Years

feel the cold wrinkled soul of the lonely old man
just lying there waiting to die…
rests his back on a sack
of aluminum cans,
with the life flowing out of his eyes.

the world he once knew
had passed as he grew
and like a pair of worn shoes was replaced,
the house he called home
and his warm comfort zone,
were torn down
to open up space.

it could’ve been worse he thought to himself
as his hope perked like a pound puppy’s ears,
but days bounced like boulders
on his chest
and his shoulders
as they piled up
into years.

his energy waned
as he wrestled and strained
the concrete sidewalk was stained from the fight,
the cardboard box he called home
a makeshift personal zone,
had been torn from the rain overnight.

with one final breath
he almost welcomed his death
it seemed so peaceful and damn right inviting…

lunatic wind

it's just that lunatic wind again
looking for an open mind to blow in…


it's just an old forgotten man 
pacing the cracked linoleum
dusty musty summer afternoons 
at the old folk's home.

up and down the waxey yellow hallway he goes
back and forth in his linty flappy slapping slippers
and old flannel robe
he must be getting closer
he knows…

grumbling chuckles underneath his breath
crackling echoes through his poligrip teeth
a sharp rapping tapping of his cane
on the visitor lounge window pane
makes the children scatter
like cats in the rain
and brings a smile
to the mildly insane.

shuffling back to his room he retraced his steps
pausing a minute to count how many
empty pepper bottles were left
how many stood on his window sill…

each one represented a tender embrace
and the smile he remembered
on his grandson's face
as he fell asleep after the late show
and taking his pills.

they carried his belongings out in a great big box
the staff were busy with red tape and paperwork
they buried him and his belongings in another box
down in the ground, back to the earth.

the old flannel robe
was buried with him
but no one minded
no one batted an eye.

the crazy wind was calm that day

crunch my data instead

repetitively incompletely synchronized
with the sync,
another inconsistent error materialized
breaking the link

whatever clicks with you
clicks with me
your ui shows it graphically
at least that's what you said
stack my punchcards in your corner
and reel my tape around your head
boot me up and then power me down
please don't wipe my drive…
crunch my data instead.

sure my screen is cracked
gorilla glass my ass
i can still see you
in all your 5 megapixel glory...
been your silent partner for way too long
and i can't handle another update
time for the toss in the rubbermaid tote
to seal my technological fate,
end of story.

time lender

brother can you lend some time…


fingers black dirty and broken nails
scratch across the cardboard home
with arms crossed defiantly

a wooden fire crackles low and cold
and the smoky pipes trickle mud
into the heavy evening air

streaming fog water puddles
down the glass bottles
lining the shopping cart path

he forces half a smile
thru long forgotten teeth
offers one shaky hand
to shake mine
thanks me with a cough
and a raspy laugh


i can only give you hope
i'm not the keeper of time
i don't wear the coat of many colors
or the cloak of invincibility

i'm only a man of limited powers
with no real light to shine
but i'll be happy to stand beside you
and lend a hand for eternity


then he slowly turns away
knowing fate is inherently fickle
she only picks a few lucky winners
in the lottery of life

those who'll move on
those who will succeed
those fortunate few
who help the unlucky others
are lucky ones indeed

i look down at my hands
broken nails and all
and the sagging paper roof and muddy floor
of the box i call home

i have to smile through the emptiness
i guess i can't complain
i suppose i have nothing left to lose
and all the world to gain

i called out his name...

frozenfoes

they huddled around the roaring warmth as closely as they could
the flames licked their hands until their skin smelled like burnt wood
they tried not to exchange glances
casting their eyes to the ground
but every now and then they took their chances
to take a sneaky look around

carcasses of their enemies
piled up like frozen logs
the only refuge from the pounding seas
and the howling growling dogs
on the wind a cacaphony of lonely mountain cries
wilderness calls from those alone
to the deaf ear of the arctic skies...

Diddly

There I was walking among the swaying trees, palms I think, although I didn't give it much thought at the time. I was deep in thought. Trying to release what i had to release, retain what I had to retain. Regain what I lost. Restrain what I couldn't hold back…

Ok I digress. Did you know that digression is a form of expression, but only to yourself? Tragically too many people don't realize this. Or realize that. Whatever person you're talking in or to.

Anyway, I was walking among those trees. The fronds were slapping against my wet legs, or maybe my legs were dry and the fronds were wet. That seems a little more logical. They were the ones out in the rain overnight, not my legs. I can prove it. Just don't ask for photos.

The waves crashed against the rocks and I ate a sandwich. That was after I got out of the trees and being frond-slapped. It was a good sandwich, made of lettuce, tomato, and some kind of white cheese with sliced turkey. No spread though which made it rather dry. Quite the opposite of my wet legs.

All of a sudden I saw a red and silver jalopy swerving down the beach toward me. The driver's door was swinging open and closed, and sand was kicking up everywhere as it bore down on me.

Of course I stood there like my socks had been cast in iron and welded to 10 yards of 1" boilerplate. I suppose either I didn't believe my eyes, or I had left my glasses back in the room and just plain couldn't see it, which I knew I hadn't done or I never would have made it down the hotel stairs. I dove to the right—my right, not yours— into a small minty-smelling grove of flowers, and narrowly escaped being the victim of a heinous jalopicide. As it turns out all I was a victim of was yellow flowerburns on my elbows.

I climbed to my feet, and brushed myself off—something mostly done by others—and looked around for the jalopy. It had tumbled on down the beach and had come to a jolting stop against a white picked fence about 20 yards away.

A scraggly little terrier jumped up on the back seat and start barking at me as I got closer. I didn't see any other people in the car, not that the terrier was a person, although I have considered them more intellectually focused than more than just a few people I've known.

"Had the dog been driving? Wow what a question," I thought to myself.

Anyone looking at me would have notivced an inquisitive expression on my face, but I don't think the terrier did. He just kept barking.

I had stopped short of the back bumper, fearing a nasty terrier bite. Especially after being frond-slapped. The barking was getting on my nerves. Finally I cleared my throat and conjured up some words to throw at the mutt.

"Hey! Have you been driving this vehicle without a proper license?" I said in my most authoritative officer-of-the-law tone.

The terrier just cocked his head and looked at me like I had suddenly gone blurry. "Great he's drunk too," I thought.

"Where's your driver's license?" I said again, acting impatiently with a slight bit of agitation mixed in for good measure. "Have you one or are you operating outside of the law?"

Another head cock. But this time he also stood up higher on the back seat and I could see his tail wagging. Flop, flop, flop, slapping against the vinyl upholstery it slapped.  

"Bark!" he said. "Bark, bark."

I could tell he had plenty to say but since I had no translator it was tough for me to figure out. This terrier was definitely no Lassie.

Maybe he was just an unfortunate passenger in a vehicle that was abandoned by it's driver at a most inopportune time. I decided to take a chance and look inside the car for clues. Taking care to not arouse his suspicion, I slowly walked over and peered through the open driver's side door and looked at the floorboards. No blood or anything. No silky lingerie. Nothing but a ragged gray Dodge floormat.

I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. I felt a bit uneasy and snuck a glance to see what he was doing, and his eyes locked with mine. It wasn't a happy meeting.

He began barking crazily and running around the back seat like he had just treed a mama raccoon in July. Then he jumped out of the car and ran around to where I was bent over and snapped at my khaki cargo shorts, pulling at the right pocket where I kept my cellphone and keys.

"HEY NOW!" I shouted. "I mean you no harm! Bacon! Squirrel!" I hoped those magical words and a good strong hand motion towards the trees would distract him, and maybe make him run away salivating. It didn't work and he continued pulling at my pants. Great. Dog slobber.

"What's going on here?" a husky voice from behind me said. The terrier released his bite to see where the voice came from and I turned to see a short, portly gentleman in hip waders and a red and white striped shirt walking up.

"There you are Diddly," said the man, as the terrier jumped on him excitedly, licking his hands and face. "I was wondering what happened to you and my car."

"That's your dog and car?" I asked.

"Oh yes. Diddly—my little friend here—likes to take it out for a toddle every so often on the beach. Since it's mostly secluded I don't worry much, but it looks like he found you today!" he chuckled.

"I think he lost control of it this time. He crashed into this fence and I doubt the owner's of this house will be too happy about it," I said.

"He has a hard time with turn signals, and the clutch of course. Just not made for a dog's feet. I've been mulling sending a letter to Detroit about that. Of course I could always just break down and buy him a new car…one of those new sports jobs from Italy. But then he couldn't do any more beach driving, just strictly streets and his astigmatism just won't allow that. You know, the glare and all…especially in the afternoons."

I laughed. I laughed again. Just the thought of a dog driving was enough to toss the responsible party in the lock-up, but to actually encourage and accomodate it? Well that was too much. Way too much.

"Are you serious?" I said. "Diddly should'nt even be in the street let alone operating a moving vehicle." All of a sudden I sounded like my father. If I wasn't bald I would've sprouted a couple gray hairs and a new wrinkle or two. Good thing I wasn't wearing black socks with my shorts or I think I would've just sat down and cried.

The portly man's face grew a sad frown and I could tell he was either going to verbally abuse me or re-enact a scene from Westside Story.

"Oh you wander onto MY beach and tell me what MY dog can do with MY car? You make me sick. You and your close-minded culture full of only-humans-can-drive mentalities. You can all go straight to…"

Right then the jalopy engine fired up and roared to life with a smoky blue backfire. The wheels spun in reverse and I caught a glimpse of Diddly's ears flapping in the wind as he powered past us and drove directly into the surf. The car immediately died with a steamy hiss, and both the portly man and I ran out to see if we could rescue or recover the car or Diddly. I stopped short of the water because I was wearing new kicks and didn't want to expose them to a lot of sea water quite yet, but I shouted my encouragement from a dry patch of sand.

"I'm not risking ruining my good shoes over this kook and his mutt." I thought. "Grab him around the shoulders," I shouted, acting as if I knew anything about canine anatomy, and really cared.

The car was being pulled out to sea. As the man carried Diddly out of the water he kept glancing towards the disappearing vehicle, muttering something about insurance and his heart condition. As the waves swallowed it entirely we just stood and looked at the empty surf. Even Diddly seemed depressed. You could see it in his eyes. His wagging tail didn't help matters much though.

I shrugged and expressed my condolences, and then thanked the heavens above that the dog wouldn't be driving anymore.

I spent a few more days on the beach—in a different quiet area far from the Diddly spot—enjoying the sunny days and starry nights. As I checked out of the hotel and was loading my bags into the airport shuttle bus, I caught a glimpse of a brand new shiny blue sports car speeding by on the street in front of the hotel. I didn't see a driver but saw a short brown furry blur and heard a familiar bark.

It couldn't be...

Race

i don't know how things were back then
those darkened days of racial inequality
there are still places
as disgraceful as they are
that still embrace cutting a bloody line in-between

i try my best to avoid that mess
that long mistaken perspective of racial indignity
judging an individual
by anything other than their merits
not race, creed, beliefs or sexuality

everyone wants to believe they are better
than the one they fear the most
the one they know nothing about

that lack of knowledge
naturally creates a lack of trust
hiding in an uncomfortable darkness
your walls go up
and they inevitably
close your mind

crud

the creeping crawling crud
as thick and black as old blood
shoe soles suck
as they get stuck
to the muck in the street

an ugly flood of fetid mud
feeding rivers of slick seeping sludge
flowing as dark as a murder of crows
and as hard as concrete

rock walls crumble
and stone tall towers tumble in its path
every county town bubbles to the brim
as it methodically attacks
climbing up and down
the chimney stacks
to drown every soul within

it silently streams into dreams
from under beds and windowscreens
shapeshifting with the shadows
like cats in the night
stealing the final breath

plucking the sight from bright youthful eyes
as feverish whispering waves
scream from the skies
swarming clouds
of locusts gnats and flies

devouring all
short tall thick or thin
from the fleshy morbidly obese
to boney bags of skin
a violent release
indiscriminate assassination

taking life to death
and everything else within

the town

a gray coal-dusty wind whistles through the trees
so frosty blue it turns everything concrete cold
clouds from the north paint the landscape white
and capture the waters in a frigid rigid hold

sparkles sprinkle through the early evening air
the setting sun pokes pinholes in the clouds
as the lights of the small town places
snap to life and illuminate
the tears and frowning faces
i can hear the hushed whisperings
of the quietly gathering crowd

saying their silent prayers
underneath their breath
praying what they're saying
doesn't bring them
the danger of death

they can hear
the rasp of the chains around their feet
they can feel
the clasp of the irons around their neck

hope springs eternal
but this spring has run so low
that the townfolk are grim and solemn
as downtrodden as the dirty brown snow

from behind my wall of stone i can see i can tell
even though im a thousand paces away from their hell
a hero is needed as soon as possible
but i dont fit that bill
i cant be that one individual
to provide enough free good will
to deliver them

as my wet shoes sink and suck through the mud
i call upon every bit of strength i have
mentally and bodily i trudge
into the shivering crowd
hands reach out to touch me
to feel a life
with living life
still living within

i can see
the clank of the braces around their wrists
i can feel
the stab of the post through their tongue

to be continued...

RamBlings_8612

when our sun bursts and dries to a filmy circle upon the dusty linoleum floor of the universe, we shall see a path...

and that path will be rocky on our soles and our souls. and that rocky path will force us to purge our hearts and set our eyes above what lies at our feet, and upon what lies ahead on the horizon. what really matters most. not what we can see, touch, or hear, but what we feel in our hearts as compassion for our fellow citizen. whatever form that compassion takes is welcome, as long as it is not self-serving but aids another citizen in becoming a better citizen, a better friend, a better mentor.

but that alone cannot replenish our souls and set our feet upon the right path to the right place. synchronized fluidity within our senses can only be attained when solidarity is established between the nucleus of our gestation and the outbound motivators that threaten our steadfast perserverence.

coincidently, the actions that dictate our counteractions have been set in motion prior to the beginning of our existence. with our lives so dependent upon validation and personification of idolatry we falter at tangible exchange and interaction. we cling to our castles in the air, our golden rings, our false gods. we are quick to level our justification, slow to embrace self-evaluation, dismissing criticism as pointless pointed words & catchy catch phrases.

immovable sanctions with unlimited boundaries create virtual walls surrounding our toils and play alike. no one is as blissful as one unaware of his shackle chains, and he chooses to dismiss them as only links of love.

mayors and kings fill their pockets and heads with riches and thoughts of more than they could ever imagine, always disappointed with what riches they have, always greedy to grab the very most, always needy to boast about their greed.

elementals

one more dusty late afternoon ends the day
she can tell because the lights come on in the dayroom
and the yellow waxed tile shines like an old ladys teeth
through the smudged thick safety glass
everything looks fake damaged
and cut out of old newspaper

and that damn old man in tattered plaid is yelling at the ceiling fan again
his eyes always squeezed so tightly closed
to shut out the reality
or maybe to capture and retain
what little unsoiled life remains
to treasure and cherish
save it all for a better time
perhaps a rainy day
it seems so ironic to her
anyway

oh they never come to visit her anymore
everyone just pretends the street just ends
at least a mile away from the institute door
so she sits and acts like the elementals arent real
playing with her hair trying to conceal
the discomfort pain and phobias
she still feels


and now she raises her hand
and now the asshole teacher fucking ignores her again
and now the #2 lead digs a gray red groove into her skin

flashing lights honking horns sirens scream
isolation time again

the sleepy sweet smile that used to be her friend
is now just as unfriendly as his frozen hand
its the icy grip that rips her soul apart


narcotic dreams used to be
a quiet dark shack by the slow cool river bend
she felt secure behind a door locked by her and not by them
a place she could unwrap herself
and relax in her skin

but now terrible things happen when she closes her eyes
so she doesn't anymore
and when the white jackets appear at the crack of dawn
her cigarette drops its foot long ash
the glass of poison fractures
and it shatters as it falls to the ground

shes chained in matrimony to the grimy elementals
that line themselves along the wet black edges
of the slippery garden wall
even in the light of day they are always right there
see them fucking looking back
pointing back
taking their goddamn bloody pissy notes
stealing her innermost thoughts
laughing and writing them inscribing them
on the walls of their stoney cold caves
and on each other

at least the flies on the dayroom windowsill are dead
no more wondering if they'll be next
and the other flies dont give a shit
they just fly around until they get hit
like masses of stupid humans
following each other over the edge

little consolation she thinks but some consolation nonetheless
and with a silent curtain call the shadows blanket her
her eyes fight to adjust to the suffocating darkness
but pure black has no light to surrender
so she surrenders to the night
under duress