It’s Amazing

Yes, it’s amazing

What we believe is

Not coming for us

But

We know

Good and well

Is!

We put sweets into our body

Knowing the crash

Is going to come

But we eat them anyways!

The drunks drink their drinks

Hoping

They escape the hangover

Coming the next day

But it will come

With all of its glory

All of its misery

All at the same time!

The voter wants

So badly to believe

The politician’s lies

Knowing deep down

There is no possible way

They can deliver

All they have promised

And

The ones who become life long

Anything

In a position of power

Become

Way to Godlike to the masses

My mother used to say,

“The preacher needs to go after

A few years. Because the flock

Will start to worship him

More than God!”

Yes

Food, alcohol, money and greed

Will all lead

To your soul being consumed

By the wolves of the world! 

Like Tuberculosis eating away

At the lungs!

We all are guilty of wanting

Something different

Than what we know

Is on the way

For us

Shutting our eyes to what we

Clearly see leading to its arrival

From my book,  When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Jason E. Hodges Quotes

“Never be an artist that starts worshiping yourself or believe your little group is better than anyone outside of it. For, you are nothing more than a grain of sand on a hillside in this world of ours. Even Da Vinci’s work is only glanced at then scrolled past on a phone or computer these days. Climb down off your throne and become humble once more.” Jason E. Hodges

“Your only guarantee in this life is that eventually it will end. So make it extraordinary. Live like tomorrow won’t start for you.” Jason E. Hodges

“The biggest weapon that threatens us all is, mankind’s stupidity.” Jason E. Hodges    

“To forgive is powerful. To not remember the reasons why you had to forgive is foolish. So continue on with open eyes and see all that’s before you.” Jason E. Hodges

“To pluck out debris from one’s eye can be quite painful. To dig into one’s self can be unbearable. But in order to move forward we must pluck out the painful and fill our souls with hope that the pain never returns.” Jason E. Hodges

“I’d rather fall climbing a mountain hand in hand with someone I felt was my equal than to make it to the top by stepping on them.” Jason E. Hodges

“Humans have the ability to rewrite history. Within a few decades it is not even questioned. Stories of the past become as real as the world you walk through today. Wars are waged over false history. Sins are denied. All for mankind to move forward and feel comfortable about its past. Your true history is written in the stars. Look up, breathe in, and be humbled by the ones who came before you. The ones who have suffered, who have endured, who have overcome. Their blood is alive in you. Their spirits roam freely in the heavens above.” Jason E Hodges      

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

The Journal

Bound by leather

Worn by age

My journal

Truly understands me

Its tattered pages creak

When I turn them

Too many rides

Of

Backpack adventures

And

Day to day travels!

My journal is the tool

That allows me to drift

Drift farther

And farther

From reality

Or

Into reality

It’s hard to say at this point?

Yes

I study the world around me

Like Sabrina Pasterski

Studies physics! 

I give all that I have

To make sense

Of

This world!

I have no PHD

No college degree

But what I do

Have is the drive

To understand

All that surrounds me!   

And I think

Sometimes

Are my thoughts

What others call hearing voices?

Do their dreams

Sound so foreign

So beyond

What they believe is obtainable

They do not hear

Dreams whispering in their mind?

Some truly seem

So programmed by the world

That surrounds them

That any differing

From the daily planer

Must be a sickness!

If you speak

And

Say what others

Are afraid to say

You are easily dismissed

Mocked for being different

Yet praised

If your writing becomes viable!

For now

Journal

You're safe

I won’t let them read you

I’ll keep you locked away

Far from their sight

Until you are needed

To awaken

The minds of the sleeping

Sleepwalking

Their way right through life

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Workplace Machine

The morning sun

Bends and twists

It changes

Minute by minute

In the reflection

Of

The buildings

Sky-glass

Windows of sparkle

All for the lifeless sheep

To gaze upon

As they crawl

Their way into work

Their faces are long

And

Lost of expression

All because

They’re waiting for

The workweek to begin

Waiting for the coffee

To drip from the dripper

Self-inflicted misery

For another day’s pay!

God knows how many times

I’ve been in their shoes

And

How I’m still there

A few days a week!

Within a few hours of working

The counting of minutes will start

A quick glance at the wall clock

To see

The day is far from over

And

The Boss

The Shepherd

Is constantly frowning

His smile was lost

With the collapses of the market

The fall

Of

His 401k something-another

His morning

Drives at the range

Are now nothing

But a memory

A thought

Fleeting at that!

So the sheep

Have good cause to worry

To sweat

To cry secretly

In the restroom

But before all of this

Worry in the workplace

This stress to make

Green colored paper

They must travel

Like ants to the mound

Bumper to bumper

The sheep

Are fed

To the workplace machine

One soul at a time

Losing all that was

And

Becoming all they never

Intended to be!

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Gasping For Air

Breathing is something

I once took for granted

Now

The sweet smell of spring

Is dulled by a plastic mask

I must wear some days

Just to move about outside!

The thick humid air

Of

The South

With its Rough Barked Oaks

And

Lime Yellow Pines

Towering into the sky

Is a place

I’ve only known as home!

I once walked freely on this land

And enjoyed

All that surrounded me

With no care

With no worry

Of

What I was breathing in!

Now

Each Spring

I wonder what’s drifting

In the sweet southern breeze?

What could collapses my airway?

Like a flower wilting

In the hot Summer Sun

One speck of pollen

One speck of dust

Is all it would take

To take my breath away!

My mask

Is now my protector!

My mask

Is now my best friend!

Each morning

I look out

On the soft rays of light

Field flowers

Glow in an amber haze

In the distance

The air is buzzing

With the hum

Of

Honey bees

The spring buds

Are blooming

Bursting out

From their wintry shells

Stunning to my eyes

Although

I know better

Than to smell them

I’m glad to still see

All of this beauty

Even if it’s

While wearing a mask

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

My Bird’s Shadow

There’s a mockingbird

That sings so loudly

At times

It’s hard

To get

Anything done

Like a shadow

It’s always beside me

Fluttering just out of reach

With a keen eye

She watches

All that’s around her

Mimicking

All that she hears

But some days

I know she struggles

Like me

So sensitive

So caring

The slightest things

Can affect her songs

Her chirp

Becomes barely a whisper

Like a flower

Closing its petals

Not thriving

From

Too much

Or

Too little

Good times

Or

Dark days of sorrow

The scales

Are sometimes

Hard to balance

Heavily swayed

By

The weight of the world

But the mocking bird

Keeps singing

And

So shall I

With words

On this paper

I will write

Memories of people

And

Places

That have come and gone

In my life!

For

Some friendships

Are

As short as a season

Dropping from me

Like a leaf

From a tree

In autumn

Falling

After its last burst

Of

Bright color!

Yet

The written word

Lives on

Long after memories are gone

And I think

As the bird

Flies away

Into

The dark distance of dusk

Who will drop away from me now

And

What words will I write

To remember them?

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Angel Tears

Oh

Will it ever stop raining?

Will the angels

Ever stop crying?

At least

Long enough for the sun

To

Shine!

So my tools

Will

Stop rusting

So my tools

Will

Start working

Because

The dollar is slim

On these

Long wet days

When you make a living

Working in the dirt!

Too much rain

Is far from refreshing

When the crops

Sour

In the fields

When

The mud soaked ground

Can no longer

Sustain them

When the ditches

That need

To be dug for a paycheck

Collapse from

Rushing water!

The car washers

The landscapers

The irrigation men

The roofers

Are all out of work

On days like today!

So

Here I now sit

Looking out the window

Into the black and blue clouds

With their

Thundering roars

And

Heavy sounds

Like Gaye Advert’s Bass Guitar

Rumbling its riffs on stage!

I sit watching flashes of light

And

Small pieces of ice

Fall from the sky

These angel tears

Have become

My judge

My jury

On

Days like today!

White crookneck cranes

March in procession

Off in the distance

Palm trees sag and drip

On their ends like hair

On a sheepdog!

Still waiting 

I think back

On

The drought years

How miserable

They were!

How they

Snuck upon us

Like a thief

Like a pickpocket

Stealing moisture

From the landscape

The sun scorched

All in its path

Relentless waves of heat

Turned

Crops in the fields

Lifeless and brown

Roasting them

Under the burning sun

Day after day

We watched

The earth dry up

It cracked and flaked

Like dead skin

Then blew in the lonely wind

Blew over equipment

Blew over rented out land

Blew over barbwire fence-lines

And

Cattle moaning for food

Then shadows crept in

And covered the ground

As clouds

Finally started to form

The windmill creaked

As the cool wind picked up

Then the rain came

And

Gave us relief

If only there was a balance

Too much

Too little

Can affect many

That depend on the weather

To survive

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

In The Beginning

The wolves’ teeth

Are sharp

Ivory daggers

Dripping

With

Bloodlust betrayal

A striking contrast

From what was shown

Yet

Is it really our fault

When we believe

What we are shown?

What we are told?

When we take someone

At their word?

When we become

Pawns or puppets

By lies!

By trickery!

We all see

What we want to see

In the beginning

Until the truth

Sinks its teeth into us!

Somehow

In some strange way

The bitter taste

Of

Truth

Comes as relief

In the form of reality

Painfully pushing us forward

Like fuel in a piston

Like food for your

Innermost thoughts

You awake one day and see

Lies are like sugar

Their taste becomes empty

In the end

Hollow

Transparent promises

Seen through!

Like a gypsy peering into

A crystal ball

You will see through every word

As if they were made of glass  

In time

Days become puzzle pieces

Linking together into a

Perfect picture that will be

Impossible to turn away from!   

Hollow gifts

Showing there fangs

Empty words

Empty promises

Swarm like bees

In the spring

Their honey

Ever so sweet at first

So tempting

Till the wolf

Gnashes its teeth

And

You see

The truth

In his smile

And all

Is balanced once more

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Grunts

An old boss of mine

Once told me

“I work to pay you!”

I speculate

If you’ve come from nothing

And

Are struggling to

Make your way in this world

You’ve probably heard

Something similar! 

It seems to be

A favorite saying

Amongst business folks

To the grunts they hire!

Instinctively they sense the ones

Desperate for a paycheck

They know these folks

Will take all the abuse

Dished out to them

With a smile!

I say this with conviction

For

I’ve seen it happen several times

Over the past 30 years!

Not every owner is this way

But

The ones who are

Can be hard on the mind!

Yet

The soul grows stronger

With every promotional promise

Fed to it

Then taken away!

Every condescending remark

Lobbed at it!

Yes

The soul grows stronger!

Then there’s the owners

That have

Overseers

Managers  

That do their bidding for them!

The owner’s outside appearance

Seems as asleep and peaceful

As a Charles Perrault character

But they’re not asleep

And

Their actions or inactions

Have nothing

To do with the word, “beauty!”   

After a few decades

Of

Working these kinds of jobs

Your spirit will be unbreakable

Or

Broken!  

For years I drifted  

From

One dead-end job to another

Like Richard Kimble

In “The Fugitive”

I didn’t stick around long

When things became too much

My spirit would not allow it!

Make enough to survive and write

Was good enough for me!

Writing was what I was

Put here to do

My commitment

To the written word

To the craft of language

Was all that mattered

So every day after work

I would begin

A night of writing

Bringing characters to life

Collecting my thoughts

Like a child

Collecting their toys!

Looking back

I remember the truly good people

I’ve worked side by side with

And

I remember the bad!

I see how fast it’s all gone by

Like trains I now hear

Running in the distance

Outside my window

Their sounds disappear

Into the darkness of night

Like I soon will do

Falling asleep

While lost in the thoughts

Of

Today and the days gone by!

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave