Poem 3
How to raise kids

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

I got into to teaching to make a difference,
To add some joy to a kids existence,
I knew, so well, the hurt and pain
That kids in secondary school sustain
The tears and the fears and the dread and the...
"Ahahahaha! Look at his Nicks!! He thinks he's got Nikes but he's wearing Nicks!"
And how it switches you off and makes you not care,
Because you just don't want to go back there.
So, you wander into town to HMV
Til your parents feel let down when you only got an E
Until you failed Art and Graphics and Literacy
But at least you got an A in history...
Because academic subjects are "more important"

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

So I left 6th form and I needed change
And wanted to go to somewhere strange
(And new)
Somewhere away from all the drama
At 19 I went by myself to Ghana
"God bless our homeland Ghana
And make our nation great and strong,
Vow to defend forever
The cause of Freedom and of Right"
And I taught
Maths and English
With no books
And no training
And no observing
And I was ******* at it... Really bad
But somehow, i felt the change
Just because I cared and they cared

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

A few years later I started teachin.
GTP, hands on, straight in.
My teaching mentor was called Mr Hickey,
He smoked a pipe and drank down whiskey
(In school)
My first proper job was Bradford inner city
It was a bit rough and the buildin was ******
There we had a guy who was a lazy old ****
And he had kids tracing instead of learning Art
When I first got there I was overwrought
These weren't like the training lessons that I taught
These kids had opinions. They needed to engage...
To be taught in a way that suited kids of their age
I nearly gave up, because I felt so scared
But at the end of the day, I knew that I still cared

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

In my 3rd year I had this year 11 class
They wanted a good lesson and they wanted to pass
But they needed convincing and I nearly cried
So I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried
To listen
And react
To change
And Adapt
And those kids made me better
And for 3 years I got better
Our grades were sky high
The kids wanted to try
They wanted learn, they wanted to know "why"
But I got to the top and I needed to fly
Because I needed somewhere that I could ask the "why"

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

You have those moments sometimes in life, where you know that a decision is important, but you don't know why and you don't know which way is the right way to go with it. This was that point for me. Sat in the interview, saying I wanted to pull out but letting them convince me to stay. That was the point, I think where everything changed.

2010. New job. New government.

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

I was head of Art and I got noticed
Within a year I got promoted
Faculty leader of creative skills
This is the part where it really kills
What do you do when you just aren't wanted
When people are angry that you're there
When all of your decisions seem to be haunted
By the ghost of a culture where they just don't care
Where nastiness and gossip always bite
Resting in the coffin of a lost tradition
Kids so bored they're turning white
Beaten down to bored submission
And everyone seems to have given up the fight
But they're still convinced that their way's "right"

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

After so much pain, we were getting through it
We realised there was much more to it
No more easy working out of booklets
(The teaching equivalent of rhyming couplets)
But every time you made a shift
The goal posts seemed to start to drift
And this all caused a further rift
The final one I couldn't lift

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

Gossip and lies caused by others stress
Creates a catastrophic mess
Turns people's lives upside down
Gives off the sense that they're a clown
They're trying. They're just really down
Simply trying not to drown
Marriage ending
Friends unfriending
Children's lives are slowly bending
House and finance are up-ending
Mediation sessions need attending
Everything seems to need mending
And the pain seems to be never-ending

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

Professional life vs Personal life
Professional strife = Personal strife
Personal wife goes through professional strife
Personal strife =

"I understand what you're going through, but we need to think about the learners."

Stress in teaching is the expectation
Work life balance has no correlation
The pressures of a confused nation
Makes teachers into the poor relation

Goodbye btec, goodbye vocation
Hello Gove and his minds creation
Goodbye Gove and hello Morgan
Hiding behind a gritty slogan
Creating the pressure of pointless change
For teachers to correct and rearrange

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

But here's the thing. It's not their fault.
Sure, they've no idea MPs
They've less common sense than a piece of cheese
But all MPs really do is set
Some criteria that need to be met
A league table
Academies
Appraisal
Curriculums
It's nothing new. They've always done it
But it's given to schools to interpret
We don't lose money, we just get judged
We need conviction that can't be budged
We need to get a message out
To every parent, round about
And what this message needs to say
Is "we aren't doing extra maths today,
We're going to go outside and play
Because whatever MPs say
We'll do what's right for the kids
And here's why it's right you know
Cause we want to see your children grow
We're not just for levels, grades, progress
We're also here to relieve stress
We're also here to make your child feel
That happiness is something real
That in spite of all the crap you see
You can become head of art when you failed gcse."
Learn People skills
Determination
Creativity
Imagination
Honesty
Integrity
Sen­sitivity
And empathy
It's not an easy sell I know
You can't measure how people grow
You can't report or give a grade
But they're qualities that are heaven made
And maybe think the same for teachers
We're all very caring creatures
We care about how kids are raised
We don't need to be constantly appraised
Default 100%?!?
Like energy is heaven sent
Like when your kids are down with flu
You just man up, there's work to do
When you've got a quality person who just needs backing
Why give pressure and then threaten with sacking?

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

School - this week mark all your books
I need them up to date so I can look

Teacher - I've got to take my daughter swimming
I've got to see my son try winning

School - read through your teaching standards mate
And leave your children at the gate

End of the week the books are done
But head and deputies are overrun
"We'll have to put these books aside
To push our children down the slide"

And good for them. They work really hard. It's not a job to take lightly and they deserve to be there. But they don't have the time to step back and think "big picture"

Let's flip it round and just imagine

Teacher - I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm ill
School - you can't be ill the learners will fail
Teacher - I need some patience, I need some time
School - the kids need work which is sublime
Don't they deserve that? Don't you think?
Do you really want your learners to sink?

And there it is. The teacher guilt.
Because that's the way that we've been built
We care too much
We try too much
We give too much
We work too much
And we lose too much
We get ideas above our station
About how this job is a vocation
When we stop and look around
The evidence just can't be found
Someone tells me what to teach
Someone tells me how to teach it
Someone tells me how to plan
Someone tells me when to plan it
Someone tells me how to mark
Someone tells me when to mark it
We work to targets, get appraised
Residuals to get profiles raised
It's industry. I rest my case.

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

Or, put it another way.

I just think that teaching has lost all its common sense. And it's kindness. It behaves like an industry which is about getting results and meeting targets. There's nothing that measures people's happiness or how deeply moved or affected someone is by what they've learned. It just checks that they learned it. And we are given this guilt trip. That it's about children and that we are affecting their lives if we don't meet targets. We give up more and more because "teaching is a vocation"  "it's about kids", and yet schools use cover supervisors, cut subjects, limit choices etc to save money and get results. So the profession behaves like an industry but the teachers have to give their lives to it like its a vocation. It's not a vocation. At all. It's a job.

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

Hold the universe inside my palms
I alone understand it is but a solitary dream
Between stars I make out memories
Connecting dots, forming images ingrained in my mind

I look in the unfilled depths of sky where suns have yet to burn out, remaining eternally preserved in an explosion of beauty lightyears away wondering about humans peering at their ambience through time and space

This isolated reflection I witness change in compliance with the predetermined path set in motion by the astrological forces of nature
Unstable
My hands must be trembling
Scared of sorrow and frustration they undeniably confront

The fear of the uncertain, the inconsistency of the unapologetic future awaiting
Solemn visions of an imperfect outcome, enough torment to push strength a bit too far over the edge

Fragile balance of peace and chaos resting within cupped desperate hands
Ignorant, the quickness of extinction among synapses in the cavern lighting the entirety of my skull
Pinned under familiar self-induced delusions
Galaxies silently begging for permanent freedom
Such fate to let their wishes dangle ignored
Urges within bursting, released
That moment I also give in
Forcefully close my fingers into a fist
Instantly crushing wild constellations scattered around my consciousness
A great deal more fragile than realized

Once unshakable destiny budged a millimeter by one lone act of rebellion
Against a powerful pull the majority pretend is rigid
Elusive control by way of self-combustion of life's temporary illusions
Proof one touch can fell worlds of fantasy

Founded on fiction

Or maybe

Reality

Never have I been the best at hiding how I feel.  There is no peaceful game.  My face reveals the truth.  Never to be doubted.  Nothing left to wonder.  Still, I reign it in.  I stifle my reality in an attempt to keep you close.  So tender-hearted beneath that thickening shell.  The shell I penetrated somehow.  Once you found me in your heart, you pushed with all your might.  Trying to get me out.  I cannot be budged. Yet, I am not free to love you.  You refuse to let me be yours in theory or practice.  You love me, but not by choice.  Fear of the possibility of pain keeps you at bay.  Yet saving yourself from pain has deemed my own inconsequential.  For running from me pulls out my heart.  

Pushing me away
What's best, or just what's easy
Burns holes in my soul

Not one to take the easy way out.  Suffering to love you.  There is no expectation of love requited.  There is nothing but a dream, part memory part wishful thinking.  Hot needles still poke at me, slowly breaking me down.  Weakening my very being with the sharp jabs of stinging words or careless action, or worse...absolute inaction.  I have learned to stop expecting the "Morning Sunshine" or "'Night Darlin'" that used to brighten each day.  Those thoughtless things, the tiny nothing things that let me know I was on your mind.  So far from nothing those nothings were.  Days and nights seem incomplete in their absence.  Weaning to make your days bearable makes mine unendurable, empty, and melancholy has come to underlie all things.  

Joy of love melts ice
Heat smothered by a tear cloud
Threadbare soul survives

Challenges faced sideways leave blind spots. Choices made by indecision.  Letting mistakes be made, watching as they choose wrong. I see the truth and know what I know.  Everything is aligned for my own misfortune.  For as a bystander, I lay no claims.  Anything I do will hasten the inevitable.  So I let the weaning drip down to nothing.  Reluctantly I watch as you disappear with my heart in hand.  I stood firm as you ran away in place.  You turned to me, you needed me, you loved me.  As the clouds dissipate and the sun creeps over the horizon, With the blue sky I turn to mist. Slowly fading to the past.  A ghost of could've been, used to be, and never was

**Surrender takes time
                        Reluctantly relinquished
                                               I will fight no more

The sleet had piled high up on the side of the road, spraying the brownish gray over the pedestrians. Sharlesburg was far out on the Pennsylvania country side, and the town was choked by trucks hauling by and the smells of dairy farms. No one really stayed there long, aside from the clerks in the little stores, maybe a few waitresses, and none of them wanted to stay around. No, the waitresses all wanted to move to the city and get their big time jobs, and the clerks wanted to move down somewhere warmer to retire. Maybe to the lake, but that was too rough in the winters. Well, the Summers were gorgeous, and so maybe that would work. The only ones who wanted to hang around were the farmers.

     Life was slow, and the farmers knew the land. Time there plodded away slower than the cows grazing on the moors. As one year grew into two and two into six, not much ever really changed for them. The land would go from muddy and torn to green and sparkling, gold and cracked, and again to the mud, smeared with the white from the snow. And all the while, the animals paced, and so did the farmers, wandering deeper and deeper into the rut.

     Tyler sat by the window, watching the cattle huddle together out in the mud, her tea and her breath fogging the window. Her father was out at town for the weekend, though she never really asked why. Monday he would probably stagger home reeking of a medicine cabinet. Another cow might die this winter, she was sure, because she had never learned how to deal with a cow in labor, and the vet didn't like to come by any more. That Tyler wasn't sure of why, but her father was almost certainly the blame for that.

Her mother wasn't around anymore; she left with a furniture salesman to live on the lake.

The television glowered in the corner, the same four channels playing the same four things. Tyler switched them off, but wanted the noise, and turned on the radio.

"REPENT SINNERS REPENT SINNERS! FOR THE FIERY HELL AWAITS YOU! I MEAN YOU, YOU WITH YOUR ****** MUSIC AND YOU JEAN SHORTS! HAVE YOU SEEN THE TV? THOSE GIRLS, WITH THEIR EXPOSED CHESTS AND GOING TO WORK-,"

Tyler switched it off again.

Something had fluttered outside. What really caught her eye was that it wasn't white, like the sky, it wasn't the snow, it wasn't the mud or a black back of a cow. It was something red and shiny.

The snow was falling pretty hard though. She couldn't be sure.

In the quiet, Tyler could discern the mooing yelps of one of the cows. She pulled on her yellow winter coat and scrambled outside. The air was cold and sharp against her nose, ripping away the smells of manure and filth. Even the tobacco from the ashtray was blank; the landscape was nothing but sound and snow and the ******* cold.

      The cows stood in a brace, black bodies radiating heat in the January snow. Tyler shoved them aside, though they hardly budged. Saliva dripped onto her shoulders and onto the ground, little pits in the mud. One cow groaned again, and as she got closer, she saw it was laying on its side in the middle of the brace. A pregnant cow, heaving under the pain of labor.

    She guffawed, trying again to shove the onlookers aside, but it seemed as though they merely packed closer together, and she could hardly get an arm through. As Tyler watched, the cow shrieked in pain.  Cows clamored tighter in the bunch and their eyes swallowed the sight as dully as cud.
"Please, move! get out of the way!"
     Of course, the beasts, they paid no mind. The heifer shrieked again as blood began to spout heavily fourth. The Cows did not even step back. They did not budge as Tyler beat on their rumps, not a flinch. The cries of pain grew weaker and weaker and the legs went from their horrible flailing to the slow movements of a dying moth.
When the scene ended, the cows were no longer amused, and passed on. The heifer was dead. Tyler scrambled forward in hopes of saving maybe the calf.
It was only a ****** rag , hanging sadly from the mother's bowels. no life had touched the wretched thing.
Tyler sighed.
And went back inside.

My Heart Was Saying One Thing, My Mind Another ...

Some things you just know — like the feeling I get when looking at my children or the way I felt the first time I looked into the Grand Canyon. Some experiences are too strong for reason or words. There are some things, that even though they defy all conventional wisdom in your heart and your mind — you just know.

Never dying on a motorcycle is one of those things. I can’t explain it rationally, it’s just something that I’ve always known. It’s a feeling that has been deep inside of me since I first threw my right leg over the seat of that old powder blue moped. I knew I was never going to die as the result of a motorcycle crash. In many ways, I feel safest when I’m back on two-wheels and headed for points previously unknown.

Lately Though, I’ve Been Made To Feel Differently

I now had my daughter on the back of the bike with me. I’ve started to wonder whether my premonition covers just me, or does it also protect all who ride as co-pilot and passenger? Would the same Gods of 2-wheeled travel, who have watched over me for so long, also extend their protection to those I love and now share my adventures with?

Our flight from Philadelphia had arrived in Idaho Falls five days ago. We hurried to the dealership, picked up our beloved Yamaha Venture Royale, and then began our quest of another ten-day odyssey through the Rocky Mountain West. This was Melissa’s third tour with her dad, and we both shared the intense excitement of not knowing what the next week would hold. We had no specific destination or itinerary. This week would be more important than that. Just by casting our fate into the winds that blew across the eastern slopes of the great Rocky Mountains, we knew that all destinations would then be secure.

Then We Almost Hit Our First Deer

Three days ago, just South of Dupoyer Montana, two doe’s and a fawn appeared out of nowhere on the road directly in front of us. Melissa never saw them as I grabbed ******* the front brake. The front brake provides 80-90% of all stopping power on a motorcycle but also causes the greatest loss of control if you freeze up the front wheel. As the front wheel locked, the bike’s back tire swerved right and we moved violently into the left oncoming lane just narrowly missing the three deer.

They Never Moved

The old axiom that goes … Head right for the deer, because they won’t be there when you get there, wouldn’t have worked today. They just watched us go by as if it happened to them every day. Judging by the number of dead deer we had seen along highway #89 coming South, it probably did.

Strike One!

We pulled into Great Falls for the night and over dinner relived again how close we had actually come — so close to it all being over. Collisions with deer are tragic enough in a car or SUV, but on a motorcycle usually only one of the unfortunate participants gets up and walks away — and that’s almost always the deer. The rider is normally a statistic. We thanked the Gods of the highway for protecting us this day, and after a short walk around town we went back to the motel for a good (and thankful) night’s sleep.

The next morning was another one of those idyllic Rocky Mountain days. The skies were clear, there was no humidity, and the temperature was in the low 60’s with a horizon that stretched beyond forever. If we were ever to forget the reason why we do these trips just the memory of this morning would be enough to drive that amnesia away forever. We had breakfast at the 5th Street Diner, put our fleece vests on under our riding jackets, and headed South again.

We had a short ride to Bozeman today, and my daughter was especially excited. It was one of her all-time favorite western towns. It was western for sure, but also a college town. Being the home of Montana State University, and she being a college student herself, she felt particularly at home there. I loved it too.

We stopped mid-morning for coffee and took off our fleece vests. As I opened the travel trunk in the rear to put the vests away, I noticed that two screws had fallen out of the trunk lid. These were the screws that secured the top lid to the bottom or base of the trunk. I had to fix this pretty quickly, or we were liable to have the top blow off from the strong winds as we made our way down the road. We spent most of that afternoon at Ackley Lake, in the Lewis and Clark National Forest, before continuing South on Rt #89 towards Bozeman. I was still worried about the lid falling off and was using a big piece of duct tape as a temporary fix.

It was about 5:45 p.m. when we entered the small Montana town of White Sulphur Springs. They had a NAPA automotive store and by luck it was still open until six. I rushed inside and found the exact size screws that I needed. Melissa then watched me do my best ‘shade tree mechanic’ impersonation. I replaced the two missing screws while the bike was sitting in the parking lot to the left of the store. We then had fruit drinks, split a tuna salad sandwich from the café across the street, and were again on our way.

The sun was just starting to descend behind the mountains to our west, and we both agreed that this was truly the most beautiful time of day to ride. We were barely a mile out of town when I heard my daughter scream …

DAAAAAD !!!

At that moment, I felt the back of the bike move as if someone had their hand on just the rear tire and was shaking it back and forth. Then I saw it. An elk had just come out of the creek bed below, and to our right, and had misjudged how long it would take us to pass by. It darted across the highway a half second too soon brushing the back of the bike with its right shoulder and almost causing us to fall.

This time my daughter saw it coming before I did, and I’ll never forget the sound of her voice coming across the bike’s intercom at a decibel level I had never heard from her before. She is normally very calm and reserved.

We had actually made contact with the elk and stayed upright. If it had happened in front of the bike, we wouldn’t have had a chance. Thank God, with over forty years of experience and some luck, I didn’t lock up the front brake this time. That would have caused us to lose control of the front tire and as we had already lost control of the one in the back, it would have almost guaranteed a crash to our left.

Strike Two!

We rode slowly the rest of the way to Bozeman. We convinced each other that two near misses in less than a week would be enough for five more years of riding based on the odds. At the Best Western Motel in Bozeman, we unloaded the bike and went to my daughter’s favorite restaurant for Hummus. As the waitress took our order and then left, Melissa stared at me across the table with a very serious look in her eyes. “Dad, I don’t think we should ride anymore after about four o’clock in the afternoon. The animals all seem to drink twice a day, (the roads following the rivers and streams), and it’s early in the morning and later in the evening when we’re most at risk.” I said I agreed, and we made a pact to not leave before 9:30 in the morning and to be off the road by 4:00 in the afternoon.

This meant we wouldn’t be riding during our favorite part of the day which was dusk, but safety came first, and we would try as hard as we could to live within our new schedule. Our next stop tomorrow would be Gardiner Montana which was the small river town right at the North entrance (Mammoth Hot Springs) to Yellowstone National Park. There were colder temperatures, and possibly snow, in the forecast, so we put our fleece vests back on before leaving Bozeman. At 9:30 a.m. we were again headed South on Rt. #89 through Paradise Valley.

After a few stops to hike and sightsee, we arrived in Gardiner at 4:10, only a few minutes beyond our new maxim. It had already started to snow. It was early June, and as all regular visitors to Yellowstone know, it can snow in the park any of the 365 days of the year. We hoped it wouldn’t last. There was not much to do in Gardiner and as beautiful as it was here, we wanted to try and get to West Yellowstone if we were going to be stuck in the snow. We had dinner at the K-Bar Café and were in bed at the motel by the bridge before nine. All through the night, the snow continued to fall intermittently as the temperature dropped.

When we awoke the next morning, the snow had stopped but not before depositing a good two to three inches on the ground. The town plow had cleared the road, and the weather forecast for southern Montana said temperatures would reach into the high 40’s by mid-afternoon. The Venture was totally covered in snow and seemed to be protesting what I was about to ask it to do. I cleaned the snow off the bike and rode slowly across the street and filled it up with gas. I then came back to the motel, loaded our bags, and Melissa got on the bike behind me.

“Are we gonna be alright in the snow, Dad?” she asked. As I told her we’d be fine if it didn’t get any worse than it was right now, I had the ******* crossed on my left hand that was controlling the clutch.

We swung around the long loop through Gardiner, went through the Great Arch that Teddy Roosevelt built honoring our first National Park, and entered Yellowstone. As we approached the guard shack to buy our pass, the female park ranger said, “You’re going where? There’s four inches of snow at the top. We plowed it an hour ago, but you never know how it’s going to be until you get over it.”

‘OVER IT,’ is where we were headed, and then down toward the Madison River where we would turn right and continue on to West Yellowstone. Even though the Park is almost 100% within the state of Wyoming, two of its entrances (North and West) sit right inside the border of the great state of Montana.

“If you keep it slow and watch your brakes, you’ll probably be fine.” “Two Harley riders came through an hour ago, and I haven’t heard anything bad about them. They were headed straight to Fishing Bridge and then to the Lodge at Old Faithful.” “Well, If the Harleys can make it we certainly can” I told my daughter, as we paid the $20.00 fee and headed up the sloping, and partially snow-covered, mountain.

We made it over the top which was less than a ten-mile ride headed South through the park. This part of the trip didn’t require braking and would be easier than the descent on the backside of the mountain. As we started our way down, I noticed the road was starting to clear. Within ten minutes, the asphalt on this side of the mountain was totally dry and our confidence rose with each bend of the road. It was just then that my daughter said, “Dad, I need to stop, can you find me a restroom?” A restroom in Yellowstone, not the easiest thing to find. If I did find one, at best it would be a government issue outhouse, but I told her I’d try. “Please hurry, Dad,” Melissa said.

In another mile, there was a covered ‘lookout’ with three port-a-potties off to the right. I pulled over quickly, and my daughter headed to the closest one on the left. I then walked over to the observation stand and looked out to the East towards Cody. As most Yellowstone vistas, the beauty was beyond description, but something wasn’t quite right, and …

Something Felt Strange

I looked off in the distance at Mt. Washburn. The grand old mountain stood majestic at almost 10,000 feet, and with its snow-capped peak, it looked just like the picture postcards of itself that they sold in the lodge. I still felt strange.

Then I Understood Why

As I looked off to my right to walk back to the bike, I saw it.

Standing to the left of my motorcycle, and less than thirty yards in front of me, was the biggest silver and black coyote I had even seen. Many Park visitors mistake these larger coyotes for wolves, and this guy was looking straight at me with his head down. As I walked slowly back to the bike, he never took his eyes off me with only his head moving to follow my travel. I got to the bike and wondered if I should shout to my daughter. I knew if I did, it would probably scare the Coyote away, and this was shaping up to be another of those seminal Yellowstone moments. I wanted to see what would happen next.

I slowly opened the trunk lid on the back of the bike. We always carried two things in addition to water — and that was fig-newtons and beef jerky. The reasoning was, that no matter what happened, with those three staples we could make it through almost anything. I took a big piece of beef jerky out of the pouch and showed it to the hungry Coyote. His head immediately rose up and he pointed his nose in the air while taking in the aroma of something that he had probably never smelled before.

I don’t normally feed any of the animals in Yellowstone, but this encounter seemed different. This animal was trying to make contact and on instinct alone I reacted. As I walked slowly to the front of the bike, I ripped off a small piece of the beef jerky and threw it to the coyote. He immediately jumped backwards (coyotes are prone to jumping) while keeping his head and eyes focused on me. He then took two steps forward, sniffed the processed beef, picked it up in his jaws, and in one swallow it was gone. He now looked at me again.

This Time I Was Two-Steps Closer

He was now less than fifteen feet away with his head once again down. He was showing no signs of aggressive behavior, and as I still had my helmet and riding suit on, I felt like I was in no danger. I didn’t think a fifty-pound coyote could bite through Kevlar and fiberglass, and I was starting to feel a strange connection with this animal that was getting a little closer all the time. I threw him another piece.

Was It About The Beef Jerky, Or Was It Something More?

Again, he took two steps forward to retrieve the snack and then raised his eyes up to look at me. At this close range I started questioning myself. What if it is a Wolf I asked, and then once again I looked at his tail. Nope, it’s a Coyote, I convinced myself, as I held my ground and continued to extend my hand out in the direction of my new friend. This time he didn’t move. It was now my turn. I was down on both knees in the leftover snow from last night and started to inch my way forward by sliding one knee in his direction and then the other. He took a small step back.

I then started to talk to him in a low and hushed tone. He moved one step closer. The beef jerky at the end of my hand was now less than five feet from his mouth. We stayed in this position for the longest time until I heard a loud “DAD!!!” coming from the direction of the port-a-potties. My daughter was finished and saw me kneeling down in front of the ‘Wolf.’

When she screamed, the Coyote bounded (jumped) again and ran off in the opposite direction (East) from where I was kneeling. He ran about fifty yards and then turned around to take one more look at me. He then slowly entered the tree line that bordered the left side of the road up ahead.

“Dad, what were you doing?” my daughter asked. “Do you think you’re Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves?” I laughed and said no, “just trying to communicate with a new friend.” My daughter continued to shake her head in my direction as she put on her helmet. I started the bike, put it in gear, and we headed again South down the park mountain road.

We had gone less than a quarter of a mile when something darted right out in front of the bike. It was that same Coyote that I had tried to feed just minutes before. He was about twenty yards in front of me and thank God I didn’t have to do any fancy maneuvering to miss him. I didn’t even have to use the brakes.

Still, this was now three encounters in less than a week. Or was it three? I convinced myself that running over a Coyote wouldn’t have been fatal. Painful maybe, but we would have survived it.

Strike Two And A Half!

We couldn’t help but laugh as we wondered if the Coyote had done it on purpose. Was he trying to scare us for not leaving the rest of the beef jerky or just saying goodbye? We’d never know for sure, but I wanted to believe that the latter was true. I will always wonder about how close he may have come.

As we got to the bottom of the long mountain descent, the sign announcing the Madison River and the road to West Yellowstone came up on the right. We made the turn and then spent what seemed like forever marveling at the beauty of the Madison River. It looked like an easy ride into West Yellowstone until it started to snow again. We crested a large hill with only ten miles left to go. At the bottom of the hill was what looked like a lake covering the entire road. The bottom of the road where the hill ended was lower than the surrounding ground and was acting like a reservoir for the melting snow from the hills that surrounded it.

This Low Spot Was Right In The Middle Of The Road

We approached slowly and stopped to survey the approaching water. We needed to decide the right thing to do next. The yellow line that divided the road was barely visible through the water, and we both guessed that it couldn’t be more than twelve to fourteen inches deep. I decided guessing wasn’t good enough and put the kickstand down on the bike. Melissa held the clutch in to allow the motor to keep idling. I then walked into the water in my waterproof riding boots. The boots were over sixteen inches high. “Yep, no more than six or eight inches,” I yelled back to Melissa. “It just looks deeper. If we go slow, we’ll be fine to go through.”

I walked back, got on the bike, and retracted the kickstand and then put it in first gear. Just as I started to approach the pool, I noticed a huge shadow to my right. Two large Moose were standing just off the apron on the right side of the road. It looked like they either wanted to cross the flooded asphalt, or drink, as they stood less than twenty-five feet away from where we now were. Every time I moved closer to the water, they did the same thing. Three times we did this, and a Broadway choreographer couldn’t have scripted it better. The two Moose moved in concert with our timing getting closer to not only the water, but to us, each time we moved.

Moose, like Grizzly’s, have no real natural enemies except man, and unlike all other members of the deer family, they have a perpetually bad disposition. They seem to be permanently in a bad mood and are not to be trifled with or approached. Even the great Grizzly gives the Moose a wide berth. I stopped the bike again unsure of what to do next.

It Was A True Mexican Standoff In The Woods Of Wyoming

“Melissa then said, “Dad; Let’s try banging on the tank and blowing the horn like we do with Buffalo. Maybe then they’ll cross in front of us, and we can get outta here.” I thought it was a good idea and worth a try. I again put the kickstand down and told Melissa that if they charged us not to run but to get down low beneath the left side of the bike. That way, the Venture would hopefully take the brunt of their charge. I started banging on the tank, as I pushed the horn button with my other hand …

Nothing, Nada!

Both Moose just held their ground stoically looking at the water. It was a true ‘Mexican standoff,’ where we were Speedy Gonzalez faced off against the great Montezuma. No matter how much noise we made, the Moose never budged an inch. After fifteen minutes of this, we decided to go for it. I put the bike back into gear, and going faster than I normally would, I entered the reservoir on top of the still visible yellow line. With a rooster tail of water shooting out from behind the bike over twenty-feet long, we crossed the flooded road.

Once across, we went fifty yards past the water and then stopped to look back. Both Moose had turned around and were headed back into the woods from where they had come. They either had no more interest in traversing the water or had been playing with us making our crossing difficult, while at the same time memorable, and another great story to tell.

Strike Three!

We pulled into West Yellowstone, and the snow was coming down in blizzard like sheets. We spent the next two days touring the shops and museums and even visited the Grizzly Bear ‘Habitat,’ which neither of us will ever do again. Grizzly Bears belong in the wild and not in some enclosure to be gawked at by accidental tourists. We also talked about our past four days ‘communing’ with the animals. We both agreed that we had been lucky and that we would continue to live within our 9:30 to 4:00 schedule as we continued our trip.

I lay in bed that night both thankful and in wonder of all that had happened. I thought about the deer, elk, coyote, and moose that had crossed over into our world. As hair-raising as it had been at the time, I wouldn’t have a changed a thing. I also thought about my over forty years of motorcycle riding. It was just then that a familiar maxim was once again forefront in my mind — as well as my heart. I repeated the familiar words over to myself as I slowly drifted off to sleep …

“When I Die, It Will Never Be On A Motorcycle”

What is hoped trickling between
splintered crags of hard matter
as between slabs of sliced I
like water through the desert crust

the beginning-end fusioned whole?
it resplendent through the cracks?

What might be enough
for its time being
might be the first loosening
a knot’s dissolution  
beginning

unwrapping light and breath
deep underground  
after prying like suffocation
the thing loose, never budged,
still you yanked, pulled,
screamed, spumed, more than

frustration through your fingertips.
For the brain, don’t be fooled,
s’more the psychedelic fruit
than just saying apple computer

the pulpous embryo of imagination
feeding

what seed, sprouting tendrils,
protracts without desire
(but causing desire)
ever outward, growing, clasping,
(hinging on unhinging) meshing
an electric net
and collapsing a shock they say

until the taste of its taste
is so succulently pungent
that after hours of dull mumbling
its projection upon the mirrors

it bursts in puffs of screams
short tense contractions
[image fizzing, over-heating].

Like a cracked computer reading
an animal program: Alpha Beast
of the Ill-Illusioned. Or: Runt Wolf
of Gaia, the Undarwinian Survivor.
Software ones and zeros digitizing

the command:
Must do the act cannot be done.

Till it breaks. Unimagined.

the humble priest who, clothed in black and drab
old moth-holed garb and well-worn holy shoes,
saw yellow-orange men with breath infused
survive while hammered under concrete slabs,

adorned with seizure's scrapes and new dried scab,
a monk's black cap and simple wooden cross,
from Shaolin's breath could not be pushed or tossed,
or even budged when by his arm was grabbed,

then one whose throat withstood the point of spear,
did ask the priest what powers blocked his chi,
the humble priest explained and this he said,

"from chi's destructive force i had no fear,
for i did what you could not hear or see,
recite the name of One raised from the dead"

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

you know what’s really haunting about pictures like this:
    (see profile picture)
i only found out about the paris massacre
at 6pm.
so this whole mental illness debacle...
i guess i’ll have to fake it, improvise,
all the great ones did it to push people away
for some peace and quiet...
i’m seeing... i’m seeing the equivalent of
the 100 years war with islamic barbarism...
there simply isn’t a mein kampf orientation of:
what comes next?
the only thing that comes next is panic...
why didn’t they shout THIS IS FOR IRAQ!
why suddenly involve: ah crap, i knew it,
the re-emergence of poland on the map
ensure the post-colonial nations get the ***** treatment,
i was subjugated to prussian, russian and austro-hungarian
authority for some time, what the ****?!
the french / english / spanish trinity of colonialism
is not my 5pm cup of tea... **** it... let’s tango anyway...
let’s tango with hail marias in england
and magdalenes in corfu or ibiza...
yes... i’ve lost touch with reality... your definition of reality...
but at least i am the one who’s immersed...
you’re still stuck to the slavish realism of paying taxes and
kissing the bonnet of a sports car / boiler -
i’ve lost touch with your definition of reality...
mind the 1% budged of the n.h.s. caring
more for fatties and smokers... wisecrack.
well, what are the parisians gonna do... #: weareeaglesofdeathfans...
that won’t sell... my bet is... they won’t even bother
to entourage democracy this time... watch and learn boys...
they shot sub-culture admirers... they won’t march...
we’re **** to them... the neo-hippies...
they... will... not... march... this time, i promise you that.
it’s not politically adequate for the WE STAND TOGETHER pantomime...
they won’t.... i know them when i see them
crazy eyed and pathetic and uncourageous...
so unto satan and the kabbalah...
ever hear the post-traumatic stress-disorder of satan
having to hear ah ah ah oh oh oh uh uh uh
of woman?
there’s only two left... eh / i = pronoun....
satan does not have access to the vowels e and i....
i.e. he took back a tape recording of ***** into hell
to play on loop... while the tortures took place...
sweet music some say...
let’s see tomorrow.
theoretically though? losing the prefix un-,
and attributing something more functional
in relation to the conscious faculties of thought / memory /
imagination... you can only decrease your chances
of dreaming and provide the antidote to the theories
of the unconscious... it's already stressed in psychiatric
theory as animalistic... animals make sense of the world
with their distinctive "onomatopoeias" & intuition;
write poetry like it's a front-page story
that shoved through the queue elbowing people
to be first... hit the molten iron into shape while it's
amber hot... reference actual immersion in the world
(existence), rather than referencing non-immersion
in the world of idealism (essence / not
necessary essentials).

Happiness is like a dream
something I can recall,
but it isn't tangible and
I can't seem to reach it,
there's a road block in my way
Too tall to climb over,
too far in the ground to crawl under
stretches for miles
and made of thoughts and
self-hating theories

That wall has ruined a lot for me,
it never seems to understand I don't like it
Can't really take a hint
I've beat the **** out of it,
and it hasn't budged
It's pretty exhausting.
Don't call it fight when you know it's a war,
with nothing but your t-shirt on
You can fight a wall
but you're not going to get anywhere

It's an imaginary wall
Really, just an illusion
a hypothetical object stopping me
but it seems so real
and it really hurts
hitting it again
and again
and again and again

I was hoping this year was going to be better for me,
but really,
I'm only worse,
and it's only February.

I can’t feel
 anything
At all.

There is nothing,

My mind is blank.

Writing is getting hard,

My words just 

Feed into each other
Thereisnospacetomoveinthismess.

I can’t focus longer than

A couple minutes,

If that.
It’s like everything is a dream;

Now and again

I wake up

Into a blurred reality,

S lowly 
drifting away again

Into the nothingness.

I cannot make out what you are saying,

Scream at me;

I don’t understand.

Anger takes over me,

And a headache 
that hasn’t budged for days,

Suddenly rips out of me

Exploding into the air

Covering everything within 5meters;
With stardust

And gun powder.

(I can’t tell the difference)

You’re the only thing 
that could make me feel

A little more alive

At the moment,

But I can’t even 
get close enough 

To your face,

Without shaking 

And then collapsing

To the floor.

I’ll smoke cigarettes

And get drunk;

Just to be able

To hear you whisper

In my ear

And to block out 

The muffled voices 
in my mind.

She ran the world to destruction
The Swat team couldn’t beat her
Even the Avengers were too weak
Although they did a little number

On her confidence in herself
But she soon gained it back
And destroyed anything and everything
She could get her hands on to attack

Iron Man was an ant
She easily flicked away
The Hulk was a tiger
She was eager to play

Those helicopters shooting
missiles near her
Are just asking to die…
She flung the Hulk at their door

They all crashed to the ground,
None of them budged
All of this
And non of her makeup smudged

She’s an evil they can’t beat
So maybe make amends?
She could possibly just want
To make some friends

You named her “best friend”
And she became the twitch in my eye
She became the wall I began to hurl myself against
Praying that I wouldn’t shatter before she budged

You named me “baby”
And marked me down for what I am
A child who doesn’t like to share
A jealous girl clutching her favorite teddy bear
Who’s one temper-tantrum away from scratching at anyone who’s ever touched him

There are parts of me that I’m afraid of letting you see
Pieces that I cracked in other girls’ mirrors
Trying to be all that was desirable in them
Lately I find myself
Crunched into the corner of her looking glass
Desperate to know how she commands your attention

She seems so harmless
Small and smiley
But I’ve watched her gaze
Seen it try to tear me from your side
So I named her “benzene”
Sweet and cloying
And toxic

I’ve been gagging on her name ever since
Felt it clawing at my throat
Forcing me to either acknowledge her presence
Or choke
Still, I named you “dearest”
And she has been watching me with liquid nitrogen stares
Unreactive but deathly cold
Leaving me goose-bumped and panicked

You sing her name
Oblivious to how it knocks against my ears
How it squeezes my skull until I’m retching
So I named her “migraine”
And every time she is there I am ill
Her name has me ripping out my insides just to stop feeling sick
Wondering how to rewrite myself
So that you won’t crave her attention anymore
How to make myself good enough
So that you won’t need her anymore

You named me “beautiful”
Sighed about getting lost in my eyes
But I noticed
Hers and mine are the same color
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder
When you’re staring into mine
Do you wish they were hers?

Still, you named me “dearest”
“Darling”
“Girlfriend”
You named her “best friend”
I am afraid of what she names you

Wind pushed along the clouds..
The same way I budged myself through the light of day..

My thoughts have become a cliché..
Deemed, my mind is soon to decay..

Hazy.. lazy.. 
Shadowing time.. 
Tailing this lure.. through dusk and dawn.

I'm jaded.
I'm faded.
This world has got me shaded.

There's nothing I can do, 
but fight for my virtue.. wherethrough, dusk.. and dawn...

Why would I ever venture to guess
That you would be willing to meet me halfway?
My empty attempts are wasted endeavors
I give it my best shot
In pursuit of mutual presence
A hesitant undertaking that
Solicits the same solidarity I strive to stifle
I know I'm a hindering burden that
Overloads you like a snow covered tree
Still clinging on to its leaves
Never letting them go until they're
Weighed down and overloaded
A strain crack break
Brings it down in a thunderous sound
To handshake the ground
I am a huge hassle that hugs his hostile self
Grabbing his own handful heart
Holding it in the air as a sign to declare
Sorry for the inconvenience
I've been rocked goodbye
The wind didn't blow
It was snow that broke me
The bow never budged
It was the entire tree that plummeted
A swift fall to bring my cradle and all
Crashing so you no longer have to sit

Breaker Bar

Every now and then I get the itch to lift
The simple slender breaker bar in my hands
Snap a socket on the square pivot fitting

And go hunting for a big fat frozen bolt
One that hasn’t budged in ages, rust bound
Threads that yearn to give held fast by a split

Spiral washer, tense marriage of wedge
To pent up tension for no other reason
Than to feel the sheer unbridled joy

That comes from applying Archimedes
Law of the Lever, poised to deliver
A stunning verdict proclaimed with a sharp

Dry crack that travels through my hands  
My arms to light up some forgotten
Constellation in a dark and dusty

corner of my brain, closing a circuit
That began with the simple slender
Breaker bar, bequeathed but rarely wielded

A conjure stick to summon you back to
Throw your weight around, tip the scales in my
Favor, balanced absurdly here on the business end.

Seeing the man for nearly twenty years
In his eternal Spring of joblessness*

Man, wife, a son
A one storied house
Market and home
The only places I have seen him tread
And on the roof
Any time of day
He’s there
Staring around
Sky gazing

I envy him
His length and space
Stealing my Saturday dusk
Sunday dawn
Weekday moon

I envy him
For so much time
If I had
Would have spun endless rhyme

But then ceasing remorse
That like him
Much time isn’t mine

I think

Stuffed with so much seen
Heard
Observed
The bard in me
In free time’s delirious wine
Wouldn’t have budged a line!

You sat by my bed everyday
You kept me spirit happy, gay
You gave me a reason to fight
Because if I died I wouldn't see your sight

You knew when I was in a rut
You knew when I had started to cut
You never judged
By my side, you never budged

You are the reason I now thrive
When many thought I would not survive
Now I start over in Oregon, Eugene
You saved my life Jeanine

I

looked into his eyes
overlooking the pain in mine
vanity
enveloped all other emotion

touching him
overtook my heart with
overwhelming devastation

i
never
thought he wouldn't change his mind
even after my pleas, my tears he
never budged on his
stance to
erase me from his
life and leave me
yearning.

And sometimes after all of it
he would curl up with him
and in tear and tears and tears
squeeze him.
He would whimper
into folds of fur
and grab them like a ship's rigging
to sail into abyss after abyss
and heave after heave
splash after splash
he felt the water upon his skin
like forgiveness. Simply,
the dog never budged.
He breathed life
up and down like
wave into wave.

This poem represents one, of many, of life's journeys. A journey filled with tears, disappointments, and lies. Many years of watching relationships being tossed, people crossed, and still worse, years lost. Yet, one can never know when the sparks of faith will ignite. When you least expect it, it appears. With it, strength for some enabling them to overcome. You are a new person, with a cause and a reason to add to your "being". You have direction with a spiritual goal as your sole purpose. A faith, borne of pain, now bringing you into His inner circle. A circle filled with this bright light. A light that will never be extinguished, because it has now become a real part of you--a part of  your very soul.


I never sought your money, never sought your gold
all I ever asked, was for the truth to be told
while time has passed, my hope has faded
G-d only knows, how long I had waited

Memories I have as a little boy, once happy just to play with my toy
but as I grew up my mind did ponder, if truth really existed over yonder
reaching adulthood I saw for myself, the lies which my soul had been fed
only by the grace of G-d was I prevented, my steps to purgatory from being led

Now I am older, being blessed with a family of my own
left with so many questions, and still very very much alone
perhaps if only I could make sense, to understand who you really are
a chance to at least to be able, with hope to remove this scar

And you my forebearer, although you brought me into being
you gave me my strength, but my faith gave me my seeing
but now your are old, and you can no longer pretend
despite our relationship, gone is the ability for me to mend

Those missed opportunities, now my mother is no longer
only after her death, did I realize she made me stronger
my internal tears how inconsolable, when this truth set in
oh how much I failed to honor her while alive, this my sin

"Honor thy father and thy mother", have we been commanded
for no other reason or purpose, other than He has demanded
no matter how much grief or anger, you feel from you they deserve
avoid bringing punishment upon your soul, your anger do not preserve

Lessons of a lifetime, skeletons in the closet we all do hide
varying durations of time we have been pained, in whom to confide
there can be no escape, for our actions will we be judged
how difficult to overcome our ego, to this we can't be budged

While we cannot go back, stopping those hands from turning time
but we can seek to redirect ourselves, focusing toward the sublime
charity starts at home, therefore it's for our own ultimate good
eternal bliss really does await us, if we but only understood

"She was a little bird
Seemingly free from her cage
Of pain and mutilation."*

But they held her down,
Trapping her in her past.
They plucked her feathers out
One by one and bit by bit,
Until her wings were
Sorry excuses
And ****** stumps.
They reached her hands down her throat
And pulled out her voice:
The one she used to sing
Her sorrowful songs
And happy chirps with.
They took apart her torso
To reveal a beating ****** heart,
And they tore it to shreds
Leaving only icicles in place
Where it hurt to feel.
They reached to her face
And pulled out her longing eyes
Once big and beautiful
And left small black marbles in their place,
Allowing her to only see the beautiful world
As a monotonous void of has-beens.
They cut off her legs
The ones she used to dance and to run
And left behind twigs
Which left her unstable and wobbly;
Incapable and useless like a newborn without purpose.
They extracted her brain from her skull
Pulling out thoughts and dreams and imagination,
Forcing in demons and terrors
To keep her company during her lonely nights.

But then,
They tried to cut off her soul.
And they wrestled and fought,
They ****** and twisted,
But nothing budged.
It was as if
It was never there in the first place.
What they never knew
Was that a soul,
Being merely an embodiment of this little bird,
Contained barely a whisper of a being
Yet,
Was able to make or break the very core
Of one who could no longer feel.

Little did they know
As they tore her apart limb from limb
And took away everything she had ever known,
The very light which gave breath to her
Stopped
Shining
And left her.

Just like everybody else.

I interrupt my thoughts for a second.
I need to analyze the situation.
Now I'm just contradicting myself...
I can't tell what my point is, there is no understanding of reality right now.
Distractions cease to come to me.
I am stuck in this infinite loop self-thought.
Is any of what I am thinking making any sense?
Who's to answer such a question?
I am the judge of makes sense and what doesn't.
I know the answers to my own questions.
Too many questions.
Time hasn't budged.
I am the only thing distracting me now.
I am now without thought...
but that's impossible?
If I am clear of mind how am I able to process these words?
Just because someone is clear of mind does not mean that someone is without thought.
There is no such thing as absent minded.
I have lost feeling in my legs and my arms.
But my hearing has increased ten-fold.
I can distinguish every single sound from each other.
I don't know which sound is loudest or the quietest.
I don't even know which sound I like the best.
This is incredible. It is Beautiful.
I can't believe what I'm doing is illegal.
No need to get political.
No need at all.
In life stay neutral for as long as you can 'til you have to pick a side.
Well what side do I pick?
The one that's right.

As I sit . . .
green leaves hang . . . motionless . . .
~our earth spins on it's axis over a thousand miles per hour~

As I watch . . .
adagio grasses bow in repose . . .
~our earth orbits the sun over sixty-six thousand miles per hour~

As I rest . . .
vinca vines trail unruffled . . .
~our solar system whirls around the milky-way over five-hundred thousand miles per hour~

As I wonder . . .
flowers pose placid and serene
~our milky-way hurls headlong over a million miles per hour~

In my garden . . .
stillness reigns resolute . . . amidst this unimaginable tempestuous maelstrom

I am called to witness this defiance;
this static anarchy against the universe's irresistible momentum
I am surrounded by leafy verdure in stock-still solidarity;
blossoms colored with un-budged boldness
and tendriled vines in composed contempt
I am called to witness this unperturbed mutiny against torrid irascible forces

As I sit . . . musing on this peaceful anarchy

I think on He . . . that humble anarchist
waging peace against war
love against hate
grace against revenge
His submissive cheek immovable against brutish forces

I sit . . .
peacefully content in my garden of Eden
unmoved . . .
by the celerity of this careening world


geo.vuy 2015

As the skies darkened with each passing moment
I ran inside
A place to hide
Slammed the door shut
Soon after the pounding began
I stood there braced against the entrance
The door being ripped apart but not being budged
I go to the place where I can get peace of mind
The longer I stand there, the more the pounding ceases to be heard.
Soon it stops
I'm free from the emotions and thoughts chasing after me
Left with a numbness
How can I ever leave this place now?
If I let them in I'll surly be torn apart
If I wish to face them...how do I start?

Subtle, ever so subtle, we meet at the brink of dawn.

Yet, if you were to ask me, to be completely honest this is
a rather brash introduction. No 'How do you do?'
or anything of the sort. It's just all
'straight down getting *****' as some would call it.

This is the type of dalliance
that most only get to imagine once
or twice in their lifetimes, yet alone experience.
And here I dance with the Devil
amongst a sinful serenade of gluttony,
complemented by a fair overdose of lust.

Feeling a bit violated by the events taken place, I wonder...
What has come to be of the good old-fashioned courtship?
The 'Getting to know you' part, you know?
I really don't want a reputation for being easy.

This arousing ordeal can definitely be rather intimidating
if you must -- but not for me, though. All that is needed
is a tad bit of finesse, and your fair share of patience.
All that goes out the window without having the ability
to deal with her mouth-watering coquetry, of course.

I still haven't budged, and she still thinks me "easy."
That is very, very cute. Those eyes never lie, and
although I know what they want, they can't have it.

Before I make way for her, I'll ask Modena if she's worth it.
Its only logical, right?



*****************­**
I don't think this qualifies as poetry, but I posted this at the suggestion of a friend.  Thanks for the read~

how's it going Harry?
how do you feel?
I'm not sure if it is going
the hands on my clocks
haven't budged an inch
in a long time
how's it going?
I hide from certain thoughts
my mind
no longer a place of safety
an intellectual get away
the world has invaded
and taken up a residency
which I hope isn't permanent
My wallet has been empty for a while
unemployed
no degree
and I only have three cigarettes left
how's it going?
I can't complain
I could
but it would be useless

I cannot
I can’t feel

At all.

There is nothing,

My mind is blank.

Writing is getting hard,

My words just

Feed into each other,

Therearenospacestomoveinthismess

I can’t focus longer than

A couple minutes,

If that,

It’s like everything is a dream;

Now and again

I wake up

Into reality,

Then slowly

Drift away

Into the nothingness.

I cannot make out
what you are saying,

Scream at me;

I don’t understand.

Anger takes over me,

And a headache 

That hasn’t budged for days,

Suddenly rips out of me

Exploding into the air

Covering everything within 5meters;

With stardust

And gun powder.

(I can’t tell the difference)

You’re the only thing

That makes me feel

A little more alive

At the moment,

But I can’t even 

Get close enough 

To your face,

Without shaking

And then collapsing

To the floor.

I’ll smoke cigarettes

And get drunk;

Just to be able

To hear the whispers

In my ear

And to block out 
the
muffled voices

in my mind.

i don't mind these karaoke shows sometimes, watched the semi-finals, and one of the song choices was the hidden gem the chain off fleetwood mac's rumours album... never heard it before... go your own way hid it, overplayed on the radio, plus i was more into peter green's mac, akin to tadeusz nalepa's breakout.*

walking back from the shop
with a baggage of the usual
sedatives, ahead on the pavement
two guys, and behind them
three african beauties...
beauty soon faded, passed the two
guys on the pavement,
the three "beauties" took up
the entire width of the pavement,
nearing them not one budged
to give me space,
half a metre from them i stopped...
no no girl, i'm not going
to walk the double yellow line
of the road... move!
by stopping i peered into her eyes...
if i kept on walking she'd
fall to the ground, this is a body
6ft2 and 115kg...
does politeness have to be this forced?
have i suddenly become
a protagonist in a ralph ellison novel
or something?
stood my ground... didn't walk in
the gutter like a jew in prague or
cracow in 1942 - why did i have to force
a space for myself on the pavement?
i'm not a body of rubber, alloys
and leather seating -
i deserve the same walking space
on the designated highway of footsteps.

Slinging my leg over the mechanical horse, I crank over the starter and listen to the heart of the beast tick away. I tell myself I’m just taking it out for a tank of gas. No need to push it.

Winding my way down the twisties, I find myself heading in the wrong direction. ***** it. I’ll find my own way there.

Straight stretch coming up, I pull in the clutch, give her a little gas, and drop the lever; lurching the animal back onto its hind leg. Looking under the handlebars at the curve coming up, I land the front wheel back down, and power my way into the next gear.

Bike screaming out of the corner, foot pegs blowing hot sparks behind me, I twist the throttle down, and hug the gas tank with my chest; the raging bull screaming underneath me as we rocket into a locust storm. Chunk by chunk, they blast onto my body and face like war paint shot out of a cannon.

Looking an inch over the speedo and handlebars, my speed cannot be seen. There’s no time to look, and my eyes are crying fire from the raw wind. My ears roar with the sound of a jetliner crashing into the ocean. The tears are dry before they hit my ears.

Now in top gear, full throttle, I move my feet away from the brake, and shifter, back to the tail of the bike; gripping with my legs to hold on, as I rocket into the horizon horizontally.  Finally, I take my left hand off the handlebar, and tuck it between the gas tank and the radiator, so that I fly through the air like a shark.

I open my mouth, and a wind enema shoots its way through my sinuses and out my nose. I smell pure oxygen. My vision closes in, my eyes strain to see the road ahead. My chest is beating faster than the pistons on this death machine. I can see it. The edge. Forever tempting me.

Eyes dart around
Shoulder twitches
thoughts dart around like flies
this worry, that
work---will start
what will it be like?
He, I will see again
can I make it normal
Script done in time?
cat, when will he die
can I handle it?
weight, never budged
must live with it
age, goes up
continues
no turning back
he, what will happen?
Script, is it good
Money, can I stretch it?
I'm
just
supposed
to
notice
these
thoughts
and
let
them
go

Flea --
When it happens,
just like that,
life means everything
and without it,
nothing means nothing.
Don’t expect.
Don’t predict.
Just do
and you are done.

Human --
Build on empires,
towers, and masterpieces.
Build until you cannot see
and then destroy your new beauty.
Stomp on your own dreams;
make them ruins.
Don’t create the tangible
Don’t build on something.
Simply move forward
and you will get there soon.

Tortoise --
You must lift your feet
and set them down gently
on solid ground.
Breath from lungs
that have inhaled the dirt from before your time.
Open your eyes
and see the time pass in peace.
Don’t blink.
Don’t stop.
But learn
and you will know.

Tree --
Open your arms
and ask the world to believe you.
Live so that you can live more.
Expand into everything
and listen to your neighbors
they will tell you your secrets.
Don’t move.
Don’t speak.
Instead, rise up
And you will grow forever.

Rock --
You sit on my bed
and spoke to the universe.
Bring your blessings of a hopeful future.
Speak out with your silent voice,
allow yourself to be budged about by our words;
and never hold on to anything.
Don’t remain.
Don’t fall apart.
All you have to do is be
And you will become.

I can't be more like you
can't even be less like me
stop asking me personal questions
I don't wanna make a scene
don't need to treat em like ****
to keep em keen, if you love her
the way that I'm feelings obscene
but I love her
saving myself '*** there is no other
been thinking about nights up the under covers
there's a carnal instinct that can't budged
don't feel I know you but feel I know enough
being hopeful, wishing you'll remain untouched

...And I remember the stuff
we said the last time I graced you
I got angry and shouted "I ******* made you!"
I let despair cloud my judgment
and then proceeded to disgrace you
I said I'd never hit you--
never said I was above it
my hearts closed forgetting the loving
but if you asked me now what love is
I'd tell you it's creation after destruction
it's peace after disruption
it's feeling whole with bodies touching
it's feeling empty without them
and you wishing you were something

you asked me to think back to life before he swept me off my feet
do you really wanna know what that was like?
cause i remember it all too clearly and it was
so
empty

school days spent looking out the window
i could'nt wait to get out
i was waiting
waiting for you
nights.
online, always online.
experiencing all the cheap thrills of little windows
to empty souls
eyes watching and looking for lust
the same way i was looking for love
waiting
waiting for you.
boys
maybe i could find what i was looking for in this new
new playground
tools
i was wrong.
i kept waiting
waiting for you.
Then he came along and showed me different.
He never mistreated, never judged, never expected, his love never budged, never used, never abused, appreciated, and always waited
on me
and i never had to wait for him
and i trust him

so why am i still waiting
******* waiting on my knees
for *you