to my heart,
        to think I may have to save these gluttons
on an empty stomach.

But I don't judge
              I just drop a tear for those I lost the
night before.

I tried,
               they tried
              but this venom, sinks in fast..

I wear the scars on my face, the masks digging in,
                   the cracked skin that I don't have time
to moisturise as I know its been a twelve hour shift.

                                                       I only sleep a few,
     my moments of peace and tranquillity woken
early...
        My beeper goes off, were on call..

At least I got more than most,
           I give myself a two minute stretch,
  
and a wake up call, then I'm in fresh gear,
          sanitise my hands, and put gloves on.

I'm fearful of this virus, as many have fell like
warriors on the battle field, now breathing through
                                masks of life and death.

But my vow of care is strong and I shake off
              this fear, and walk into the ward a warrior
of positively.

"I will care for the fallen,
           I will hold a fearful hand,

never will I let anyone go.

But I'm only one in a sea of many.

If I can keep on breathing till they have strength

             its a win..

Stronger than superman,
Smarter than iron man,
Braver than batman,
He who holds the key to my heart.

You catch me when I fall,
You hold my hand and lead me out of the darkness,
An old,bitter and lonely soul,
You transformed to a new,sweet and happy soul,
This I say from the bottom of my heart ,
A model I look up to you as.

My sunlight in daytime,
My moonlight in night time,
I never want to loose you ,
Not in this would or the next.

Can you feel where the wind blows,
Can you feel it flowing through,
No day goes by and a thought of you does my mind not go through,
Can't live without my hero.

Whenever I need someone to talk too,
You're there,
Whenever I need someone to hold on too,
You're there,
You're someone i never wish to loose,
You're someone who owns a special place in my heart,
Forever I cherish you deep in my soul,
MY HERO....

Riding the train to Mall of America near Minneapolis. Fort Snelling National Cemetery lies East of the tracks. Outside the windows pass these gravestones. Stark marble markers in the place of heros. Rigid rank and file, monuments on parade in mimic  memory of the command to "Attention!"  

And there are thousands. Row after row, column upon column, they march into the distance

Until finally, I closed my eyes and listened to the rumble of the  train, wheels upon tracks, and to the conversion of a young family seated behind me as they talked about all the fun they will have at the mall. The Mall of America -- found out past the tombstones, beyond the graves of the fallen brave.

Last day on the job meant ensuring lines were tight,
tanks filled, hoses pumped,
     boots heavy, dry

Days of volunteering had long gone, years ago
hours of training, gym time, study time,
little time to rest, scant time for family,
     or friends fishing

Last day on the job meant sleeping light
ready for alarm’s alarming alarm,
pushing through lack of sleep,
ever conscious of the task
     the task

Route to the alarm during last day on the job
allowed a precious moment spent wondering about
stretching a fifty-thousand dollar city pension
through twelve months with sufficient money left for
moderate vacations, finishing the basement (finally),
trading in the beater for a “new-to-them” pick-up.

Colleagues wept openly during the last day on the job.
The hardest moments were spent
with the crew Captain making the long walk up the driveway
to break the news to his wife about
     his last day on the job.



Last day in the city was spent with laces tight,
hockey bag full, fans pumped,
     stick taped, dry

Years of minor leagues were well past due
training program’s ritual, airline schedules,
****** steak dinners in greasy spoons
left little time for autographs, rookie card poses,
     or friends fishing

Last day in the city meant sleeping late
through three time zones, restless in anticipation of front desk’s
wake-up call.


On route to the game during last day in the city
included hushed coach and trainer meetings
with news about trades,
draft picks, adequate compensation
including a five-hundred-thousand dollar signing bonus,
full-cost moves, maybe a trophy wife

The hardest moments of that day
were spent withholding tears
during a dealership visit with his girlfriend
to cancel the BMW lease on
     the last day in the city.

This poem is dedicated to the victims of Hurricane Harvey
And the people who helped during and after the storm.

An Ode to the Harvey Heroes©

Once upon a time not so long ago
Nature did spur a Harvey in the Gulf of Mexico

As the storm grew into a hurricane
Winds howled and then came the rain

Poor Texas got in the way
And it rained day after day

High water turned into floods
Leaving everyone scurrying including the blue bloods

Onto their roofs they did climb to survive the storm
With so much rain well above the norm

Little did they know a rescue mission was on the go
An impromptu navy of people they didn’t even know

Night and day their saviors were on a mission to rescue
Not knowing the dangers they faced for they didn’t have a clue

But despite the risk and the unknown
How to respond they have us shown

With a great amount of caring and daring
Many a life has been saved though some succumbed to an early grave

So what do we call the brave men and women from far and wide
A hero is what I say and I am not being snide

For they have saved the day for so many of our kin
Not saying thank you and our appreciation would be a sin

So here it is in spades “Thank you” to all who lent a helping hand
And that’s from all of us from across the land

Though things are far from over and done
Many will see a rising sun

Andreas Simic

I've lost time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. I've literally lost time. Each day I wake up, and watch the evening drift by in a sunset, I fall asleep and watch the moonlight sail away on a sunrise.


It was an empty promise, these lights all around. It was an empty promise, that buzzed with the current a few thousand volts. Lights...pale and broken bulbs bleeding gasses and lies. But I guess in the dishonesty of some idea so pure, I found the dream that Teslas lightning tipped fingers yearned for,


A quest of solid gold that conducted an orchestra of thunder. And so lights couldn't be a lie anymore,


They could only be a dream, a dream never fully realized so long as the frozen dead fingers of liars past held their grip. Edisons overgrown yellow tinged finger nails, piercing through the veil of misty electric sparks,


Yet here i am


The light bulb is over MY head now! And my brainstorm is an F4 hurricane, my bolts like guillotines for your greedy fingers!


Because this is the generation of new light, of new thunder and new mayhem.
Of illumination!


A new generation carrying torches, casting out our light bulbs and our lamp posts. Forcing fire into Mason jars and using flames like they were new again.


No no no
…
Not Mason jars. Pull those ******* light bulbs from the headlights and lamplights and streetlights, fill those ******* with gunpowder and unstable explosive mixtures and make stars, *******!


Make flames that burn brighter than Edison's unholy lies, that tear down the dome and bring the skies falling!


Watch everything we've built, watch corruption and lies and racism and false superiority come hissing out of the cracks, trying to save themselves from the building pressure,


Trying to claw their red boney fingers from the fire but they can't. Because they are the fire,


And we will all watch as they burn like they always wanted to. Their voices shining past all of the glory their burning visage may grant, their bodies becoming one with the chaos that is our country.


And then we will have nothing left but ashes. No more eagles. Only the right and left wings of a Phoenix,


Risen from our ash and tears, flying into the sky to become the sun...To shine like nothing ever seen by our eyes so used to a false light.


Because it's time we became the sun. It's time we chose a real light to follow, not a halogen tube spewing gas over sickly bodies. No more light bulbs to only last a few weeks. Were tired of artificial light...Tired of breathing oxygen made in a lab…


Maybe it's because we've lost so much time under buzzing broken bulbs, under boot heels and tyrannical ideation. We've lost so much time staring into TV lights and camera flashes that we've only been able to wait for someone real to step into frame...


We've lost so much time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. Counting the minutes till a new hero appears...I'm ready to be the light.