Falling Banjo Punk Blues

Blunt

An old friend of mine

I’ve known for thirty years

Told me

I was blunt the other day

He then said

It was one of the reasons

He has remained friends

With me

For so long

He knew exactly where

He stood with me

At all times!

I was surprised by this

I said, I thought I believed

I was careful

With people’s feelings

My wife then joined in

The conversation

“You thought you were

a sugar coater?”

A smile then pulled gently

Across her face

His wife chuckled

“You’re no sugar coater!”

I spent the next few hours

Pondering all this

Like Archimedes

Pondering Physics

I wondered

What people would think

If I didn’t try to sugar coat

My words?

A few days later

And

Hours into a day

Of

Dealing with customers

A coworker said to me

As her brow

Slowly moved upwards

“You don’t have to be

antagonistic with the customers”

I said,

“I’m not.”

“But I’m also not promising them

unicorns and rainbows”

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

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

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

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

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

Artwork 2002

The Suwannee Walk

A friend and I

Went on a

63 mile hike down

The Suwannee River

We packed our gear

And

Hitched a ride to a place

On that mighty waterway

Called Big Shoals

Not far from the

Georgia line

North East

Of

White Springs Florida

I tried to make my pack

As light as possible

A few canteens of water

Matches

Light weight food 

A raincoat

Because in the dead of winter

Staying dry

When it’s 30 degrees

For hours on end 

Could mean

Not getting hyperthermia!

A hatchet

And

A Swiss Army Knife

Topped off my list of

Must-brings

And

Must-brings are everything

When everything

That keeps you alive

Is carried on your back

The one thing I didn’t bring

Was a tent

I knew it would add

Much weight to my hike

I gambled on

Not encountering rain

But that was a gamble

I would soon regret

Dropped off in

The middle of nowhere

A calm

Quickly draped over me

It lay softly on my shoulders

Reassuring me

I was in a far better place

Than the busy streets of the city

No cell phones

No reminders

Of the outside world

Except for the occasional Jet

Dividing the baby blue skyline

With its smoky white trails

That hug there above us

Like stick clouds of cotton

Long after the Jet

Disappeared from sight

That night

The fire was soothing to my cold hands

The soft sand by the river

Was as good as any bed

I had laid in before

At least it felt that way

After a day of nonstop walking

Sometime during the night

I woke to the sound

Of something close by

I shined my light

And

Scanned the river bank

I couldn’t see

What was making the noise

But

I did see

What looked like

A thousand eyes

Staring back at me

It was hundreds of spiders

I had never seen something

So amazing

Their crystal like eyes

Glowed like diamonds

In the beam of my flashlight

I clicked my light off

Hoping

They had somewhere else to be

Than crawling on me in my sleep

The next morning

I saw what was making

The mysterious sound

Raccoon tracks on

Each side of me in the

White sugar sand

It had made its way down

To the river to drink

Exactly where

I was going to do the same!

The water was stained

From

Thick Bottom Cypress

That grows near the river’s edge

Their gnarly roots pierce

The water’s surface

Like dull daggers

Jutting upwards to make

A forest of water stumps!

After filtering the water

I drank

It was bitter but good

We packed up and started

To walk once more

At midday

I saw a man near the trailhead

Dressed in a white robe

His bearded face was dirty

And

Lined with an

Expression of many hardships

Lived in his life

His eyes wore a rugged stare

On his shoulder

Was an aluminum cross

Plenty large enough to crucify

A grown man!

He was dragging it step

By

Agonizing step

The cross’s exterior was dressed

With writing from top to bottom

Scriptures from the bible

Written with

The utmost conviction

Bold lettering that

Screamed from the silent voice

Deep from within! 

We passed one another

Never saying a word

Yet

In some way understanding

One another’s plight! 

Once the burning sun

Had fallen from above

And

Disappeared behind the tree line

The day’s walk was over

Bats had awoke for the night

They darted around us

As we made camp

On the edge of a lake

We shared a cold can of spaghetti

Then slept on the ground

We were too tired

To even take off our shoes

About five in the morning

I woke to the sky opening up

Cold raindrops stinging my skin

We grabbed our packs

And

Made our way to an overhang

By now

My friend was running a fever

We were roughly

26 miles from his truck

Which had been dropped off

The week before

We knew if we rented a canoe

We could make it

To his ride by sundown

Then drive

To the nearest town for medicine

Walking up to the canoe outpost

Our faces dropped

With heavy disappointment

When we saw a sign

That read

“Closed for the month of January”

We sat on the porch out of the rain

And

Thought of what to do next

Suddenly an old truck

Spotted with rust

Drove up in front of us

A man stepped from the cab

His skin was burnt brown

From years

Under the hot Florida sun

He was one of the shop owners

After we explained our situation

He was nice enough to rent

An old canoe to us

If we promised to bring it back

We did

And

Off we went down stream

In the drizzling winter rain

Dripping ice water

From the sky

6 hours and 26 miles later

We arrived

Weary and worn out

On the banks of

Suwannee River State Park

After setting up camp

We made our way into town

For medicine

And

A hot meal

The cars and lights

Seemed so foreign

After 8 days

Of

Living off the grid

They blinked and glowed

With

A lush luminous luster

After getting supplies

We

Stopped at a pizza joint

As the waitress took our order

A woman with eyes wide

And

Constantly combing over us

Walked over

And

Handed me a coupon

“You boys need this more than I do!”

I guess we looked homeless

We hadn’t had a bath in a week

And

Had been sleeping

On the wet ground

Sick

Tired

And

Dirty

None of it mattered

For

We were free for eight days

From the constant

Whirlwind of the civilized world 

And

Had survived

That shadowy river

Called

The Suwannee

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave