This Prison

in the dead of the night,

the breeze finally comes,

as the heat floats gently away,

like the breath of a slowly dying man,

his soul crying out to flee this prison,

where it has been held for so long,

never allowed to become,

all that it could have been,

praying for survival,

among the destruction of prison walls,

returning to a home it has never known;

sleep comes hard,

in this land of loneliness and pain,

while thoughts of words already said,

echo through the silence of the mind,

remembering places nearly forgotten,

by this clever disguise called life;

the small still voice,

quietly calls out,

offering a refuge of hope and light,

amidst the cold and barren darkness,

of this forgotten, forsaken cell;

I wish I could walk out of this prison,

discard it like old clothes,

free at last,

no restrictions,

no fear or rage,

only quiet, simple thought;

this prison which holds me to the earth,

this prison that makes me crave depravity,

this prison in which I was born,

this prison which has grown with me,

but has never let me grow.

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grieve

I would do it,

but the finality of it all

stands in the way,

the uncertainty,

the hesitation;

beyond feeling,

beyond caring,

beyond knowing,

beyond rewrites and

perfection,

beyond judgment,

beyond misery,

beyond charades,

beyond lies,

beyond self-delusion;

beyond love and fantasy,

beyond wondering and doubt;

beyond self;

every denial demands

atonement,

every question requires

answers,

for every gift

there is a price,

for everything worth having

there is a cost;

I wish it were not so,

I wish there was another way;

madness rules,

darkness lights the way,

You are all that is left

at the end of the day,

there are things

bigger than ourselves,

beyond thinking or reason,

things that

matter most,

things that define

who we are,

the miles go by,

the years pass,

the end is near;

soon enough,

soon enough;

this poverty has

another face,

a different kind of soul,

quiet and alone,

frightened and confused,

suicide can be so blind,

nothing more than

a whisper,

spitting and sputtering,

laughing and pretending;

you cannot love anyone,

until you have learned

to grieve for everyone.

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Pain In The Ass

my 4 year old grandson,

is a little pain in the ass,

always looking for new ways

to get in trouble,

always wanting to do,

exactly what you don’t want him to do;

he spent a week and a half with us

down at the shore,

the day his mom took him home,

I bought him a Franklin doll

and a bag of candy;

he tore the hat off Franklin,

and when I tried to hug him goodbye,

he hit me in the mouth with the bag of candy;

now it’s real peaceful and quiet;

I sure do miss that little pain in the ass.

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Dog Shit and Other Saturday Morning Rituals

in the morning, we awake to

dog shit on the kitchen floor,

Cody, our family dog is getting old,

he can no longer control his bowels,

this is not the first time,

“that dog has got to go!!” cries my wife;

I suppose she’ll want to get rid of me,

when I start shitting on the kitchen floor;

upstairs, my grandson

watches Saturday morning cartoons,

Hercules or some other super hero I think,

when it is over he and I will go to McDonalds,

for out ritual hotcakes and sausage,

he usually eats all the sausage and

about a quarter of the hotcakes,

I eat the rest,

I think that is my role in life now,

to finish eating what he cannot,

someday he will grow up and eat

everything on his plate;

I suppose I will starve to death then;

elsewhere, my 15 year old

comes bursting through the kitchen door,

fresh from spending the night

at her best friend’s house,

“watch the dog shit!” I cry out,

Ooooooh! Gross! she replies,

then bounds up the stairs to her room,

where she will sleep most of the day,

after being up all night

talking to boys on the phone,

she thinks I don’t know about these things;

meanwhile, I get out the paper towels and Lysol,

to clean up Cody’s shit,

who looks at me

with deeply apologetic eyes,

“it’s ok” I tell him;

we’re all getting old.

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Buddy

I look at you now,

the years passing before my eyes,

I feel the changes taking place,

in my body and my mind;

only yesterday you were a little boy,

eating hotcakes and sausage at McDonalds,

watching Sponge Bob and Rugrats,

screaming “yeckkk!!!” and

throwing the night crawlers into the lake,

the first time I took you fishing;

now you are a man,

no longer the wide-eyed little boy holding my hand,

as we walked the boardwalk,

begging to play mini-golf or skee ball,

at every putt-putt or arcade we passed;

“please Pa!”

“please Pa!”

a tiny bundle of energy,

never slowing down,

exasperating yet so endearing

at the same time;

I remember towing you around the pool by my beard,

both of us laughing so hard I thought my side would burst,

playing whiffle ball for hours on end,

always ready for a new adventure,

whenever I could find the time,

of which there never seemed to be enough;

now you own a home and work on diesel engines,

with a busy schedule and little time,

which is the way it should be,

as natural as the setting sun,

but no matter where you go,

or what this life has in store for you,

always remember one thing;

I love you buddy,

more than you can ever know.

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Almost a Religion

in the morning, I am reduced

to plates of Cheetos and potato chips,

attempting to satisfy the great beast,

with whom I share this life,

chained within these prison walls,

where we survive, sinking deeper

into these pits of ultimate depravity,

where it has served from the beginning of time;

can it sink any lower?

occasionally it becomes far too personal,

as I take a step back,

taking refuge among the reality of it all,

finishing up the chores,

and lesser known deeds along the way,

for which there is no thanks,

even from those who know it all to well,

it is then reason comes through,

sharp and crystal clear,

like lightning bolts on dark and starless nights,

showing limitations for what they are,

and how little there really is;

we are as nothing, when compared to this storm,

yet together we defy the fury,

providing mystery,

to this epiphany of endless, rushing fools,

where not a one survives,

in spite of mighty cries for merciful solutions;

that which means the most,

is usually the least of it,

in the eyes of those who see only for themselves,

as this great dream continues on,

down winding, endless roads,

for which there is no choice,

only illusions of options,

changing shape with a wave of the hand,

twisting and weaving,

into something new and fresh,

until the outer layer is removed,

only to find the same old story,

inside brand new skin,

like a giant vacuum,

sucking all that there is,

into it’s deep dark hole,

as some hold on a little longer than the rest,

but eventually even they are swept away,

by the weight of those standing above them,

waiting their turn for the great slide,

into this vast and empty wasteland;

mowing the lawn,

on cloudy, rainy Sunday afternoons,

can be most rewarding,

depending upon the method

with which it is approached,

and the spirit in which it is given,

in fact it is;

almost a religion.

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Today I Drank a Beer

where do you go at night,

when the lights go down?

when darkness surrounds this world,

to who do you call out?

the end was never clearer than it is right now,

at this very moment,

lost somewhere between the living and the dead,

somewhere out on the edge, where no one wanders;

for long;

do not let it end now,

hold on for just one more round,

try just a little more,

reach for the only chance

you ever had;

the music guides you down

paths unknown,

it is here you have longed to be

from the very beginning,

it is here you have waited,

all your life;

I don’t know what it all means,

I only know that it means something,

at least it feels that way,

sometimes it comes so close,

but then it slowly fades away,

as I continue trying to stuff round pieces

into square holes;

but today for the first time,

I drank a beer,

without the need to slam it down,

so I could move on to the next one,

I controlled it,

it didn’t control me,

and strange as that may sound,

somehow it all fit;

it fit like a bloody glove,

lying in a back street alley,

as this journey takes continuous turns,

down one-way empty streets;

they give me legitimacy,

allowing me to fit

into a world,

I would otherwise

never belong.

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