Together in Age
Deeper then the cracks on the summer sidewalk yet
strong as the wind that the heat will share and set.
That is the tune of our long lasting hands in chains
and the description of all our loving pains.
Words are weak and never tell the story.
yet pictures cannot either they would be too gory.
All there is stands before us in a picture of gloom
One of us will go soon and leave a lonely room.

Just when a man settles and takes to the idea of peace and quiet,
just when a man realizes the value of family and earthly delights
along comes a pandemic.
Just when a man hears music in a more intimate way and reads words that bear a deeper meaning,
just when a man begins to understand and accept the near future and what it may hold for one with many years in the bank,
along comes a pandemic.
Just when a man appreciates subtlety, cold ale and a fine meal,
just when a man learns to be grateful for what he has left behind and for all the memories he has created
along comes a pandemic.
Just when a man can sit in the sun and feel the warmth and look forward to a peaceful night’s sleep
Just when a man feels repentant for crimes against his own world
and is prepared to accept his due
along comes a pandemic.
Talk of karma perhaps eases some bitter minds, many find blame to lay at the feet of others but it matters not because
along comes a pandemic.
No path is left unmarked, no trail leads to safety there is nowhere to hide.
Because along comes a pandemic.

The keyboard calls out after beer and gentle drugs give a nudge
I have a plethora of burning thoughts but my fingers won’t budge.
I want something sweet and comforting with a sweet tone
But fear and anxiety have cut me deep to the bone.
Its not writer’s block but a fear of tomorrows story
I fear it may be very messy and gory.
Who knows what bus will be the one or perhaps a grenade
Or standing in the cold of a Santa Claus parade
Don’t think too much it can cause many bad cuts
It can drive the car of life into several deep ruts.
Dance everyday though no music is playing
thinking all day on what your soul keeps saying
Dig up some words never heard in this life before
The ones that will be remembered and cut you to the core
Your legacy has the value of a suitcase and some ink
Hoping what you’ve written down will cause just one to think.

Leaves of varied colours scatter as a promise of tomorrow,
The winter winds may bring chills, ice and bitter sorrow.
The scourge floats through our homes traveling on personal spit
Seeking a new customer and a friendly place to sit.
Masks and gloves cover faces and hide our sad expression
But these thin disguises cannot eliminate our growing depression.
We wait for an easy answer from a pile of helpless failed leaders
Knowing full well they won’t succeed they are all just bottom feeders.
We older souls just sit and wait with anticipated anxiety
While politicians turn to money and cloak the choice in piety
Kiss your treasured love ones and hold them very close
They are our only hope for a love filled vaccine dose.
We are the ones they will sacrifice at every single turn
As the fire continues on in rage we are the ones to burn.

It may not be a melody you know or lyrics you can sing
        But like an old worn bell I hope you’ll hear it ring.
        You won’t be able to dance to it or even hum along
        But at least it will remind you that I am truly gone.
        It won’t be a melancholy tune full of lonely tears
        But maybe it will remind you of all our happy years
        No one else will hear it, drifting through the breeze
        But perhaps the gentle notes will cause a stirring in the trees
        Being gone isn’t always such a sad and lonely thing
        It opens doors to all the joy new beginnings bring
        Listen for me when I’m gone I will always be there
        Sending out my words showing how a man can care.

I wonder at the depth of the soul and does it ever end
is it like a card you buy but then you never send?
Does it just sit in there hidden and waiting to fly
or is it sitting in there simply waiting to die?
It is a puzzle for all who believe they have one
but better to wonder each day then have none.

I stumble when my tired feet attempt to walk,
I stutter when my ancient tongue tries to talk.
I count the years and fear strikes me cold
I know now that I am afraid of being old.
A wrinkle arrives most every single day
No amount of treatment can make it go away.
Rest does little to appease my constant fear
I think about the other side and shed a quiet tear.
Will I miss my loves, my dreams and such?
Will I still long for someone’s warm loving touch?
Age always works for wine and cheese
But it is a tragic enemy of memories.
Dreams become less important and almost dry
No warmth or promise not even a gentle sigh.
Tread lightly when you wake each morn
Try to recall that special day the one when you were born.

As the air turns brisk the leaves fall like coloured paper on the disappearing green
I take on a daunting task that most men in the new world have never seen.
I stand alone in a brightly lit room with music playing equipment at the ready.
Trying in a way only the ancient would know to keep my hand firm and steady.
How many more opportunities like this will play out in my final living years?
Pain racks an aging body and soul, I am now only afraid of fears.
I grasp the blade and approach the task at hand careful with every slice
Trying to be sure beyond doubt that all I reap will be enough to suffice.
This is the chore that comes about perhaps twice to a stalwart man
Standing over the carcass, glaring and planning as only a hero can.
This turkey has lost and I will clean its sturdy bones until they shine
When the job is done and the bowl sits quaking on the board...he’s mine!

I wander aimlessly around my tiny world, cringing at the pain
I worry about tomorrow’s plan and curse at today’s rain.
Joints of hell and fire make every step a burden,
yet no end in sight and more of the same is certain.
I want to stand as tall as a little man and breathe fire,
not be known as a poet without words or a liar.
I want to battle through the agony and avoid the tears
I need to dig a little deeper to make sure I hide my fears.
Older may be better when discussing the fine wines
But in the body of an old man it’s a world of wrinkles and lines
I recall the early days as many writers do, words flowed like beer
music never stopped and there was always more to hear.
Looking in a morning mirror is a terror in itself
I see the face of a statue that belongs on someone’s shelf.
Where is the smile and all the character that made me young
where is all the harmony for the songs I’ve always sung?
Will this happen to everyone as years slip through their hands
Will all my friends and family watch the sifting sands?
Time will tell I have been told as I wither and fight on
I hope the best of me is coming.... but not gone.

As I close in on the final moments of my 60's, I tremble a bit, cry a lot and worry even more. It is an inevitable moment except for those who depart early. I should be celebrating my accomplishments as few as they are and my 70 years.....but it is hard to deal with the fact that the finish line is in sight. Age, decease and failure all gang up on you at a very inappropriate moment. A moment you can't avoid unless lightning gets you first, or a random bus.
I envy all the seniors who take old age in stride and simply "wait" to go......with full acceptance and sometimes even gratitude, if pain is their partner. I deal with my pain the best way I can and I look with admiration at friends who have surpassed me in years and health issues and are still bouncing around enjoying life without fear ...or at least not showing it.
May I walk down the aisle to the end of the red carpet with a semblance of a smile and perhaps even a poem on my lips  or a song in my voice.
Yet I am going through a time of concern, annoying those I love and accomplishing nothing.
Words escape me and the courage to share my issues just isn't there. So I carry on, being a stone in everyone's shoe, a rain shower spoiling  the summer days .
I am working on it but I am fairly sure by the time I find the remedy I will be ashes on someone's mantel.

I sit in wonder amazed at the pain of death and the knives it injects
into the empty souls left behind.
I stare in confusion at the blood that fogs my groggy vision
and terrifies my throbbing mind.
How do we turn off the shooting arrows that pierce our hearts
and leave wicked scars to bear?
When do we heal from all the vicious wounds we carry
how do we show the world how we care?
When does the door open to allow us freedom from pain
how do we bandage the cuts and holes?
Are we meant to continue on day to day in the sun
but dragging behind our empty souls?
Questions that we all ponder as we go about our lives
afraid to lose the ones we love.
We watch the sun go down and rise again everyday
It's the only thing that is guaranteed from above.

I am an endangered species because I am the only one
what will happen when I die and I am finally done?
It will be as tragic as the day the sun finally dies
or when a lover gets caught telling foolish lies.
There is no other species quite like me or like you
we are lost in a world of circles with cages from the zoo.
I will stretch my ability to see and live as long as I can
daring the society that laughs at me to find another man.
I will watch the stars streak across the midnight sky
jealous of their movement and the way they silently fly.
I know time has a painful limit and calls each of us,
we must stand up when our name is called without a fuss.
In the meantime I will smell the flowers and sip the wine
listen to the music and read the stories line after line.
I will pretend that I can't hear when someone finally calls
I will not move but stand like an old car that stalls.
I will refuse my place in line and look staunchly away
maybe they can try again on another more dreary day.
Today is far too sunny and made for a walk in the park
and tonight will be too warm and gentle in the dark.
Just say no, there is no reason to admit or agree
keep on walking through the trees and feeling free.
Many more years are planned for me and  you
many things are waiting for us to try to do.
So say goodbye to leaving and hold on tight
for the ride is not over until your out of sight.

To all those who have never had a dog….you were never able to see the tilt of the head when a question was asked….        
To all those who never had a dog …you missed the peacefulness of a walk on a summer day with a companion of the highest order.
To all those who never had a dog…….having a head rest itself on your knee and look up in love is not for you.
To all those without a dog..... you will never get a lick or a nose bump of love.
To all those who have never had a dog…….the wag of a tail, signaling love and happiness will not be yours.
To all those who never had a dog…….you will not share an evening dinner with a most appreciative friend.
To all those without a dog….. you will never hear the bark of protection in the night.
To all those without a dog…..you must recognize that the warm loving dark eyes that look at you with respect and love will be a thrill for someone else.
To all those who are without a dog….do not squander the chance, do not look down another road for love and friendship…..it waits posed on four beautiful legs …staring and asking for your heart.

I lean over her, resting on my elbow as I stare into her sleeping face.
I brush a wisp of hair away from her eyes so that I can kiss them lightly
as she dreams softly and gently of I don't know what.
I think of all our moments, the good, the bad and the in between.
Her lips look inviting as she breathes the air of a princess in a fairyland.
It seems like hours as I stare and remember, those special minutes
that cause a soul to tremble or a heart to ache.
Her pillow is full of creases and folds where her  head has laid all night.
Morning peaks through the window and brings with it a bright morning sun
but it will do nothing for me, because I lay here watching, feeling, entranced by this woman. I am haunted by a very chilling fact. It is not a sudden break up or a jealous love story or even an angry word.
I realize as I always do on these spring mornings that the lady I stare at and love so deeply in my badly tangled bed is not really there....she is a mystery that comes to me each morning.
A mystery that reminds me I have no one, that the beauty I long for will never lie beside me.
How many more mornings will I spend on this tragic wasted  love.

Sadness comes in all flavours and hits harder some days than others.
It makes a sky darker and the sun further away like long lost brothers.
Sadness can make your very soul tremble at the break of dawn
it can make your heart burn when you know that she is gone.
Sadness plays no favorites, it gives no special odds or choice
it jumps up at a moment's notice and screams with a bitter voice.
Sadness is what we try to avoid, what we all try to escape
like a corner mugging or a vicious painful ****.
It's out there, lurking in the darkness, calling out our name
pretending that its happiness and trying to be the same.
No warning is sufficient no alarm gives us enough time
there is no chance to skirt the pain or miss the crime.
Sadness is the anxiety that kills our soul and heart
now we wait to see just when the old car rolls in to start.

As we lay upon our comfortable bed at night, with barely time for insight
when suddenly we are startled by a memory or dream or perhaps a fright.
It is called as it always has been by the curious name of "Karma".
When we witness a terrible act or cause an accident of huge proportion
that drives our very soul to frightening evil  contortion...it will be "Karma"
That is not to say "Karma" always blows an ill wind for it does not
it bears with it the payment for debts you truly have sought.
If your soul has been gentle and kind, forgiving and with love
"Karma" will guide you and lead you somewhere special on the wings of a dove.
If greed and lies and deceit have been your course throughout your days
"Karma" will repay you in many more complicated ways.
It is wise not to tamper with the ways of "Karma" or try to avoid her path
for "Karma" like the mythical devil carries a burden of fearful wrath.
None of us can steer her ship or raise her blackened sails
all of those who in the past have tried blow in her wintry gales.
Once done a deed of fearful wrath to hinder the souls of men
must simply now resort themselves to simply wonder when,
that knock will come upon your door, perhaps the fires burn,
per chance your dreams will fall apart those for all you yearn.
"Karma" will be there when all those leave your side
But it is with her judgment and her choice you will abide.
Be not late in making ways to pave your way to peace
For "Karma" has no patience and never gives release.

In solitude with the devil's tune
I wait and ponder fate
Torn between the now and then,
I balance love and hate.
The magnitude of loneliness
looms across the room,
trembling as I try to sleep,
I hold the hand of doom.
The game is never ending
because I've yet to hear my name,
ringing to the multitudes
exalting words and fame.

The saddest part of saying hello is when you must say goodbye,
the saddest part of saying goodbye is when you start to cry.
Each tear leaves scars upon my cheeks, old and worn and bleak
each moment I sit and miss you seems far more like a week.
I await the next sweet moment when a hug turns into gold
And a kiss upon this aging face makes me feel not quite so old.
There is no cure for too much love if it really does exist
but not being with the ones you love is a moment sadly missed.

Late nights and brilliant moons and star filled skies
never manage to answer all my questions and whys.
I will continue to sing in the shower and scare my soul
but sometimes my own bad music makes me whole.
Do we all have those nights when we are confused
when we feel so defeated and often badly used?
I seek a light to brighten my dim and darkened  world
a glowing, shining sun that like a flag unfurled
will open my heart and bring warmth to what is within
and at very least give me a chance to finally win.
I need to put down the bottle and brush the lines
off the glassy table and put the cork in the wines.
Do we all have these moments, these nights of doubt
the times when we think we will never get out?
I need to escape and my words are the only way
yet as I write I torment myself at least for another day

As I sit in a chair full of apprehension and worry
I also want things right and not to hurry.
I need support for a giant change in life
I need to know someone will be there through strife.
It is hard to know who will step up and who will hide,
it becomes a very emotional roller coaster ride.
A guiding light is failing me in the time of special need
I have to be out front not someone who is a afraid to lead.
If you hear me ....reach out and hold my hand at this time
to help a drowning man  will never be a crime.
Step up and lend support in my hour of need
I have to know my soul is alive and will be freed.

Winter's bitter wind digs into our bones like hot flames
it takes its toll on all, not taking any names.
Run to reach the car or bus, get out of the raging storm
how can pain and torment, become the daily norm?
We live so far from the earth's hot center line
we dodge and push the wind away, and pretend that winter's fine.
Like love that never works we wait for it to end
temperatures that fall can never be a friend.
We need the burning star to close the distant gap
like the fading runner pushing in the final lap.
Spring will come as a new love does in green and some in yellow
buts its always like a lovely woman not just a friendly fellow.
Today will be a memory trapped in a frozen mind
wrapped in the warmth of springtime and all the love we find.

You're at the bridge now, cross it son,
but try not to look down.
On the other side if you make it there
you'll wear a golden crown.
Just a few more steps and a few more tears
and the singing will be loud,
come on boy you really tried,
I am sure she would be proud.
A man can't grow on the dying side,
there is no feeling in his soul
an uptight mind of emptiness
just trying to be whole.
The social wars break him down
to where he just can't feel,
but maybe on the other side,
the wounds will slowly heal.
Careful now we don't want to fall
there's a hand at the other end
My god I hope she can realize
how very much I need a  a friend.
Look straight ahead at her open arms
and pray they'll hold you tight.
it's a long way down if you start to slip
and you'd soon be out of sight.
Just one more step, you need her mind
it could be just the final key
to the gold at the bottom that we find.
Hey wait girl don't turn and run away,
he watched her face and he crossed the bridge
and he has so many damning words to say.
Don't back up, my arms just can't reach
and I haven't touched you yet.
Help me now or I'll surely fall
and they'll watch my gravestone set.
The bridge is getting shaky now
she's turned to hit the road
The hang ups start to pull him down
and he drops his heavy load.
He can hear the music on the other side
as the bridge begins to crack.
It's too late for help he's going down
his body's on the wicked rack.
A silent thud and it's over now
and they sweep the mess away,
and carry the loser's beaten head
on a shining silver tray.

Somewhat quickly I would run, upon the field of green and sand,
leaping boldly through the air, seldom caring where I’d land.
Reaching out o’er space and time to catch a ball of light
to capture and to hold it and end its destined flight.
I bounce, I fall, I throw and run, like a firefly in heat
trying hard to show the world the magic in my feet.
Up again with hands of gold I play like Nero’s toy
and fiddle with my leather glove as if it were a ploy.
A way to win the diamond war when all was said and done,
I loved to stand and yell support in the blazing summer sun.
The grass was always greener there, even in the dark
A field without its players always looks so stark.
I’m satisfied I’ve had my turn, now others come to play
I pray their joy will be as grand, as mine that summers day

Today was a day of music and contemplation
walking away with a faraway destination.
try to forget and yet still remember,
from early April to late September.
Days get longer and much more fragile
the old body gets less and less mobile.
For once days are duly recorded
even though the finality is so sordid.
Recollections are hard to hold,
memories are there but, all so old.
When was my last warm summer night,
is there another one within my blurred sight?
Every hair is turning gray in every mirror
I wonder is the cold ground getting nearer?
I hear voices calling me late at night
caught up in white noise that isn't quite right.
Dreams aren't long enough to really haunt
but there seems time to painfully flaunt.
"Say goodnight Gracie" is what he said
then all the radios finally went dead.

The fence was so high and the wall so thick and I was armed simply with a stick
the grass was high and grabbing on, my soul was weak my energy gone.
I ran with all my body could endure, looking for a decease I still couldn't cure.
An answer I couldn't find, a bell that wouldn't ring, a song I could never sing.
I was lost in other words hanging from an old oak tree, that only some can see.
Where do you go when everything has been seen and all the fruits are lean?
Climb and climb and run for your life, don't look back at torment and strife.
You will only survive in glory, if you recognize that you will always be a story.
We all dance to a different tune, knowing the song will be ending soon.
There will be a symphony amongst the screams and blooms within all the dreams.
Don't go to bed empty or walk away sad, don't leave your thoughts alone and mad.

Music is the only remedy to the pain of deep misery
the notes light up the soul with sweet history.
We remember the dance that  made us smile
we treasure the simple spot on the radio dial.
If only life was always music and notes
it would be a castle in heaven without moats.
But alas, gold and tone are not easy to find
they are a mystery to all but those with a special mind.
I love to dance around my room at night in crazy swirls
thinking of my history and all the sweetest girls.
Now I am old and all is just a distant past
thrown upon a table top when the die is cast.
So I wait until the closing act to seal my final fate
the hardest part is when the old have to sit and wait.

Blood drips slowly through the tubes of my heart, like a lazy plumbers mistake,
I wonder as I listen to the gentle drops is it maybe for my own sake?
Do we all feel love's pain  as a stab to the heart, or is that where we normally start?
I hear voices in the night, some cry and others sing
I hear bells in the morning, some dull and others ring.
Everything is a sign of something else, rolling in our head,
maybe we wonder the difference...alive or maybe dead.
Throbbing souls create a drumbeat in harmony and doubt,
those of us so used and done are feeling sadly left out.
The parade will march right by us and leave us at the curb,
like a statue old and worn that we should never ever disturb.

Gentle whispers stir me on to places I've never been
steering me towards the many stars I've never seen.
Perhaps a trip to paradise will sometime lead me home,
then I will no longer search or feel the need to roam.
I know the road will end somewhere that's warmer then today,
and never a need to strive for happier things to say.
Do we all follow special paths that force us to dream
lost in wonder and magic where things aren't what they seem?
There is no shame in wishing just sadness in losing the chance
to hear the beautiful music and share the wonderful dance.

Fighting demons daily and avoiding dreams at night
can cause ones loss of hearing and sometimes loss of sight.
Reaching out for a branch to grab or a rope for you to hold
makes one feel so weak and yet so terribly bold.
I am waiting and calling for a lifeline to save my hidden soul
but all I get is promises that swear I will be whole.
Where can you turn, who can you really trust
what can you do, the sun gets hot and your heart will rust.
There is no god to throw a line so you just try to stay awake
sometimes it  isn't even really for your own sake.
You fight the vicious world and bleed until your done
when it comes right down to it you're the only one.

A monster came out from under my bed,
all hairy and ugly and oh so red.
He ran to my closet and ate all my clothes
then back to my bed he was tickling my toes.
I was so afraid he might suddenly eat me,
There was nowhere to go where he couldn’t see.
He threw all my toys in a great big sack
And told me meanly they’d never be back.
Then he looked at my desk and suddenly smiled
And seemed to be happy or maybe beguiled.
He looked in my eyes and pointed at me,
“give me your laptop and I will let you be”
I loved my laptop a gift from my mom
I stared in his eyes feeling so dumb.
I was no longer scared now I was mad,
Monsters aren’t fun when they behave so bad.
So I took out my bat and put on my new shoes
and said to the monster, “guess what you lose”.
One swat on the noggin and he was out cold
I keep my toys because I was bold.
It pays to be brave and never have fear
But be careful at night when a monster is near.

HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN
to my Grandaughters
Copyright Jan/2014
WHC

They say age is a number and its true until you reach a high one
then fear sets in and dreams become a terror up until sun.
You don't want to go but sometimes staying is not so good,
you would like to have a real answer, what you'd do if you could.
Some folks grow very old and live to share their time
then others have a shortened while living on a smoke and a dime.
I hear the music playing every night as I close my weary eyes
wishing I had told more truth and many fewer lies.
Ambition can be a killer or a highway to the stars
but I have had so much in 60 years I am all the way to Mars.
I do not want to go an easy way, I want to make a noise
I want to shout my words to all, with a little class and poise.
If I can't then I guess I will stay, at least until tomorrow
I am not sure about the constant pain and sorrow.

Copyright...WHC
Jan./2014

Some go out in a blaze of glory, some with a crazy, sad story.
I am not sure which I have chosen but it may get very gory.
I don’t care any longer about the skies I see
Or the dreams I’ve had that cease to be.
I am tired, sore and I hurt in mind and in the fairy soul
I know at this late stage I never will be whole.
I do not want to urge it on but simply to not worry
I want those who give a **** to know there was no hurry.
Music sounds dull, words are boring, what’s left to say
all that’s left is for a fool like me to pick a day.
No more pills, no checking, no pecking no heeding
no worrying, no trying and paining when you stop succeeding.
There are no magic cures for us, just pretenders selling dreams
and the rest get rich selling us on their schemes.
I will go when I go, doing just what I choose to do
Then the task of being someone special will suddenly be through.


Copyright/1/2014

We all have this fear, when today is not remembered tomorrow
We worry that we miss happiness or sometimes bitter sorrow.
They put names on things like this but none will ever fit.
So here I am forgetting , not remembering where I sit.
I can't see my children's faces the way I used to do
it is not like there are many, there is only just a few.
Their names are now escaping me on every other day
and when I can't remember I don't know what to say.
My brain has suddenly collapsed on me and so I gently cry
perhaps tomorrow when I see the world I promise I will try.
Losing all your yesterdays is such a horrible  lonely thing,
for all their loving memories were always there to sing.
Now they have drifted far away and I am so alone
I wonder if there is things I've done for which I must atone.
The good is presently  gone as is all the bitterly bad,
that is why this monster has made me so terribly sad.
Please try and recall my face and please say my name out loud
so I will know who I am and feel just a little bit proud.

WHC....copyright/2014

It seems like an eternity since we last spoke a real word
something that didn't hurt and wasn't absurd.
I can't remember that  real ******* feeling
I can hardly tell because of blind love, the walls from the ceiling.
Give me some clues, a valid trail to follow
not these bitter words that I am forced to swallow.
You are in or you're out, my cracked heart needs to know
it would not be easy but I can pack and go.
Disaster strikes at the strangest times and  will always pick
an unexpected moment like a red clay brick.
Hurt me or **** me, bury me deep or come home
There is no point in this two hearts on the roam.
All good things come to a vicious end
just like a strong old willow tree will finally bend.

WHC
Copyright Jan.6/2014

So musical notes fall upon my heart like raindrops
I can only breath again when the music finally stops.
It moves my very being like a sunset on a summer night
but yet it leaves me frozen at a sudden dreamlike sight.
I feel each note as it patters gently on my heart
 I hardly notice when it stops and when it will start.
It rips a scar across my weary soul but heals as it goes,
 the energy I gather from the notes is easy to show.
  I can climb a frightening mountain in the rain,
  as long as I have the warming music to ease my pain.
  We should all have notes that fall unto us in time
   like words that always fall into sweet and dazzling rhyme.
      
      WHC/2013
      copyright

I wait as patient as a man of age can be
I do not know just what I expect to see
I sleep the sleep of a painful aging soul
knowing it is far too late to be whole.
The world I know is trembling badly
I hold on tightly with my heart beating madly.
I would dance to one more lonely song
but being old all my steps would be wrong.
Maybe I will be luckier the next time
or maybe be a beggar clutching his last dime.
Tomorrow just remains unknown and blank
but the smell of impending death is rank.
Will I be the lucky one and skate on thin ice
or will I be the one that pays for all his vice
That is what tomorrow holds for me
so I will simply have to wait and see.

The day seemed as it always does, turned suddenly to night,
my peaceful sunny moments turned to darkened fright.
Like so many things, the change just isn't always good,
we didn't do the many things that we thought we could.
Tomorrow I will be better, I will give it a better shot,
getting through the next day without the fear of getting caught.
Black nights turn to sunrise, or sometimes to dismal gray
it's never ever knowing that gets us through the coming day.
We just don't know who we will touch or what words we will use
we don't know if there's an offer there that we just can't refuse.
Not much is really predictable or left for us to share
just finding a loving soul mate and someone who shows they care.
If luck is on our tortured side on that moment that it shows
then happiness full of waters cool like a rolling river flows.

Copyright
WHC/2013

She walked towards me , slowly yet steady, eyes fixed on mine.
I gazed back, lost and wondering just what I would find.
Our story was sordid but love often is and then dies
it was made up of torture so painful, full of lies.
Of course I love her and I want to hang on
I wonder is what we had ...that war, finally gone.
I hear thunder in the distance as lightning heats the sky
I wonder if losing her would be worse than if I die.
I wait until she approaches me, hands held out in ...please
I can't help but think she still knows how to tease.
It's been a trembling moment, one so filled with doubt
I finally turn and walk away, I need to go without.

WHC/2013

Does a tear fall on every letter you write, or maybe not,
do you think about what you used to have or what you've got?
Do you wake up in the morning still hurting from the night,
does the memory of the moment  still cause a vicious fright?
Maybe then you know the price you have to pay for flying high
sometimes we will survive, sometime we may die.
Crawl into a darkened hole and cover your ****** ears
but then you won't have any hands to wipe away your tears.
It's a sad life to live this party game, always in pain
grabbing and stabbing, reaching for whatever you may gain.
There is a shelf life to all you do and even all you dream
it will all come to a nasty end  worse than you ever could seem.
Try to fly and get above all the damp clouds and the sun
you lost her in all the reverie and she was the only one.
Its over, love played out and bled until it died a sad death,
now you  live for what is still to do with a quiet breath.

WHC
Oct/2013

I sit late at night and listen to both new and old songs that move my mood and my soul. They never heal it , just move it. I take heed of lyrics and tap along to melodies, I feel the beat and know that when it's over I will be the same. The same sad man with a burden and fears, with anxiety and sadness. I will carry the heavy load of regret. Mistakes made, bad decisions, angry moments and perhaps the happiness that partying allows.
I will never recover....no one does. The emptiness and sorrow are lifelong companions. They will be with us when we wake and when we battle to sleep.
Do you want an answer ? There isn't one ...it's called life.
We either live it and survive or we give in and jump or swallow or shoot.
Bad options based on history, but they sometimes fly through the open door of our minds. The key is to close that door and seal it tight.
Any kind of life is better than death. Courage is available ...we just have to buy it with work, pain and patience. Hang in there, that is what we do.
WHC
2013

Don't we all sometimes stagger and fall, and taste the dirt
don't we all sometimes wake up to the morning sun and feel the hurt?
Perhaps we all have similar souls that somehow feel the same
maybe we all have minds that short circuit and feel the pain.
Are we all that different when the scorecard is examined  quick
aren't we all just a little disturbed and perhaps a little sick?
I think we are but I can't complain, I have no easy way
to make sure that tomorrow will be a better day.
So I will grab on to the present and hold it close in fear
there is no point in feeling pain that causes us to shed a tear.
Shoot it down, it's useless it drags us back each and every day
but it never stands loud and clear and shows a better way.
I guess I am out of here, alone and on the road
a pack upon my shoulders, feeling pain from yesterdays load.

WHC

Just the other day I lost a moment, I glanced away for a second,
I wonder what I missed. Was it worth seeing or a waste?
I walked down the street and didn't say a hello to anyone.
Did I miss the opportunity to make a new friend ?
I walked past a dog, a canine friend and didn't pat him.
Was  that a mistake too.
I didn't stop to smell the roses when passing a beautiful garden.
I surely would have enjoyed the sweetness and the beauty.
My chance was missed again. I was busy doing life.
I drove quickly for business and missed exciting graffiti on a wall
I bypassed a store window showing just what I need
I left it all behind, I was busy doing life.
I could have had lunch with a friend but I ate alone quickly,
I missed the conversation and the laughs.
I came home and watched the news,
only to find the world was ending ...I missed so much.
I was terribly busy with life doing what I needed to do.
I missed the ending.

Been a while since daylight had any meaning for me
my life has been surrendered to the time I cannot see.
I listen to old tunes and read some memorable lines
I sample my cheap collection of local wines.
I sometimes dance alone making far too much noise
it's what a free spirit does when they have no real poise.
I may recover from this lose of a friend, yet another one
it's a frightening way to live a life wondering when you're done.
Its age that puts this pressure on a grieving soul
You wonder if tomorrow it'll be your body in a hole.
Stay young I say, fear not what is to be
pretend it's there for others but something you won't see.

Last night I dreamt of you, it was musical, sad, yet happy and alive.
I tried to stretch it out something like, a long summer drive.
It was full of memories, magic and touching with care.
I looked at all of you from your baby toes to your hair.
I danced with you slowly and close sometimes off beat
I tried to remember the miracle that caused us to meet.
I may never get to replay all the passion that once was there
But it doesn't and won't, ever change the love, and the way that I care.

Amid life's worst hours and all the torment that flies around us,
we strive to seek a safe haven that will shield us from the fuss.
Family quarrels and deep down secrets that tend to haunt
then there are the issues that we walk about and tend to flaunt.
So why do we stay and watch the demented show and not leave
why do we wear a tragically broken and scarred heart upon our sleeve.
Because we are human and in this world we know no other way
to tackle the burdens, fears and memories that we carry day to day.
So, on we go driving and pushing into an endless pool of dirt
only to find more and more of the deeply human hurt.
Welcome to confusion, the only thing we have as a  guarantee
so back we go in quick retreat so nothing is really under warranty.

WHC

I dance daily with the prospect of dropping like a stone,
the worry that finds itself most constant is that I'll be alone.
I stare into a mirror which never lies but tends to blur
yet the joys of yesterday's pleasures are still a constant lure.
Measurements and drugs and rules to control my day,
at the end of which I'm too tired to have much to say.
Is this where we all arrive in the so called golden years,
living day to day and night to night struggling with our fears?
Rocking chairs don't rock and old feet cannot dance
they just rest and hope that there is really a second chance.
Another way to make your final farewell and grand adieu,
perhaps a party loud and bad, declaring all that's done
recalling all the games you've played and all that you have won.
Maybe then a dinner prepared in the finest style
with all the flair to carry you on that final mile.
These fears will not hunt me down, I promise to be strong
I don't mind the falling , but I won't stay down for long.

As I lean against the windswept rock, a memory comes to me
of the days I spent on "The Courage Son" and the friends I lost at sea.
The Courage Son was a sturdy ship, built of solid oak,
it moved along on God's sweet wind , not on steam or smoke.
The crew that manned this vessel strong, were the dearest friends I've known.
But they didn't live to tell the tale or reap the seeds they'd sown.
The bravest of men shall never return from the ocean home they've won,
but I the lone survivor will remember what they've done.
On the 23rd day of January, in Eighteen Forty-nine,
the men and I were down below sharing bread and wine.
When a storm came up the likes of which none had ever seen.
The sails were soon a tangled mass and the ship began to lean.
The heavens seemed a sheet of black with cracks of blinding light,
a mast was struck and hit my head destroying my sense of sight.
While my friends were scrambling fore and aft with a speed propelled by fear,
my life was saved by a brave young man by the name of Samuel Wier.
He led me to a lifeboat filled with food and gear,
enough to last a single man for six months of a  year.
I felt my body carried and lowered in a boat
I realized without my sight, that I'd  now been put afloat.
I couldn't see the reasoning, for the pain had blurred my head
I was rolled and tossed so very close, to finally being dead.
The waves that banged against the boat made it hard for me to hear
the fire raging on the ship and screams that stemmed from fear.
My boat was adrift for hours before, The Courage Son went down,
I pictured the sea opening wide to accept her oaken gown.
I was rescued by a freighter just off a foreign coast
white and ill with fever I looked a certain ghost.
Now it's just my old white cane and the smells of the open sea
that recall the storm the devil sent and what it took from me.

The crowded streets seemed empty now, beneath the noon day heat,
as the devils and the invalids wait 'til dusk to meet.
Then the sunlight fades and the neon signs, attract the social crowd,
the silence dies and an echo's born as the deadly night grows loud.
A ***** blonde in a ***** coat, leans on a grey stone wall,
waiting to lead her regulars down a dark and dingy hall.
While a blind man steers his cane ahead to aid his weary feet,
he gropes his way to a barstool  where he and bottle meet.
The piercing sound of a siren is muffled by angry tongues,
as an old drunk falls in an alleyway clutching his heaving lungs.
The sight of the city from the fifteenth floor turns the heart to a giant pump,
as a ****** high in every way prepares for his final jump.
Dance hall girls line the stage and kick their legs in time,
as the prestige men in business suits order gin and lime.
An aging man with glass in hand finds friendship in the night
bringing back his childhood through the shouts of a barroom fight.
The pain goes on 'til the lights go out and the wolves all head for home
for those who have no place to rest the sidewalk is there to roam.

If I can’t quite see tomorrow and can’t deal well with today
Can I close these eyes that blind me and somehow find a way.
Will I fly up to the heavens, or will I drop down to the seas.
What if I’m not there to comfort, just at the time you please.
Well I’ll cry, yes I’ll cry, just as any other would,
And I’ll climb back up that hill again like any lover should.
Here we go, here we go, up another hill, trying to see tomorrow
Or what our dreams will ****,
Its not heaven that can hurt you, but the clouds that slow the way
So I’ll move my love at the speed of sound and reach you in a day.

Sometimes we think we know the world and all that dwells within,
perhaps we think we just aren’t loved and that is such a sin.
Not in ways of holy books or idols on the shelf,
but a sin against your own esteem, for we need to love our self.
How could one stand in a pleasant place, where love gives off a glow,
and still be heard to say, they really do not know.
Love is in the food we eat and how it is prepared
love is in the rooms we share and how another cared.
Love is in the time we have though often not enough,
love is in the hours no matter, smooth or tough.
Puppies too have loved you without ever saying so,
Yet here I am a simple man, who never lets you know.
I give in the ways I understand and sometimes they are weak
When I know that as a woman its loving words you seek.
So here it is on paper, it is the way I am
A simple little poet, not worth green eggs and ham.
But even though my words are poor and pockets full of air,
You must feel after many years, the poet does really care.
WHC