Dreamt of Her

What can I say or do,

Where can I go from here?
How can I move forward,

If I cannot have you near?

Far too easy at this time,

To cry and feel alone.

Far too easy at this time,

To lose what I've been shown.

All those things you've taught me,

The split from right or wrong,

Like how to make decisions,

Or pull meaning from a song.

But I know you've always crafted,

A world I can enjoy,

Just know you have succeeded,

For me, your little boy.

No poem could I ever write,

With which to tell you thank-you,

No word could I ever find,

To equal such a thank-you.

You gave to me the perfect gift,

And sealed it with a kiss,

So now all that I can do,

Is stand and read you this.

So let you know how much it means,

To carry on your love,

In my heart and in my mind,

To feel you from above.

Everything you stood for,

And all that I will be,

Let's me know, deep inside,

That it's time to set you free.

So no more pain and no more sadness,

You're off to better things,

Where singers sing and dreamers dream,

And angels flap their wings.

And on this earth from where I stand,

I know what I must do,

Keep your love and my head held high,

Press on, and think of you.

Even when the earth's storms rage,

And the sea just won't stand calm,

The memories will last a lifetime,

It's me, I love you Mom...

Dear Time

Dear Time,

Could you slow it down a bit?
Ease off or back off,
just something--
I don't want you to today,
don't want to be older.
I'm fine with yesterdays
not hungry for tomorrow,
no need for next week.

You need to relax
go have yourself a vacation
someplace nice.

Have you ever been to Rome?

Of course you have,
the ruins,
remember?
Take a trip through your universe,
love all your dead stars,
dance over their cold planets.
Your playground is our Oblivion.

You lay the bait with progress
and carry the torch
to a better and brighter future,
but it always gets out of hand
and turns to ash,
at least, eventually...

So chill out Time
You'll know where to find me,
Just dig through all that American Dust

Dreaming Considered

Deep Dreaming:

You stand there, knowing exactly what to do.  Raising your right elbow and cupping your right fist with your left hand, smash goes the thin emergency glass.  You reach for the tube of Crest Tartar-Control toothpaste, a few more clinging shards smacked away and you yank it free aiming it towards your pursuers.  You're squinting, fearing the recoil of the break-in-case-of-emergency-Crest-Tartar-Control-toothpaste, you squeeze it forth and it becomes a wheelchair of machine guns mounted forward and backwards over leather covered foam armrests.  Fifty cal, belts of nickel-wide hollow points spiral inwards along the spokes.  It is an old-timey 80s wheelchair, perfectly rounded wheels sitting upon a less-than-padded seat back tracking up to contoured 90 degree handles, weaponry all the live-long-way.  The politely aggressive aliens slide to a sudden halt and stare fearfully.  You sit down and use that chair like it was made to be used, the aliens' giant green foreheads and swollen googly eyes explode into gory vengeance.

Shallow Dreaming:

Something is chasing you, you're not sure of what it is so you call forth.  As you call forth your voice cracks and gives out, your now two dead legs and arms see you crashing down with an open mouth.  SMACK!  Your head basketballs off of concrete and grit sticks to chapped lips, serious pain takes over.  You can't tell but you think you're crying.  Vision gone and memories of two hours ago.  Silence, cat purr, you wake up sweating.

No Dreaming:

You drink a grip of beer, followed by caffeine free tea (steeped, mixed with honey, iced) plus gin and two ice cubes, rock a few hits of goofer, then one more scotch.

Prophet

No better wisdom, no better ender
to all of your problems,
than your local bartender.

Sun Valley

Here we go, Idaho.

Clean Cut

Ockham half convenes

Atop a hill of slack

He will gladly cut you some

For the monkeys off your back

Grinning and Thinking and Sharpening

And Sharpening and Grinning an Thinking

Spit and grit whirl assumptions

A stew of fat and costs and shit

Red flags flying everywhere and always

The rule of thumb goes thumbs down

And you're left with two stars in your cereal

All over your long sleeved shirts

Keep it simple.  Keep it serious.

Science never boasts a sense of humor

Science gives monkeys serious haircuts

And shoots them into space

Sunshine

Warm glowing sunshine and crisp fall air go together like hot cocoa and marshmallows.

2:27 on a Friday (Saturday)

East Helena For Life

Comfort

The thermostat slides over in my hand, 'tick,' as it catches up with itself and clicks into place.  Small flowing sounds of a silenced indoor waterfall fill my walls as the vents are refilled after their parched summer.  More 'tick tick tick' and whirring as the inner mechanics come to life like a long dormant construct.  The smell of dusty warmth escapes into the air and my two bedroom apartment readies to adjust itself to a crisp 69 degrees.  It smells liked sun warmed cat fur.

Something oddly comforting about the sounds and smells of turning on our heater for the first time this year.

Is this a better Sonnet?

I have two feet that will walk and measure,
head out and string up ten lines of treasure.
Straight to the bank we go in a hurry,
Cash out and in with poetic fury.
Rhyme for a ducat, a ruby, or pearls,
Alabaster sexplosions with beautiful girls.
Ethos by envy as big as my mansion,
Paid off in full all thanks to my scansion.
Life on my paper, full of faux pleasure,
Go on and try it, all at your leisure.

The Turtle Sonnet

The Turtle can a world create on shell,
with all the mud and clay to support us.
Now set out in living rigor mortis,
we try so hard this gift of life to sell.
We lost our need to love and live and smell,
so turtle kicks back and soon will short us.
A foreseen revenge from gentle tortoise,
the land itself will try this threat to quell.
So if we keep up all this war riot,
we'll learn from turtle and then be quiet.

-Early morning stab at meter and rhyming.  Good to practice these things every once in a while.  Not the best but I'm feeling guilty for a lack of any poetry or fiction in this dang blog.