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

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

Poem : Venice Dreams

It was a wonderful place to go
A time when dreams were dreams and it was okay to imagine
Okay to love
Okay to embrace all that was good
Slipping farther away from reality is the greatest vacation one can give oneself
Dropping off the side of the earth
Falling deeper into a spinning cyclone of forgetting it all
For the whirlwind sometimes whips you without warning
Then settles to a calm
I emerge to see you waiting on the other side in this strange new land
Sunbeams of crimson reflect off your hair
As the sunset lies softly on the blue water’s bay
Sparkling like crystals atop the tiniest of waves
They lap gently on your hand as it drags through the water
Hypnotizing me with your hypnotic beauty
As you sit so close
Closely we sit
Your long legs crossed with the eloquence of a Queen
Flowing into one another with perfection of length and beauty
Your hands soft to the touch
Touching with long fingers of softness
Lacing with mine
With woven energy I feel
Drifting slowly our Gondola takes us deeper into the city
Deeper into my dream
Through the canal streets of Venice
Underneath arched bridge-ways of cobblestone
Roadways of water wash over our worries
As the Gondolier pushes us up onto the shoreline
An ocean of time crest in the background
We turn hand in hand to get lost in the sand
To feel time stand still and the wind in our hair
Dreaming of Venice if only for a minute
　　


Published at The Fringe 9-18-2011