Washed up on the shore of depression
barely sane
a tumultuous soul calls out my name
scratchy screams in the storm
of life
a weary survivor of constant strife
no surcease for my sorrow
no hope for the morrow
but I continue to go on
every dawn
every day
wanting to be okay
-30-
My first steps were awkward down the path of life
as I tried to navigate through the strife
As the years loped past like a frightened antelope
I learned to cope
the trail widened in time
as I hit my prime
picking my path
and accepting the aftermath
to stay on the trail
and prevail
but old age slows me down
keeping me closer to the ground
at the crossroad
near the end of the road
-30-
Although he walked among them, they couldn’t see
the fissures, the spiraling cracks and his insanity
he moved among them like a gray ghost seeking normality
all the while having a split-personality
where his alter-ego lived in the virtual reality
of a psychopathic personality
seeking popularity
in all the wrong places
-30-
There’s no need to remind me
of purple haze back in the days
when everyone was free
I still see
visions
and life’s still a mystery
a sense of discovery still stalks
my every day
I exhale memories
and put them on display
for curious passer-byers
who never know what to say
psychedelic tales of old
when young people
were curious and bold
dancing through the nights
under brilliant revolving lights
chasing white rabbits down holes
so deep
there was no sleep
only endless partying
and dancing
to the Mad Hatters tune
live now
because you’ll die soon
-30-
the window to my imagination is open
revealing an inquisitive mind
on the other side
a parade
a spectacle
wonders
fantasies
celebrations
exposed
for all to see
for those who
want to know me
***
Like leaves falling off of trees with the advance of winter
my Dad’s memories are caught up in the winds of change
as he struggles to remember my name
I watch his eyes wander off to other times
back to the “good old days”
when he was young and viral
a proud Marine and father of three
he will always be
my hero
sometimes his eyes are clear and when he looks at me
I can see the man he use to be even though he’s ninety-three
sometimes suddenly he talks rationally
but those days are fading away
as I watch him every day
waiting for a miracle to come his way
I wait
and pray
***
He rocks back-and-forth on the rickety wicker porch chair. He’s everyman, late in life with wrinkles distorting a once smooth face, and body. His life wasn’t spent seeking redemption in real time. His subconsciousness never gave a hint of being interested in the subject.
Memories did sometimes rudely intrude upon his daily routine and reality. As a combat veteran he was intimately acquainted with death. The sight. The smell. The moment he fired at a human being. The horror.
But he just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
He isn’t plagued with regrets on not being “saved” by any religion, or by being led to redemption like a sheep on the way to being sheared.
Freedom is his redemption for being alive and having survived many perilous times in his long life. His arthritis a badge of honor. His physical scars medals earned during a long life of adventures. His silver hair a crown of achievement.
He makes no claims of having redeemed others from sins and stupid moves in their lives. He never wanted to lead others to the top of any proverbial mountain. He’s unaware of ever being anyone’s leading light in life.
He just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
the end
Focus inward if you will
to that inner voice
that whispers be still
listen
breath
inhale
exhale
be open
to what’s
spoken
from the
heart
murmers
in the mind
listen
breath
inhale
exhale
be still
and learn
to be kind
and expand
your mind
it’s always been there…
my flirtation
with a runaway imagination
a cozy affair unhindered by reality
everything I wanted it to be
worlds opened like oysters
in the fertile fields of my mind
mysteries solved uninhibited
access to a fantasy land
that does not sleep or confine
the affairs in my imagination
which are open for all to see
my ideas wander on the verge of reality
I know the end will come for me
soon enough my body will be free
to fly where my imagination
can’t currently see
I hated getting up in the morning when I was in school
giving up delicious dreams to attend classes wasn’t cool
when I was on my own and working nearly every day
dragging my body out of bed in the morning wasn’t child’s play
but
now that I’m retired and have no place I have to go
I wake up early to watch the sunrise’s beautiful tableau
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