Self Portrait

Self Portrait - Taken in Blue Ridge Mountains above Arnold's Valley on a connecting trail (an old service road no longer used) between Balcony Falls Trail and the Appalachian Trail. It was about 100 degrees, no cell phone signal, very little water or Gatorade left, my body was cramping up to the point I could barely control walking, I was puking my guts out and nobody had any idea where to look for me, I honestly thought it was gonna be last picture ever taken.  I reasoned when they found me Dodie would have a last photo to remember me by. But the Lord carried me off the mountain that day, I still don't understand how, but He did. - Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Psalm 23:4

Grandma

On March 27, 2005 I received a call from my father. He called to tell me that his Mother (my Grandmother), Esther Cox, had passed away after a sudden illness. I told my father that I would be there as soon as possible. I then made travel arrangements to travel from my home in NJ to Niles, Michigan where my parents live. After a few phone calls I arranged to fly from Philadelphia, Pa. to Chicago, Ill., and then take a Hertz rental car from Chicago to Niles, which is a small town in the southwest corner of Michigan.


During the journey I began thinking of my Grandmother and started remembering memories of her and my childhood. It had been many years since I had lived in Niles. I had joined the Navy in 1977, and after spending 12 years in the Navy, had spent the last 16 years working and living in New Jersey, so I hadn’t had the opportunity to live around my Grandmother for a long time. There had been occasional visits over the years, but nothing of a sustained nature. I did have many fond memories however of my childhood, and spending time at her house as a child.

I remembered the times when our family would get together at her house for Christmas, Easter, and other occasions. I remembered how we would go to Grandmas’ prior to Christmas so she, my mother and aunts, could make Christmas cookies. Those sugar cookies were so big, round and thick, and were some of the best cookies I’ve ever had. I remembered going over to her house for home made noodles and chicken, and how great it tasted. I remembered spending Sunday evenings at her house while watching Ed Sullivan and eating bowls of vanilla ice cream (she always had a big 5-gallon tub of vanilla ice cream in her deep freezer on the porch). I remembered helping put red worms in Styrofoam cups for Grandpa Cox’s worm business, and I remembered the excitement of going to Bankston Lake with her and my Grandfather in the summer. The one thing I remembered the most about my Grandmother, during all those occasions, was her laugh. She had the most amazing laugh. I remembered as a child, when she laughed, how it seemed like the whole world was laughing. Thinking back, it seemed like the whole world was laughing a lot in those days.

I wasn’t sure if my Grandmother had any religious convictions or not. I wondered in my heart, as I traveled home for the funeral, if she had ever had the opportunity to receive the Lord and his forgiveness, but I didn’t know the answer, nor did I suspect, that I ever would.

When I arrived at my parents on Monday, March 28, 2005, I was asked to go with my father to my Grandmothers’ apartment to find a key for a security box, which had belonged to my Grandma. I felt a strong desire to go, although I wasn’t sure why. When we got to the apartment the key wasn’t where it was supposed to be, so I began helping my father look for it. The first place I looked was in a roll up desk, and my eye was immediately caught by an old key chain with a picture of Jesus on it holding a lamb. Next I found pictures of Grandma standing in front of a local monument called the Old Rugged Cross. Again I found myself wondering about my Grandmothers’ relationship with the Lord. I then started looking for the missing key in the bedroom and the first thing I noticed was a bible, on the nightstand next to her bed. When I opened the drawer in the nightstand I found a devotional book with daily scripture readings for study. Inside of this book was a yellow sticky note, with Romans Chapter 8 handwritten on it.

I thought surely this was evidence that Grandma had a relationship with the Lord, and as I thought this I looked up and found myself staring at a picture of Jesus on the wall above Grandmas’ bed. Meanwhile my father and I still had not found the missing key, but then he remembered that Grandmas’ purse was at his house, where they had taken it from the hospital. He called my mother and had her look in the purse, and sure enough, there was the missing security box key. It had been at their house all along, and there never was a reason to search Grandmas’ apartment. However I felt like I knew the reason.

When I awoke Tuesday morning I felt a strong need to open up a book that I had brought along with me. It was a devotional book, similar to the one that was in my Grandmothers’ night stand. I opened it to the page for Tuesday, March 29, 2005 and began reading the daily devotional message it contained. It was a message about God’s unconditional love and how he loves us, even if we don’t deserve that love. The bible verse that it referenced was found in Romans Chapter 8, the same chapter that was handwritten on the sticky in my Grandmothers’ devotional book. The verse was Romans, Chapter 8 Verse 39, which when combined with Verse 38 reads as follows:

“For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, not any creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord”

When I read this I no longer had any doubt in my mind. I was totally convinced that the Lord had provided the answers to the questions which I had concerning my Grandmothers’ relationship with him, and I was totally at peace knowing that Grandma was with him, and that she will be with him forever.

The next day at the cemetery, the pastor officiating over Grandmas’ funeral talked about the joy of knowing the Lord, and I was suddenly overcome by a vision of my Grandmother laughing. In my head I could hear her loud, boisterous laugh and I knew that the Lord was telling me not to fear, that my Grandmother was home with him and would never have to worry again. A couple months later my parents presented me with the picture of the Lord which had been above her bed and the devotional book that had contained the yellow sticky note with Romans 8 written on it. That picture now hangs above my bed and I have read the devotional book everyday.

A New Day

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
                                                                                                                                    II Corinthians 12:9

The sun rises on the distant horizon,
a new day dawns;
searching for so long,
running from masters served,
surrounded by these prison bars,
caught in unseen traps and chains,
a prisoner in this body of flesh and blood,
fighting a war I can never win;

do the battles ever end?

Then Your spirit quietly speaks,
the peace and joy return,
the fear and doubt fade,
the darkness retreats,
hope grows;

a slave no more.

The pain melts away;
falling like the evening stars,
Your light shines upon me
like a beacon in the night,
there is You,
and nothing else matters,
Your glory is all there is;

Your grace is enough.

Look down on me now Lord,
see the weakness hiding within,
forgive the compromise and betrayal,
remove the evil standing before me,
raise me above the destruction,
carry me through the growing storm,
protect me from the enemy waiting
just outside this door;

bring me home to You.
.
.

Workshop

Note: About 15 years ago I won a contest at a local college in which the grand prize was getting to attend a poetry workshop conducted by a rather well-known (Pulitzer prize winning) poet named Stephen Dunn. The day of the workshop I showed up rather inebriated (I guess maybe I thought this would impress Mr. Dunn, I don’t know) (it didn’t) with a cocky, superior, looking down my nose at you attitude and proceeded to read a spur of the moment poem about women at the DMV. I honestly didn’t expect much of a discussion after I read it but much to my surprise/amusement (and horror) it generated this big discussion about technical and political correctness, led primarily by another rather well-known poet named Diane (her real name shall forever remain unnamed). I remember looking over at Stephen Dunn during the discussion who gave me a ‘now you understand what I have to deal with’ look. Later the poem ‘Workshop’ came about as a result of that experience. Following are the original ‘A Day at the DMV’ that started the fiasco and ‘Workshop’.


                                                         A Day at the DMV

I like
strong and confident women,
with deep lusty voices
who call me ‘Hon’;
you usually find them
at service counters,
they always seem to know the answers
to everything,
I often wonder why
they’re not running a company somewhere,
or deciding the fate
of third world countries;

I’m sure they’d do a much better job
than the yahoos doing those kind of things now.

But I guess it’s just as well,
if they were tied up
solving all the world’s problems,
it would take forever
to renew my license
at the DMV.

                                                              Workshop

I thought about writing again,
but then I got a stomachache,
so I thought;

to hell with it,

besides,
what would it prove?

I really don’t care
to be psycho-analyzed
by some middle aged, mildly attractive,
poet wannabe named Diane,
searching for meaning
in a poem about women at the DMV,
scrutinizing every line
to find political and technical correctness;

I would buy her a drink however,
if I thought there wouldn’t be a test
afterwards.

It is rather amusing though
to find out
that there really are people out there
attempting to learn how to write this bullshit,
it makes me wonder
if it’s poetry they’re trying to master;

or life,

because I never saw any difference
between the two.
.
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Tales From Cowboy Billy

Note: About 12 years ago I put together a small book called ‘Tales From Cowboy Billy’ which was published by Alpha Beat Press out of New Hope, Pa. If you never heard of it don’t worry, not too many folks have. Unfortunately it never became quite the cult classic that I had hoped for, but those things really didn’t matter much to me in those days. There were about 40 poems in the book, I still have some surviving copies in a storage locker in New Jersey (unless rodents have ate them by now). The following is the series of poems that made up the title (and heart) of the book. They were all put down on paper in a drunken haze before I had a chance to change my mind and that is the way they stayed. I’m not sure what if anything they mean but there is a nice flow to them that makes for good reading when they roll off the tongue so I hope you will not read too much into them. Enjoy.

                                                            Tales From Cowboy Billy

Let it begin today,
so many years spent waiting,
so many words left wasted
like road kill,
lying black and bloated
alongside forgotten highways.

The time is near,
can you not feel it?
running across these open plains,
calling out,
screaming to be free,
limitless,
boundless,
no more locked doors,
no more empty rooms.

Bright light urbane young pretenders,
searching for inside information
from which there is no shelter,
while the curtain goes up
revealing the hidden disease
that has haunted this town
from the beginning of time.

The dream walker enters,
back from a journey
which has no beginning
and for which there is no end,
carrying secrets long since gone,
where the innocent hide,
deep inside,
safe and warm,
free from mind boggling death
and other insidious pieces of shit;

meanwhile,
Cowboy Billy
rides on.

                                                             Cowboy Billy’s Still Riding

I sought you out
but you were nowhere to be found,
I cried out for your truth
but the darkness became my only friend,
so it was that I realized
this door had closed
forever,
there was no return
after passing this way;

there is only tomorrow.

Dreams do not die,
they remain as always,
with or without the underlying madness
of a new day,
it is here we meet once again,
for better or worse,
till death do us part
and all that jazz.

What road is this that we ride upon?
full of angelic mysteries
for which there is no answer,
no mission big enough,
twisted and turning,
going down one way streets
with the natives screaming to turn around
before it is too late,
stirring like hideous new creatures of the night,
lurking inside empty caves,
waiting for fresh new flesh fantasies;

meanwhile,
Cowboy Billy
still rides on.

                                                              Cowboy Billy to the Rescue
In the morning,
before these poisons build up,
I can still hear it,
talking away
as if I never stopped listening;
Sundays
always leave me wondering
if I can’t be a good christian
can I at least be a good catholic?

Calmness
always precedes the emptiness,
as good ole boys stand around
talking about the good ole days
while never mentioning the past,
so here we are,
alone and wandering
without a clue,
faces that smile back
inside this capital offense;

oh yes,

use me
like a lightning rod,
help me to absorb
this incredible energy
with no thought
of a better tomorrow,
no fear of a forgotten memory
or other sordid fairy tales;

just then,
Cowboy Billy
came crashing in
with six guns blazing.

                                                            Betwixt and Between (Fuck Cowboy Billy)

I have been to these edges,
I know the subtle differences
of the middle ground,
in this place somewhere
betwixt and between,
where eventually
everything is lost.

I watch
as others pass by,
on their way to
here or there,
never taking the time
to look around these
wide open spaces,
where so many things
lie wasted and abused,
hiding from the truth,
running from the final destination;

and it is getting harder
to get back to here,
when I know
that I will never reach
there;

fuck Cowboy Billy!!

                                                           Sacred Imposters

These things are not for everyone,
most cannot handle the imperfections or
misconceptions of it all;

still we must be kind.

In the cool autumn sky
the answers live,
this was never about truth;
this was never about right or wrong;
this was never about black or white;
this was never about anything at all;

it was only the sound
of a soft white light
on its silent journey
from a distant tower
in the middle of the
cold black night.

Down in fairey land
they are dancing still,
carrying on
drunken and out of control,
isn’t it grand?
see how they scatter
as the eighty foot pole
comes crashing to the ground;

aye boys
that was a close one for sure;

oh sacred imposters
do not strive to belong,
find that
for which there is no reply;

Cowboy Billy’s
not going to take this
lying down.

                                                            Cowboy Billy Has His Revenge

Into the crimson night
goes the dawn,
never to return or
be seen again,
this then is the day,
this then is the time
for which we have sold our lives,
however miserable they may be;
was there ever any doubt
it would come down to this,
so full of pompous desires and
bliss ridden fuck dreams;

it has only just begun.

Even now
the reality remains,
hard to accept
among these flame ridden ships,
sinking slowly out of sight
into the darkness
of silent ocean depths;
gasping for just one more breath;

Cowboy Billy
at last
has his revenge.

                                                            Goodbye Cowboy Billy

So it would be,
without a whimper or a whine,
asking no forgiveness,
facing the fury
with nary a thought of retreat,
going slowly and completely
into the unknown tempest,
guns blazing,
a fighter
till the very end;
taking a hundred, no
a thousand of the bastards
with him;

goodbye
Cowboy Billy;
you shall be missed.

.
.

The Way, The Truth, The Life

Jesus answered: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.” John 14:6-7

Truth;

when the last breath has been breathed,
when the fantasies and illusions are stripped away,
when the imposters and wannabes have all faded,
what else is there?

Truth does not come easy,
it lies hidden among the wreckage
and excess baggage,
simple and plain,
without motive or agenda,
without prejudice or conditions,
no compromise,
no faltering,
no respecter of persons,
truth is not dependent
on belief or faith,
it stands sparkling and clear,
shining like the sun
in the eyes of a child,

truth stands alone.

Many claim truth,
twisting and turning facts,
attempting to fit preconceived ideas,
creating vast empty empires complete with
testimonies of flesh and blood,
monuments of self-glorification,
exercises in futility,
deceiving themselves and others
with grand ideas and philosophical babble,
crumbling like dust into the morning mist,
but in the end truth remains,
in the end truth will be all there is,
in the end there is only
one way, one life,

one truth.
.
.

Shadows

We sit among these growing shadows,
standing on the brink of an unknown tomorrow,
hiding somewhere between the darkness and the light,
safe within this land of perpetual sorrow.

Moments come and moments go my dear one,
leaving only traces they were here at all,
this moment we hold alone,
free from a land full of killers and madness,
a world of defined boundaries and limits,
designed to imprison all that live
within these deadly gates;
and to you do I say:

that it is better to lie here among these shadows with you,
than to walk among the light with any other,
better to have tasted your love even for a moment,
than spend a lifetime without it.
.
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