My Words

words1

I write because it’s all I know how to do that means anything
If I could play an instrument
Then I would make music
If I could carry a tune
Then I would sing my heart out
If I could make landscapes come alive on canvas
I would be a painter

My talents are few
And those I have are weak
But words can never be weak
and they can never be powerless

I craft my thoughts into strokes of ink
Soaking the wood pulp particles
They speak to no one

Except me

They are the quiet thoughts and ideas
Of a man bent on digging deep
Finding rhythm
Enjoying the words that flow
And speak their own language
Expressed thoughts that evolve
The more I spend time on them

It is my breath
When coming up from the depths
My voice
When I have been long silenced

 

Advertisements

Drunken Sin

Domestic-Abuse-and-Addiction

Soft, gentle romantic man
Why do you always want it to end
The love she gives cannot be matched
And everyone always said you were such a catch
But in the unnatural light of the room
You always return…

To heated arguments and debates
That always end with her
tears…stinging
face
He leaves with such an innocence
Only to return later with a different face
Sometimes she wishes you the best
Sometimes she wishes you dead like rest
An evil that she wishes would just end
With too many drinks
Three sheets to the wind
One night, she prays, that it will all end
Taking with it
Your nightmarish drunken sin.

 

Don from Wink

TheOldMan3

Tomatoes and champagne
Sugar he calls his little candy cane
The oil wells are his signs of virility.

A claim to fame
Connecting youth with Orbison
Fine foods and investments
Contracting and advising
Consulting and counseling

Arterial disease
Legs and scars
Leather recliners
And bandages

He is Don from Wink

 

Jump

Image

She was absent of all thought
Of any feeling connected with the earth
Riding the cold air jet stream
One jump into the future
One jump away from the past
And the pressure
The pain

She smiled slightly
That was a first in many months
She continued her slow motion high speed descent
Back down to the ground
Where she had been ripped open

A place where she had experienced a madness
Of coiled cycles of self-loathing
Dealing with broken loves and career eliminations
They had led her by the hand
Across the numb fields of apathy
This was a chance to leave it all behind
Leap into legend
Defiance at its best
What part of her did she want to leave behind?

Middle aged woman, broken and lonely
Jumps off a cliff…
With rocks jagged as harsh words
Words that so easily passed back and forth
Capturing every disappointment
That manifested itself
As the wind that stung her face
As the tears that pooled in the corners
That clung as hard as her ideals
But tears, like ideals, get caught in the moment
Slid up her cheeks and disappearing above her hair line

This year would be different
A colossal rebound to the impossible meltdown
Drowning the frowns
Stomping on the face of the lovely that preyed

Snap… jerk
Rip cord
Floating back to earth
Under her new found courage
A piece of her that she thought was gone
But now under the shade of the canopy
It had all become clear
She had left her past in that airplane
And her spirit had captured all the buoyancy of the clouds

Sinking Into Inkwells of Perceptions

sinking

If you had said I would never see the same thing again
I would have believed you
It wasn’t that unusual
The glint of the metal
The time of day
It all pointed to a repeat viewing

What I didn’t expect was the duration between the two
And it surprised me just as much as you.

Turning to walk away
I half expected you to attempt to say
What was on your mind
But it was almost as if you couldn’t find
And had consigned
To the belief
That love and life
Were intertwined.

Twirling like children
Looking in every direction
As if hiding under mothers apron
We were both left beaten and broken

With no stars to guide us
No one left to chide us
We sunk into a deep depression
In it we fell
Like a quill
Into a inkwell
Unable to see what we were missing.

The Travelling Spider

mirror

He made his home
The morning after the storm
Choosing my side mirror
As I backed out of the driveway
I took a quick look in my side mirror
I avoided my trashcan in the street
Then refocused
There he was…
Delicately at work
His home glistened with morning drops of dew

The lines of his talent
Ran from mirror to door

I could have rolled down my window
And brushed his creation away
Like an angry god
Banishing a people gone astray

But instead I pressed the brake and came to a stop
Where the glass mirror met the plastic housing
I saw him
Eight eyes staring back at me
As his legs gently tapped
He was carefully tucked away
Behind the mirror and sheltered

Fair enough little friend
Lets see how long we can be friends.

Every day that week we drove together
His web had not been built with the foresight
Of a daily 25 mile journey
In 65 mile per hour winds
Yet his home barely moved
As if he had something to prove

Like a dog in the back of a pickup
He rode.
Two weeks went by
And still he remained
At any time he could have moved homes
And left the adventure behind
But for some reason he chose to stay
He saw the city
I would imagine it was quite exciting
How many of his spider friends
Could say they saw a place new every day?
He must have felt like a rat on an ocean liner
Crossing from one continent to the other
A migratory bird travelling thousands of miles
With the energy of a giant tuna
Returning to his birth waters
And yet he was just this tiny spider
Born to live in one place
Before expiring.

One day he was gone
His home remained
And perhaps if I removed the mirror
I would find his body
Or perhaps he tired of his travels
Had seen some place fantastic
And decided to make a new life
In a new place

Without him my life didn’t change
It went on in much the same way
But he left a lesson
Whether he meant to or not
When life moves so fast
How dare I not stop and listen
I should not be afraid of high winds
That buffet my position
I should make my home
Amongst the turbulence of life
Enjoy the ride
And let life be my guide

 

Standing Still – Tossed About

standing

Why can the sky be so beautiful?
But have such fierce loyalty
To the will of the planets throws?

A drop of water and the rush of a river
A match flare and the forest of flame
It could be the breeze off a birthday cake
Or simply the dry wind
Throwing two by fours through tree trunks

All hold a strange awe
A hypnotic dance of a deadly force
Boiling over, rolling through
Changing people and mountains

No such liked theory
Borrowing time for those
Caught in the mad embrace
Of the embattled world
Legions of years of a ticking time bomb
The butterfly’s crazy world influence
With an itch for a scratch
But the beauty is replaced soon enough
With the anger of a drunk
Careful deliberations out the window
Reckless abandon par for course

We stand like trees and brace ourselves
But more often than not we are paralyzed
Like a house in a hurricane
A rock through a window pane
A broken rail throwing a train
As inevitable as blood in the veins

The world is ever changing