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Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
When I was just a child I went searching for my world,
one of sunlit days, adventure and beauty left unfurled.
Though these days were made to be the a key to set me free
I couldn’t have foreseen the cost that all of this would be.

As I look back on these memories I hoped to have it all,
I believed that love would listen and come answering my call.
I was certain love would find me as I filled my life with song.
Now I’d turn in all these moments for just the promise to belong.

At Oktoberfest with beer halls and the sound of German songs.
The mix of beer and smells of nuts floating through the noisy throngs.
Climbing  on the Untersberg up on Alpines mystic peaks
and attending cocktail parties with Gemany’s elite.

Climbing falls in Ocho Rios with some old and new found friends,
drinking coffee, eating lobster, and enjoying without end.
Driving through the darkened backroads from a day at Negril’s beach,
in a cab with songs of love and Marley counting down the beat.  

In Cancun lagoons were vivid and alive with swarming life,
seas of sergeant majors, parrotfish, and barracuda thrive.
in the Caymans packs of stingrays had become our closest friends,
as we played among them in  a world where the beauty never ends.

The fireworks over Sydney lit the bicentennial sky
while I look upon that moment now with disbelieving eyes.
Waves from the Prince of England as he sat by princess Di
when I left the land down under, well I felt like I would die.

As I watched the sun go down over Uluru’s gold peak,
and the sun rise over Daintree as we picked our morning feast.
digging oysters off the rocks by Nelligan’s foreshores,
I was certain with my best friend that I couldn’t want for more.

Remembering the ocean as I snorkeled though it brief,
in Queensland off the shore on Australia’s barrier reef.
The beauty in Belize nearly took my breath away,
and it seemed to me that God had made this gorgeous land to play.

Camping in the South Pacific beneath the skies and palms.
In the hills of South Dakota we went panning in the calm.
With the Eiffel tower, Louvre and Twilleries rounding out another day
And the visit to the gardens of Monet just made me cry.

It’s surreal to think of all the things I’ve done throughout this life,
and the blessings that I’ve gotten seem enough to make things right.
But the simplest adventure and the one I longed for most
was a man that I could count on and would love and hold me close.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
V May 2017
the next time you'll see me,
would be attending my party
as I am lowered slowly
while everyone says they're sorry
to the smiling me.
Violet Apr 2017
Of course we always must learn,
while attending any schools.
That should then have us concern,
how we must comprehend rules!

Do you know what “you’re” means?
It is both “you are” combined!
Those two words'd make scenes:
can't you keep them in mind?

Gosh, it's really, just so weird:
lots of folks just don't understand.
People'd need their heads cleared,
considering grammar's command!

Teachers'd teach us for sure,
having us properly study a lot.
When I see “your” for “you’re”,
my mind steams up, pretty hot!

Sheesh, guys, please stop doing that:
recognize how we need to place APOSTROPHES!
This poem is about my annoyance at how some folks can't understand "you're" and is in ABAB form (except for that sad, necessary last line/rule).
It has 100 words, as my other works do too.
Jay Aug 2018
coffee cups in separate apartments
attending different weddings
soothing comments from parents
longing for grandkids
a sudden empty feeling
below the chest
when stumbling over fragments of
us

are you also afraid  
we will not find our way back?

I miss you so.
Spenser Bennett Apr 2017
The order never mattered
Until blood became the earth once more
My heart never shattered
Still I bore a tender sadness, two perpendicular boards

No cause nor understanding may ever be sufficient
I could not shake sleep from my tired eyes
To give hope to ending my lonesome sickness
Nor dream of peace in the depths of my loathsome mind

And the sun may have shone
On me and mine
I could never have known
For I felt no shine

This is not an ending
Merely an abeyance
I wept until attending
Forever after the abyss
LexiSully Dec 2016
Oh the fun we had as little six year olds,
Laughing loudly and acting crazy,
Staying up till the wee hours laying on the floor watching Hairspray

Oh the hyper times we had as ten year olds,
Sipping a little too much caffeine,
Running around acting like animals in the front yard

Oh the crazy times we had as twelve year olds,
Not afraid to get down and *****,
Camping and sliding down dirt in the ravine

Oh the terrifying times we had as fourteen year olds,
Living together for a whole week,
Trying to **** each other with words shortly after

Oh the bonding times we had as fifteen year olds,
The darkest time in my life,
Where we cried and I knew we would always be friends

Oh the lively times we had as sixteen year olds,
Both getting our licenses,
Driving around everywhere just to take fun pictures

Oh the tiresome times we had as seventeen year olds,
Sitting in your car before school,
Ranting and laughing about every aspect of life

Oh the amazing times yet to come,
Attending college and growing older,
Still talking and ranting and laughing like every time before.
Osiria Melody Aug 15
Attending to favors is like
answering phone calls
Don't respond and people
will wonder if you're worth
their time at all

Attending to favors is like
writing a speech
Don't plan it out in advance
and your work will be
incomplete

Attending to favors is like
taking a walk
Don't decline to help others
and you'll end up wondering
when you'll ever stop

However, you've got the right
to stand up for yourself

Being selfless isn't selfish if you
can't help everyone

Taking care of yourself is just
as important too,
So please don't burn yourself
out and remember that you've
got the right to do you



Melody
8/15/19
Doing favors for others is fine, but it's all right to decline sometimes.
MOHAMED Mar 2018
At one time transfixed in front of the t.v. watching
Programs strewn trash the river mouth spewing
Shows and shows as waves on the sand breaking
Talk gibberish talks water under a bridge rushing
Unintelligible words rain on a roof pitter pattering

Now we're glued to a contraption called internet
Blasting air ways information ideas faster than jet
Good bad evil intertwining jungles without outlet
Connecting to connect to lives or lives haven't met
Inexhaustible possibilities daily sunrise to sunset

Better be a wanderer by nature gladly enveloping
Explore new world or a quiet place contemplating
What makes us what we are therefore we're doing
Cyber corrupts old fashioned family ties reflecting
May inflict affection attentively attending nothing
Deb Jones Oct 2017
February 2017

Her cousin's name was Jason
His brother's Fiancé'
Had a brother named Mark
They became good friends
Jason and Mark

Jason was attending college
His dream was to work for
A big cat rescue service
For which he volunteered.

Mark was nursing a broken heart
He had just split up with his girlfriend
Justin and Mark were both 22
Jason wanted to cheer up Mark

Jason was an experienced hiker
His Dad worked
For the Sheriff's office
As Captain of the Search and Rescue team

Jason asked Mark
To go on a day hike with him
In the snow last May
They were excited

8,000 feet up
The snow was crisp
The crunch of the ice
Was loud in the silent air

They mostly stayed on the trail
Occasionally stepping over
The barriers when something
Caught their attention

The last time was when
Jason said he knew
Of a perfect view beyond
A stand of trees

Again, they thought nothing
Of stepping over the barrier
Despite the warning signs
Posted along the trail

Mark was in front of Jason
Both walking and talking
Laughing
Mark asked Jason a question

Jason didn't answer
Mark turned around
Bewildered
Jason was gone

Mark thought Jason was playing a game
He called his name
No answer
He called his cell phone
No answer
He screamed for Jason
No answer
He pleaded for him
No answer

He thought he heard Jason's
Cell phone ringing in the
Quiet bleakness of the snow
But no answer.

He saw Justin's footprints
Seeming to disappear
Into a darkened area
In the snow

Mark followed their foot prints back to the trail
He called the park rangers
And was told to wait there

The search and rescue team responded
Jason's father was not
Officially
Allowed to go

He drove to the site by himself

They found Jason quickly
He had fallen down
A crevice
Approximately 1800 feet deep

Without a sound to echo in the silent snow

There was nothing they could do
The fall killed him
The snow prevented
A rescue for a body

His father setup a campsite
And stayed there
With his son
For several days

Until he was forced to leave
By a heavy snow storm

The family had a moving and emotional memorial service
Of all he was
And all he could have been

The church was overflowing
With family and friends

Many Police officers
And Sheriff Deputies
Attended in full uniform
To support the parents

They, alone, filled 4 pews

Over the months
The snow melted
Unfortunately Justin's body
Was not recoverable
The crevice too deep and narrow

His mother won't accept that
Some day she hopes to have her son home.

We all pray for the same thing too.

Goodbye Justin, we all love you and haven't forgotten you one bit
This happened this past year. It seemed forever for spring to come around and to try and recover his body. Some people said they should have never went beyond the trail step-over fencing. But don't all youths feel infallible? Such a horrific death would not have been foreseeable
Robert Ronnow Sep 2015
Science can't save you, neither can religion,
at least Popper and Niebuhr, philosophers and poets,
are entertainers, which is why actors and athletes
are paid so much. Thanks for the summaries.
I was teaching Shakespeare's 92nd ridiculous sonnet
to my student who lays blacktop in the off season
Shakespeare bellyaching about dying without her love
a feeling foreign to a modern adolescent sensibility
although many teens are pretty far gone searching
for their mothers or fathers in their dazed lovers' eyes.
Which is why we call it "the wound that never heals."
Or the lesion that's always lengthening. And bleeding.

Muslim fundamentalists and their Christian counterparts
are a mystery to me. Pews and prayer rugs, the airless
indoor environment of religious worship, reading
scriptures, hypnotized by hymns and fainting from staring
at candles through stained glass windows, almost certain
the preacher is faking his certainty about the afterlife.
It's not my problem. A more immediate concern:
receding gums and tooth extractions, swollen joints,
poor lubrication and circulation, wave after wave
of viral infection, the occasional antibiotic-resistant
bacterial attack, usually urinary, and who knows
what internal organs are dividing and conquering
without mercy or cease, i.e. the wound that never heals.

It is wise not to overvalue your continued existence,
good not to be innumerate, unable to compare
a mere 80 years with say 6.0 x 109 or all of time
(to date) times the multiverse. Conversely,
it is interesting all of space and most of history is contained
in your little mind (realizing of course it's just a map
of the cosmos not the cosmos itself, or is it?). I'm
unable to wrestle free, tongue in that cavity
and locked in my memories, so separate and disparate
from the biomass in the crosswalks, even my spouse.
Alone, so alone, even your doctor can only devote
limited thought to your situational mortality through
the redress of poetry - also a wound that never heals.

Snow for eternity, that's what this February's been.
All to the good, for someone it's the final February
so enjoy it to the extent you can. By that I mean joy.
Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy. All times. Anyway.
That was Shakespeare's message: even tragedies are comedies.
May, a Buddhist, chants each morning.
Her husband, Marc, who's Jewish, plays league tennis.
Their son, Aaron, will soon make Eagle scout.
How does it relate to your wound that never heals?
Luck runs out. For D.H. Lawrence in New Mexico
or Ulysses S. Grant in Ohio or Yasujiro Ozu in
Tokyo or Satyajit Ray in Bombay or Rabindranath
Tagore in Bangalore or at the Battle of the Atlantic in the Azores.

The night is a poultice, winter or summer solstice.
My anonymity will not affect the anomie ghettoside
seeing for myself how season by season
vacations and accomplishments accumulate, late in life
and early on, sunrise over mountains or moonrise over Bronx.
Masturbator, prisoner of war. Hospice of the Holy Roman Empire.
Numerous blue notes: the 3 flat, 7 flat, 5 flat,
the 6 flat and the 2 flat too. I don't get
what Wallace Stevens means by imagination.
When groundhog shows up as a totem, there is opportunity
to explore the mystery of death without dying.
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!
Now what about that wound that never heals.

The Skeptical Observer column in Scientific American
was somewhat alarming when he accepted a paranormal
explanation for how his wife's grandfather's inoperable
transistor radio played music from its hiding spot
in his sock drawer on, and only on, their wedding day.
Now I'll have to believe my father (or mother!) is watching me
perform private ****** acts with (or without) partners
or that they could even know my thoughts. Or aliens
are attending our committee meetings and making
perfectly reasonable decisions given the available information
and the world is rotating just fine without humans.
These possibilities - angels, ghosts, aliens - are better
than holocaust and genocide. In this way,
and only in this way, does doom become endurable.
The wound that never heals in the end is all you'll feel.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Malloh Feb 16
F
i am such a failure
that if ana taught a class
i would rarely pass
i'm a slacker to her
i try to skip her class
but eventually get dragged in
and if mia was a teacher
i would be an old student
rarely attending
her class is no longer one i want
my final grade
for either of them
would not be passing
because i can't even be empty correctly
SelinaSharday Feb 2018
As quiet, sleek and sophisticated as they are.
Cats speak volumes
In meow tunes..to the nation of humans.
In the space they consume...
   Cats speaks..uniquely thank you's in cat chat hues..
Colored as  colorful as the rainbows...
loving to hide where nobody knows
Cats walk with confidences,, able to leap high over fences..
Able to hold their own.. able to freely roam..
A cat can cruise in packs..... or walk solo as a matter of fact.
They don't need man to tell them they are royal
you can see this in their stroll.
Deep down in their being.. so noble,, mankind is blessed to behold..

The animal kingdom fashioned purposefully..
Striking divinity blessing mankind usefully.
Needed generously..Well now if your
sharing space with a cat do it graciously.
Being gentle feline Angels..even when naughty enough to scold.
A cat has a unique role...Even with their pampered attitudes..
If your cats is giving you attitude and acting rude.
There's logic behind those actions and moods..
Get yourself on over to cats school and learn cats 101.
Figure out the madness causing this sadness.

Don't be a quitter.. never hit him/her...
Do no harm.. Or heavens bells will ring a alarm.
Know your attending heavenly royalty keep your blessings flowing.
Cats walk and move softly gently with grace...
Your blessed when a cats in your place.
Show them love..don't bring about disgrace.
Proverbs 12:10 A righteous man regards the life of his animal.
By HeavensRosePoet aka selinarose!
pets, animals life lessons..being kind to creatures of all kinds
Anonymous4070 May 17
I dreamt of destiny
before I learned what it meant.
And when I did, I feared
that my dreaming was spent.

There was no timeline,
there was just life.
No sense to the senseless,
the happiness, or strife.

Life was just chaos,
random moving gears.
I lived with the chaos,
the unknowns and fears.

And then your name,
on an 'attending list'.
And I believed in things,
I didn't know could exist.

And then your name card,
right beside my place.
And connections appeared,
in all that empty space.

And then all at once you,
and all at once me.
And all at once it comes back,
I rediscover destiny.
Cherry Aug 2018
As girls dream, you'd think you'd meet your perfect boy somewhere between heaven and earth or probably just at a social gathering.
He'd be the boy under the spotlight shining brighter than sun itself or the one your friends would interduce you to each-other as the perfect fit and soon a love so easy at first sight would sparkle between your souls like you're really made for each other, for a sec it'd make you think you're celebrating NYE but this time the sparkles and the butterflies in your stomach are forever cause he is real and everything you could ever want.

But maybe you aren't attending the party and you will never notice the guy under the spotlight cause you never  believed that it'd be so easy and always thought  butterflies are overrated  and sparkles way too magical and you would rather settle for temporary lust and not never ending love.
I have an old guitar named Gypsy Queen.  Normally this would not be much of a momentous occasion, lots of people name their guitars, but Gypsy is hand made by me.  Many moons ago when my ex wife was pregnant with my only child, a daughter, I took an adult education night class while I was attending college as a day job.  Our instructor had recently taken a trip to Canada to buy wood as he made his living building custom guitars and he had some of the most beautiful birds eye maple I'd ever seen and also some very good spruce for the top of the guitar.  We met at the local high-school's woodshop classroom.  I knew all the power tools there having taken wood shop twice in middle school and again in high-school.  From raw lumber I fashioned her pieces, sides, three piece back, neck, keyboard (made from some exotic ebony my instructor had), and top.  While my wife was patiently waddling about the house I shaped and sanded those pieces on our living room floor.  The interior struts, the binding, and frets for the keyboard had to be created as well.  When I finally got her glued and assembled she was quite a sight, almost perfect in every way, and the quality wood she was made from was so beautiful I had never seen the likes of her before.  Most of the people in the class didn't get that far not having the skills with the tools or the coordination necessary to succeed.  Still she needed to be lacquered and finished.  All told, special tools and accouterments, cost of the wood, glue and sandpaper, plus the frets (nickeled silver), and the grover tuning pegs she cost me about $160.  But almost 500hrs labor went into her creation, whole free weekends spent sanding and shaping.  It was a year or more before I finally got her lacquered and she was so beautiful I could scarce believe I had made her, totally from scratch.  I had even inlaid her mother of pearl keyboard art, god she was a sight.  Both she, and my daughter, are now close to 40 years old, and she still plays like a champ.  Ask any guitarist about guitars they use a lot, see how many survive that long.  She's my prized possession to this day.  Her custom bridge is shaped like a bird (something I've never seen to this day anywhere else) and I'd put her sound up against any expensive Martin made.  Plus she is so much prettier.  She's old and her finish is crackled some but her neck is still true and her action is superb.  Through the years she has brought me so much joy, I'm so glad I took that class.  I hope she survives till I die cause I want to mix her ashes with mine before they get spread around by my friends.  I'll want something to play in the afterlife.
...
http://i1178.photobucket.com/albums/x370/toreinss/IMG_0325.jpg
Gypsy Queen my friend who knew I was such a good Luthier.  Beginners Luck!!!!

http://i1178.photobucket.com/albums/x370/toreinss/IMG_0324.jpg
Terri Sep 2018
If love is a religion,
And you're the God
I'd probably be an atheist

If the things you say
Are holy gospels
I'd probably burn them to hell

You're on my mind again
Attending your company
Like mass' on sundays
But I'd rather be at home
Rather than to worship
Your hypocriteness
The things you do
Doesn't match the things you say
You've made oaths, vows, promises
But that's at least what I think
You broke every single one of them
And it's ****** up, it's ******* me up;
You split my heart
Like how moses split a river
Crossing it quietly
But when you crossed
You left an unholy mark
Making it bleed, making me hurt
I have no idea what I did to you
But next time I see you,
No more, I wont;
I wont worship you no more.
You
Pauper of Prose Aug 2018
She pulled up her shawl and left the house
Gone to get more tea
And all the people passing by
And all the noises eating at her ear
Could not grasp her attention
Attending only to herself
Brilliant and Boisterous her thoughts
A majestic melody of their own
So how could she not be secure?
In her soul’s symphony
The strings vibrated her vessel
The horns heckled her heart
The drums beat down her darkness
And wisdom conducted alongside grace
Matching one another’s pace
Astute in one another’s ache
At conducting timelessly, never being late
It was almost as if their union was fate
Almost being key for it surely did take
Tireless effort, and sacrifices to make
The two into each other’s esteemed mate
CharlesC Sep 1
When we reflect
On our life
We might resemble
A train passenger
Riding and attending to
Clocks and destinations..

The rails on our train
Reveal and restrict and
Guide beliefs in the
Severed nature of things..

As a passenger we are
Rattled by a whistle
High notes we exalt
Low notes we blanket..

Until the day
We step off the train
Into the station
With its permanence
Recognizing arrival
Finding our Home...
Twigzy Sep 2018
Your children are a precious gift so innocent and pure.
At their birth you have the hope of love, lasting evermore.

You spend your waking days attending to their needs,
Waiting for the next smile and sound of utter glee,

And when you sleep you dream of them and wait until the dawn,
Rising before break of day to greet them in the morn,

Your babies grow and soon become your little girls and boys.
You exchange all their play things for larger, bigger toys.

You’ve learned about mothering and matured along the way,
But your relationship with their daddy isn’t turning out ok.

There are ups and downs and you expect that to be true.
But underlying unhappiness begins to escape through.

Daddy doesn’t seem to be all he is meant to be,
Late nights in the lounge, is he watching the TV?

Your children keep you happy though, just look into their face,
They make you smile, they make you laugh, and they fill you with grace.

But underlying unhappiness cannot be washed away,
It’s growing like a tumour, just waiting for its day.

You are not sure what it is, but this one thing you know,
No matter what happens now, you enjoy watching your children grow.

The pre-teen years are nearly over and the high school years draw near.
Then one child beckons you and whispers in your ear.

“Daddy’s been molesting me it started when I was four
All those times you were asleep, he came through my bedroom door
He put his hands all over me I couldn’t make him stop
I wanted to die many times, to fall down and drop!

He hurt me with his ***** mummy, I am so ashamed
I was too scared to tell before because I was to blame
Once, you were in the room mummy, I could see you sleeping
He molested me then and there mummy, I could hear your breathing

My heart screamed out to you mummy, but I did not exist,
My soul began to suffocate and death seemed freedoms bliss.”

The words your child is speaking echo through an empty void,
And darkness falls around you, encumbering you like a shroud.

Someone just stuck a knife into the heart of what was sacred.
Your precious children have been filled with someone else’s hatred.

You need some help, you need to grieve but who can be trusted.
The fear the shame the hurt the blame your heart is torn and busted.

You collect your shattered children and hold them very tight,
You hold them ever so-close, you hold them with all your might.

Flashes of the years gone by ignite before your eyes,
And you see so clearly, all the torment in his lies.

Time has passed you by and your children have grown
But it feels only yesterday you were crushed against the stones
This was how the my first marrage ended.
Our family has survived. My children have become brave adults, they are my heroes
Gods1son Jan 13
The same letters that spell please
Also spell elapse
There is but a limited time
That we have on earth

Don't let your time elapse
While trying to please others
Spend yours answering your own calls
And not attending to diverted calls
From Yidhna Yue Xing ****:
Date written: October 2, 2019

Are you ever paranoid that you are not as original as you are expected to be?

Are you ever afraid you've unconsciously been a thief of words?
Well, don't.

As per Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"

As a creative, it was perhaps the most important message shown to me. 
And just a few years later it seems to have been dangerously forgotten.

I used to be fearless, taking my inspiration from anything, anything, and felt so free and inspired.

And now I've observed an obsession, not just within me, but within more and more people, that's been killing creativity.
We are becoming afraid of words, afraid of being a collective, and would rather be silent and isolated.

And

Are you tormented by the desperate need to be a good person, a pure soul?

Tortured by an unchangeable past, afraid that it will never be forgotten and be replaced by an acknowledgement of growth.

Well, 
Never chase the poisonous perfection
That always takes more than it gives
Never rid of all the shadows of sin
And be found by the wrath of guilt

And

Don't renounce your past 
But accept it with pride, 
Lest you be judged for what you have done, 
And never
What you could, would, and will do!


Alas,
We are becoming cultural germaphobes
Eliminating every potentially negative thing

We are becoming sheltered perfect roses 
Under glass domes too overprotecting

Monocultures and biodiversity
If we don't build our immunity
How are we to survive 
How are we to fight the blight 
of
Time

Don't ever ever be afraid to caress another's soul, fearing you'll take part of them with you. 

It's how you grow,
into giants the height of stars.



And as an afterthought, an excerpt from a letter to a poet friend, Lawrence Hall:

I read some Gogol among others for that one class I was attending, I was so pleasantly surprised to find some of my deepest sentiments and psychological experiences, that I think I may have expressed it myself in fewer words, so exact, and perfectly presented on pages I have never read before.

Like one of the other classmates said, these experiences are far more universal than we give them credit to be.

The greatest works of art are supposed to be so universal and familiar to the human condition that would sometimes seem like, to different people, they have written it, composed it, painted it, etc.

Now, this greatest character of art is being condemned.
We are not all thieves, we are just not that different. We are all one soul dreaming the same human dream.





Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
"Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters"
Rusty Cage:
"The Truth about my Stolen Music"
Some parts of this letter are from my poems: "My Love" "The Echo" and "The Blight of Time"

Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters
Rusty Cage:
The Truth about my Stolen Music
Patrick Austin Oct 2018
My backpack ready for anything, I left for a voyage across the pond. As fellow passengers climb aboard I met a 27 year old traveling musician named Russ carrying his cajòn. He told me of his travels from Massachusetts and pending divorce. We related on this and exchanged CD's. Behind us sitting on the Ferry were two young girls working on a puzzle. Russ imposed himself and tried to impress them with his musical endeavors. These girls were in America from Germany attending college. One was 17 and the other was 18 but I am sure they knew better than to play into his hand. After talk of language and culture we disembarked. Russ invited me to his show that night but I had plans to meet a girl at a board game pub. I walked to the bus stop while smoking my pipe and caught the number 40 from downtown to a trendy neighborhood up north.

After I stepped off I found myself amongst the overgrown players of games and drinkers of fine beer. Brittany arrived and we chatted over IPA's. I explained my recent challenges to get the topic of divorce out of the way before we left for Mexican food. She was very open in saying I should play the field and not have a serious relationship. I agreed with her take but could not read her as well as I had hoped. She said I need to get the rebounding out of the way and explained that she too is struggling with commitment. Being 34 with no marriage or children under her belt she feels that therapy is essential to figuring this out.

We walked to our happy hour destination and shared Nacho's while drinking "Colorado Kool-Aid". Both of us having spent a lot of time in Denver we could relate on much but I felt there was an elephant in the room. Afterwards we walked to a nearby record store and browsed while talking about music and interests. She needed to leave soon having obligations to housesit and watch pets. Dog walking is her profession since her departure from the world of corporate accounting. We walked to her unkempt sedan and she gave me a ride back downtown. We talked of hanging out again but our schedule may not permit for some time. I wonder if she will entertain my company without reservation, only time will tell.

I decided to phone my old friend from Denver who lives near and devise another plan for the evening. The sun was still shining and I had no reason to return home yet. I walked to a nearby brew pub while waiting for him to meet me. I sat at the bar with another traveler named Dave. He is an airline pilot close to retirement from the state of Texas. We talked about my time in the Navy and my pending legal woes. He's been proudly married for 30 years and counts his blessings that he is still in harmony with his wife. My friend decided to meet me at a concert in close proximity to my date with Brittany. Once again I would take the number 40 uptown. Dave bought my IPA and gave me words of encouragement and complimented my persona. It meant a lot and I thanked him as I said goodbye.

While waiting for the bus I asked for information from a woman in her early 50's. She works for a tech company nearby but was happy to help as I had a more pleasant vibe than most of her young, urban, unprofessional colleagues. While unsure of my way she directed my move to get off at the next stop. I walked up the hill another seven blocks to the show. While smoking my pipe along the way another bus rider was two steps ahead named Nate. He was curious about my pipe tobacco and we gave brief anecdotes about ourselves. He offered to buy me a quick beer before my concert. I took him up on this offer as we walked into a nearby market. He purchased several large cans of domestics and afterwards we headed back down the dark boulevard towards the Abbey drinking our brew. As I arrived at the former church venue we parted ways peacefully.

I ventured into the bustling scene concealing my open container while finding my friend. I sat just as the opening act started. We enjoyed three musical performances but the star of the show was the beautiful woman from Denver that we both enjoyed during our time there. Feeling that we should explore the venue where Russ was performing we made our way there. I was sad to discover the brewery was shutting down before 10pm and the band was long gone. We decided to walk to the nearby singles bar playing music so loudly it could be heard from a block away. This strange place was crawling with many folks of the beautiful sort but nothing seemed to be attractive about it. We had a glass of wine and a shot of bourbon. I spoke to the fellow DJ for a moment but there was no dancefloor to be found. We decided to venture on.

We walked up and down the avenue and discovered another Mexican food restaurant, beaming with the young and the foolish. Our community seating was met with overly affectionate couples to our left and valley girls to our right. Our Tequila mules hit the spot with our Nacho's and late night platter. The girls spoke of Denver people which I thought strange. Why so much co(lorado)-incidence in one evening? I injected myself into the discussion and was met with friendly conversation. Unable to finish my Nacho's I knew I had fulfilled my share of fun for the night. This was the fourth time I had eaten nachos this week. We proceeded back to the urban adventure wagon and made our way to the slums of the tech-boom. My 2am slumber was met with an air mattress of great quality and woolen blankets.

I awoke at 7am to the clouded sunlight peering through the sliding glass door. I laid awake with my stomach turning from the many Nachos not yet digested. My housemates called me about needing to move my car for restriping the parking lot. Fortunately I left my keys so they were able to do this for me. I smoked my pipe on the patio while my friend "hit the gym". When he returned we decided to walk through the arboretum by the university and enjoy the sunny autumn day. Afterwards he dropped me off by the ferry where I waited an hour drinking beer at the commuter dive.

During my ferry ride home I walked up and down the passenger compartment looking for a fellow rider to play cribbage. I had no such luck and headed for the observation deck. While the city vanished behind us I struck up a conversation with a young lady from Manchester who had just returned to living in the US. We talked about the nature of selfies and the conflict of living in the moment. As we spoke a man approached me who had overheard my request for a card game. We walked back inside and sat next to an abandoned puzzle with pieces scattered about the deck. Mark introduced himself and we shook hands. It was not until he shuffled and dealt the cards that I realized this 45 year old Asian man only had one arm. His ability to shuffle and deal was impressive. His skill with cribbage was more than rusty, after one game I had a victory so great I felt guilty. He too is going through divorce and seeking a new job. It was a great way to pass the time with a fellow passenger.

As I readied myself for the porting I noticed a familiar face, a young sailor I served with in Mississippi. Our time spent together was met with sorrow as we faced similar career challenges. I had not seen him for several months but he almost did not recognize me. I had lost 50 pounds, left the Navy and become single all in a matter of a few months. I assured him I was on the dawn of newfound joy and wished him luck on his upcoming deployment. I patted him on the head as he seems like such a lovable scamp to me at this point. I exited the terminal to saunter back home. I smoked my pipe while crossing the bridge enjoying the last hour of sunlight.

I settled my belongings at home while serving myself a can of chili and a cold IPA on draft from my housemates tap. I joined him for the end of a baseball game in the den and shared a few moments with my community. I slept for a couple hours and then made my way to work. So much can happen in a day.
Not poetry, but what is life, if not poetry in motion?
How will we progress today?

Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?

Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?

Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?

Will we defy authority with a righteous tone,
Or leave our tail tucked, like a dog with his bone?

Will we gauge goods today for our Vegan menu,
Or show a distention as millions today do?

Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose our pickings from picked-over trash?

Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend a visitation in a tortured MADD rage?

Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching the hourglass?

Did we place our script at the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across water to Jordan's fair shore?

Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off our bar stool?

Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?

Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station in life gives you right?

Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?

Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?

Our words can't bind all our wounds,
Few are born with silver spoons,
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing group flight,
And it can't come too soon.
And I never even mentioned diseases.
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