Category Archives: thoughts
The house on Mason Road
is set in the woods with a dirt driveway.
—Mail box leaning
is the only indication of an entranceway.
Both for the snowplows and visitors.
—One, hopefully will miss—
The other, with blinker on
—will turn in
Around the wooded curve to a clearing
where there, sits a house on Mason Road.
King, Princes, and Queen of the peaceful
Open Fire Tribe, harmoniously reside;
surrounded by pines, hardwoods,
— and one apple tree.
Two Princes protect the entrance
With a bold plastic pink flamingo
—ready to pounce
On imaginary villains who mean to do “good” harm!
Prince Popo? First with a plastic hammer; if the shadow has a cast.
Prince Gavyn? Waits for introductions, ducking once or twice
in the invisible clash… eventually both smile with relief
as they are greeted with the sight of bright white teeth,
—giving the signal to continue,
to all walk towards the fire
with hugs and handshakes when possible
—Since most of them have their arms full.
Bringing food, twigs, beer, wine, whiskey, and wood
for an evening’s non-occasion meeting of the Fireside Tribe.
Conversation and laughter overtakes everything
as tradition prescribes,
—they put all things,
other than their ancestors,
And their continued fellowship
I listened to the bell ring at sunset
I hear the sound passing each day as death;
Knowing in the ‘morrow it will still ring,
Awakening me with yesterdays debt.
I yield to the monster of this day’s Light
With discipline. With matter. Not with fright!
The high notes settle silence with low notes
To kneel in sound whose vision has no sight.
Ah, but such is my luck! The damn thing rings
Morning, noon, and night. My life inspiring,
Regardless of my nature or my regrets.
They pale to my rise every morning.
Someday I shall be the first to wake it—
Or, bid good evening before sun’s exit.
Where ever you started or finished,
First or last, the game was won.
It all began when you dressed for them all.
Starting positions? Often left opened.
But, acknowledging there were better players on the team
That you should have passed to, when your ass
Was about to get massive grass stains
For failed fancy footwork and tripped by your own feet,
Flying in the air praying a Holy Mary,
For no broken bones.
Oh, shit! At 70, I wake up having to remember all this again?
Start the bus!
Hey! I am on my way out of here, a shot of Vodka, V8 juice and a note on the chalkboard thanking all the players
That dressed for them all.
Thankful twigs, children of the blight:
Used as kindling from Camelot to Brooklyn, with ancestry in branches of Majestic Elms—
Extinct in the flames of purification they crackled and glowed in memories
Of the beautiful Main streets with bustling thoroughfares.
—when they, in regal tradition, stole the whole show.
Some interesting research digging around on the subject (for whatever, when it popped up in my mind) about the Elm tree… and perhaps I was looking for something about our future? Understanding and approaching it with history’s humility
No matter where I have been, in my heart I have always heard “welcome son!” And, I am as sure as my sisters have heard addressed— personally to them. The question that accompanies such a greeting is; where exactly are we? That we are being received and welcomed? And, of course, how our etiquette suddenly begins and our exit should end.
Rain falls hard on thorns
Roses soon to bloom perk up
Both will co-exist
Whoa, Silver! Here comes the black stallion to welcome the Pinto.
I sit here by the firelight of life, feeling old, tired, and worn out.
I sit proud with a peaceful heart after battles lost and won—
I notice the imprint of my shield, above the fireplace,
Nicked and gashed in gallant memory as history touts.
It has been sold. Two weeks ago. For bread, vegetables, lettuce, meat,
I am neither happy nor angry
Nor am I hungry.
The chief looking down upon the sand
Seeing marble and glass
Wishes me reflection
The fisherman looking above it all
Seeing everything equal
Wishes me balance
The Prophet caught up on a tree
Seeing all trespasses
Wishes me forgiveness
The ring that continues to encircle me
Sees nothing— it is seamless
Wishes me Love.
The bell begs every moment to ring or gong
Wishes me to listen awakened