Weary Travel Nights

IMG_1005

i’m at an after hours place

to my left is a man who loudly orders
a redneck long island iced tea

he’s gotten my attention

i move four seats away
to make room for his posse
for fear of what type of prey

these hunters may be hunting tonight

after i move i hear the man to my far right
railing on the federal government

i can’t win

i call the bartender
bartender please
refill my glass
and bring my check

i chug my malbec,
drop a ten and a twenty
next to the empty glass
pick up my briefcase

and walk across the street
to my hotel

weary travel nights

Lone Patron at the Tall Dark Brown Table

Lone Patron at the Tall Dark Brown Table

–after Ernest Hemingway–

one mile away from my apartment

after a Sunday afternoon one mile walk

i took a seat in the bar section

of a restaurant brick red painted

named after a well known

red breasted bird.
i wait and I write

while I wait for a late evening bus

that stops right in front of the eatery’s door

therefore, i could also have dinner

and get a ride when i am done.
i took a moment to reflect

on my surroundings and noted

the dark brown tall table stood tall before me.

music of all sorts and genre’s played around me.

not too soft, not too loud.
A tall glass of dark brown iced tea stood

tall on the tall dark brown table.

It was a glass half empty, my last for the day.

I was the lone patron in a compartment

cut off from diners in the dining hall.
as a enjoyed the solitude

of my comfortable calming space

I thought of a clean well-lighted place,

finished my writing, finished my dinner

then boarded the bus for home.

Remembering Days of Folly

I am grateful for fights well fought

for

my withered hands can only grip so tightly
my crushed shoulders can only bear so much
my calloused feet can only walk so far

and one day, my welted hand will lose its touch

i remember the days
when I had no knowledge

dumb, ignorant and lost
misinformed and misled

at the bottom of a pit
dying a deadly death

crying, weeping
bleeding out and gasping for air

poisoned by the toxic mist of folly
after flirting with disaster

during my courtship

with bondage

then I awakened
and there was light

I PICKED UP MY PEN AND STARTED WRITING

I PICKED UP MY PEN AND STARTED WRITING

laid aside my swords and my guns
purchased a choir robe
donned a shepherd’s mantle
filled my scabbards with papyrus
filled my sheaths with scrolls
washed away my bloodlust
made peace my motto
made peace my song

then i picked up a pen and started writing

i wrote poems, prose and memoirs
i wrote short stories, and stories long
i wrote about anger, i wrote about injustice
and i wrote about righting wrongs,
but something wasn’t quite right
so i laid my pen down
picked up my glasses
placed the frames upon my eyes
and began to read

i read books, i read journals
i read magazines, i read ezines
i read online, i read offline
i read encyclopedias, i read dictionaries
i read fiction, i read non-fiction
i read poetry, i read prose
i read while hungry, i read while sleepy
i read after midnight, i read before dawn
and before the day was done
i journeyed

i journeyed on trains, ships and planes
i crossed state lines, i traversed provinces
i island hopped, cut straits, scaled plateaus
i jumped from peninsula to peninsula
empire to empire
commonwealth to commonwealth
continent to continent

finally after many years, after many days
after many hours, after many moments
i closed the covers of my journals, my zines
my hardbacks, my paperbacks
i landed on the shores of my desk
where the scabbards of my papyrus
and the sheaths of my scrolls lay
i pulled a sheet from the leather casing

and i picked up my pen and started writing

Cruel Designs, Cruel Agendas

Cruel Designs of Cruel Agendas

when the cruel designs
of cruel agendas
coil around our necks
like bloodthirsty pythons
squeezing the marrow
out of our bones.

makes us targets,
takes its aim,
strike us down
and we lay waste on the ground.

stabs at our backs
and leaves the knife stuck
between the blades
of our crushed shoulders.

holds us hostage,
locks us up, locks us out,
locks us in and throws
away the key.

runs to the libraries of books,
hastens to the halls of learning,
stands guard and to us
slams all the doors shut.

when the cruel designs
of cruel agendas,
tricks us into covering our eyes,
fools us into closing our ears,
hoodwinks us into closing our minds
to the wonders of knowledge.

then aggressive, arrogant ignorance
reigns.
and the people are enslaved

The Fall and Rise of a Prodigal

The Fall and Rise of a Prodigal

lifted up and perched high
lifted off into the sky
inflated, swollen , soaring
airy, bloated and floating
far above the clouds
lofty, haughty and proud.

then the clouds burst.

falling from my high place
into deep, dark, murky waters
sinking lower and lower
into grief, into despair
into agony, into sorrow
descending rapidly into misery and shame

dying and crying

rescue me….

hooked, snared and lost
grounded, detained
and chained in lockup
bleeding blood, moaning moans

over my state of affairs…

then the fallout from burst clouds began to dissipate

at dawn i was discovered,
nursed, healed, bailed and freed.
free from restriction, freed from the fetters,
freed from the chain and freed from the pain.

then I hear addiction’s call

begging me to stop by and say hello
one last fling before you go
addiction calls, addiction cries
addiction mourns her loss
and it hurts to tear away

in tears tearing i tear.
in tears tearing

i tear away.

The Lone Patron at the Tall Dark Brown Table

The Lone Patron at the Tall Dark Brown Table
–after Ernest Hemingway

one mile away from my apartment
after a Sunday afternoon one mile walk
i took a seat in the bar section
of a restaurant brick red painted
named after a well known
red breasted bird.

i wait and I write
while I wait for a late evening bus
that stops right in front of the eatery’s door
therefore, i could also have dinner
and get a ride when i am done.

i took a moment to reflect
on my surroundings and noted
the dark brown tall table stood tall before me.
music of all sorts and genre’s played around me.
not too soft, not too loud.

A tall glass of dark brown iced tea stood
tall on the tall dark brown table.
It was a glass half empty, my last for the day.
I was the lone patron in a compartment
cut off from diners in the dining hall.

as a enjoyed the solitude
of my comfortable calming space
I thought of a clean well-lighted place,
finished my writing, finished my dinner
then boarded the bus for home.

Cruel Designs, Cruel Agendas

Cruel Designs of Cruel Agendas

when the cruel designs
of cruel agendas
coil around our necks
like bloodthirsty pythons
squeezing the marrow
out of our bones.

makes us targets,
takes its aim,
strike us down
and we lay waste on the ground.

stabs at our backs
and leaves the knife stuck
between the blades
of our crushed shoulders.

holds us hostage,
locks us up, locks us out,
locks us in and throws
away the key.

runs to the libraries of books,
hastens to the halls of learning,
stands guard and to us
slams all the doors shut.

when the cruel designs
of cruel agendas,
tricks us into covering our eyes,
fools us into closing our ears,
hoodwinks us into closing our minds
to the wonders of knowledge.

then aggressive, arrogant ignorance
reigns.
and the people are enslaved