eventually

I cannot go where you are in

this land of impossible perfection,

this home of beautiful dreams and

never ending fantasies where

tears do not fall;

a world for others;

not us.

In the morning I watch your face

for the last time,

we both know words

will never be enough;

everything ends,

everything is temporary,

everything just an illusion,

always just a touch

beyond possibility,

always a bit more

than can be imagined;

this great sorrow,

this magnificent sadness,

this other reality;

eventually truth catches up

with us all.

.

.

Champions

How can there be;

right or wrong,

good or bad,

yes and no;

every breath is unique,

every voice a beacon

by which the truth

might call;

judgment a foreign

army,

occupying a land

not of its own.

The morning begins

just as it left,

the breaking day looms ahead,

the trail bending and

unclear,

moving forward

with unsettled uncertainty;

there is very little choice;

illusion remains,

weaving its way into

the fabric of the myth,

mystery hovers like

a descending bird,

with death lying in wait;

mourning the only light

ever known.

I watch these children,

they have more than what

could be considered

humanly possible,

giants in a forest

of dwarfs,

victors in a

world of defeat;

champions midst

the obscurity.

.

.

Consumption

I am slowly being consumed,

I die a little bit more

everyday;

anger,

bitterness,

hatred,

darkness;

as I wonder

who is listening,

and who is only

pretending;

I have nothing left to say,

everything has been said,

I cannot make people listen,

I have done all I can do,

on my own I can do nothing,

nothing at all;

the past moves on,

quietly becoming no more;

the misery,

the suffering,

the struggling;

everything changes,

everything fades;

even this;

they watch from afar,

waiting for the destruction,

carried on by the wind,

glowing with the anticipation;

there is no beginning,

there is no return;

farther along,

somewhere down the line,

deeper into the divide,

shattered by the consumption,

confusion spreads it’s mighty tongue,

buried deep within the confines

of this burned out refuge,

where even the echoes

become silent,

these lines to nowhere,

these forgotten denizens;

when do you fall?

I have come to a crossroad,

I can no longer find goodness

in people,

I see only hidden agendas,

greed,

self-righteousness;

we are all failed,

we are all ravenous dogs,

we are all hypocrites;

all our noble deeds,

all our false concerns,

simply a show

to make us feel

good about ourselves;

in You I cling to one last hope,

in You I still see the potential,

in You I have been redeemed.

.

.

without You

everything changes,

everything remains the same,

everyone is innocent,

everyone is to blame,

some things are just

too ridiculous,

some things are

just too much pain;

there is nothing

without You.

the morning dawn looms

dangerously ahead,

as the fading nighttime sky

silently gives up her unborn

dying and dead,

holding on to what little is left,

just one more mile to go,

all the lost and forgotten dreams,

all the ones who will never know;

everything changes,

everything remains the same,

everyone is innocent,

everyone is to blame,

some things are just

too ridiculous,

some things are

just too much pain;

there is nothing

without You.

.

.

Beautiful Dream

I wait outside her domain

like a dog in heat,

I listen to her voice

pounding within like

ocean waves on a dark

angry night,

she holds me in arms

of shifting winds;

without shape or form;

hiding quietly within,

like a carefully guarded secret,

she flows like an underground river,

dancing like a butterfly on the wind,

mesmerizing and energizing,

a gentle whisper,

a bright white light,

fresh and clear,

like a star

twinkling in the night;

my last pure thought,

my only reprieve,

when everything else has been

shattered or destroyed,

exposed and denied,

she is my silent refuge;

my beautiful dream.

boardwalk and parkplace

we all have to go through it

sooner or later,

it’s just that

I would prefer it

to be later;

but if not;

it has been a good ride,

not great,

but good enough,

of course

there are things

that could have been

done differently;

there always is;

but in the end

there would only

have been more questions

without answers,

which really mean nothing

even though we always think

they do,

but they really

don’t;

all roads lead

to the same place

eventually;

so;

I think if

I had it to do

all over again,

I’d just skip

the detour

and go

directly to jail;

do not pass go.

.

.

Words

all my life;

I have been waiting for magnificent words of truth,

searching for polished pearls of passionate wisdom

hidden within the great and wonderful secrets

of an unknown universe,

which when read would illuminate the mind

and liberate the soul

with the might and power

of which they speak,

I have read all the egotistical, self-serving

bullshit of others,

I have listened to all the self-made giants

speak of glorious triumphs

over the inner man,

I have heard all about their total and complete

conquests of the human spirit,

and in them all I see the vanity and futility

of their watery words,

they are all just passing vapor,

disappearing into the portals of time,

they are as nothing or anything,

gone within the exhalation of a breath,

snuffed like summer bugs

on highway windshields;

words;

they scurry around like cockroaches

in the middle of a kitchen floor,

they fly like ravenous bats in the dimming

nighttime skies,

they shift and moan like a whore

on a sultry Saturday night,

they rape and pillage until there is no more,

they cry out while dying a thousand deaths,

impaled upon the scallions

of shame and conceit;

I have played these word games before,

I have won and lost,

I have created illusions of the mind

while hiding within the walls

of palatial palaces,

showing only enough to satisfy

payments due,

while arousing the passions

of unquenchable fires;

but this time the stakes

are beyond the limits,

this time there is no convenient

way out,

there is no providential safety net

spread out below,

this time it is for real,

this time it is life or death,

this time it is final;

in here there are no secrets,

in here everything is brought out

into the light;

I know that for You

all things are possible,

I know that You and You alone

are LORD of my life.

.

.

perfect world

in a perfect world,

frightened young US Marines,

do not throw grenades

into unknown Iraqi homes,

killing 2 year old Iraqi babies

along with their terrified Iraqi mothers,

as they try to shield them in their arms;

in a perfect world,

true justice does no harm

to the helpless and innocent,

in a perfect world;

heroes are perfect;

but when does enough become enough?

when does truth overcome lies?

when do facts matter more than fiction?

when does spin and myths

give way to reality and dead Iraqi babies?

and yes,

there are always two sides

to every story,

there is always more

than meets the eye

there are always underlying

and mitigating factors

which cannot be adequately understood,

unless you were actually there;

but still;

there are dead Iraqi babies,

along with dead Iraqi mothers,

and young, frightened US Marines,

left holding on to memories and consciences,

reciting official company lines

and other man-made truths,

while wondering inside

how everything became so twisted

and wrong;

in this almost

perfect world.

.

.

Memories of a King (or god)

I remember that day in August 1961

as if it were yesterday,

waiting outside Comiskey Park,

the Yankee’s team bus nearby,

holding on to my aunt’s hand

while the reporters and others

buzzed and milled about,

all of us waiting to catch a glimpse of a man

who I thought at the very least

must be a king or perhaps even a god,

although at the time

I didn’t really understand why;

I remember the commotion as this king (or god),

emerged from the stadium darkness,

reporters rushing forward, camera bulbs flashing,

my aunt pushing me to the front,

with pencil and paper in hand,

to my six year old mind,

he was everything a king (or god) should be,

tall, blonde and crewcut,

hard as a rock with a jaw

that looked like it was chiseled from stone,

eyes of steel that flashed with anger

as he pushed his way through the reporters,

ignoring their questions,

the pant leg of his thigh

brushing my hand as he went by,

bounding up the bus steps then

angrily throwing his duffel bag

against the window;

today I understand the pressure and stress

he must have been going through,

trying to break the record

of an even greater king (or god),

but when you’re six you don’t understand

that even kings (or gods)

have bad days at the plate,

when you’re six you only know

something’s upset the king (or god);

and you cry.

.

.

Dangerous Combinations

cold rainy Monday afternoons,

thick, rich, dark glasses of Guinness,

Stevie Ray Vaughn on the jukebox and

attractive, strong-willed, red-headed

Irish women named Susan,

make for

dangerous combinations

so far from home,

yet they leave a

sickly sweet sensation

deep within this darkness

called a soul,

like when I was a child,

stealing forbidden cookies

from the kitchen cupboard;

wishing

it would never end;

but soon,

it will all be part

of the never ending ocean

of old memories and

forgotten stories,

that could have been,

that should have been,

but were not

and never were;

I always was

a pushover

for attractive,

strong-willed,

red-headed

Irish women.

.

.

Life Song

have I told you

what it is

that guides me here,

calling out

to be seen,

to be touched,

to be felt;

life;

the dark

and fantastic mystery,

it is all there is,

it is everything,

it is nothing,

the loudest roar,

the quietest whisper,

it is the past,

it is the future,

it is the present,

it is the innocent,

the guiltiest of the guilty,

the brightest light,

the darkest night,

it is all that is evil,

it is everything that is right,

it is crystal clear,

it is confusion,

it is here;

and it is gone.

.

.

Colorado Gold Mining

Oh Colorado,

what delight you took in misery then,

lying shattered and ruined

yet there remained time,

as the future appeared

so full of endless dreams and possibilities,

in the middle of ancient temples

ripe for the ransacking;

in the morning

you walked into the

dark and empty streets,

waiting for a Denver sunrise

which never came,

boarding a bus for the ride to Greeley

which never seemed longer;

the pawnbrokers had little sympathy

for lost love and broken memories,

offering only a pittance,

but you were glad to take it;

even dead men      

have to eat.

.

.

SON

Somewhere he waits

and I listen,

as the silence

grows painfully louder;

SON;

I wish I could tell you that you’re mine,

but you’re not and never were,

still there is that bond

and I guess that is the way

it will always be;

SON;

I wish I could show you

the beauty of your

shining sisters’ smiles,

I imagine you must be

very much like they are,

except they are mine

and you are not,

and never will be;

SON;

I make no excuses

for the things that took place,

and I wouldn’t have any

even if I did,

to be honest

it didn’t have a thing

to do with you,

as hollow as that may sound,

it’s just the way

things worked out,

but still I do remember;

which is more

than I left to you.

.

.

Poetry/Teacher

poetry?

so that’s what this is,

all this time

I thought it was just

schizophrenia,

quiet voices

whispering softly

inside my head,

fragmented thoughts

coming and going,

so much left unsaid,

must be a fine line,

perhaps the inflection

or tone

makes the difference;

and just think

it comes without years of study

or warm shots of whiskey;

who would have thought it possible?

certainly not my old English teacher.

________________________________

Teacher

 teacher,

where are you now?

teacher

don’t you have

any wise words now?

are you still enjoying

being an intellectual

SOB

NOW?

did you have your

mandatory

mid-life

crisis?

did you go through

your obligatory

messy

divorce?

tell me

teacher,

do you still

look down

your pointed little nose

and pass judgment,

deciding

who deserves life

and who doesn't?

is everybody

still cast

into the roles

of dumb jocks

and cool non-jocks?

I gave you a glimpse

inside my soul,

you tossed it aside

with nothing more

than a glance,

I gave you all there was;

all you gave me

was a D.

.

.

From the Heights to the Depths

I die a thousand deaths with you,

falling 2000 ft past

roles and rules of

dubious impropriety,

beyond decency

and molds of

sacred sobriety,

into far-off rolling hills,

gently beckoning,

softly cajoling,

whispering for more,

as reflected changes fade,

and tomorrow blends into today;

together we have faced

the best,

escaped the worst,

survived with all

the rest,

becoming something new,

something else;

something unknown.

Distant guns blaze away,

smoking and smoldering,

pounding and hammering,

swirling inside forgotten

and forlorn tempests,

drifting without a home,

floating on the breeze;

out here there are no

agendas,

no predetermined

destinations,

out here there is only

this and that,

here and now,

closely followed by

felonious miscreants,

sacred imposters,

intent upon perpetrations

of questionable valor,

plundering and pillaging,

falling down before

the dawn,

replacing methods of madness,

silently drowning out

the moment;

this love is like layers,

peeling back one

only reveals another,

quietly hidden

within the depths

of this empty fortress.

.

.