the time has come

I have reached the point
where I no longer savor
thoughts of expressing myself
with this indifferent keyboard
my words have lost their flavor

I struggled futilely for months
upgrade became a catastrophe
my blog became as my aging body
nothing works the same as before
my mountain top approaches

upon me are three anniversaries
the suddenness of my stroke
the passing of my lovely daughter
the beginning of this my blog
the end is fast coming into view

Mother

Mother
No nobler thought
my soul may claim
no softer word
my tongue may frame
than that one word
Mother
Of all the compassion
sweetness and love
of all the goodness 
of heaven above
God Bless that
one word
Mother

gnarled

it finally had to happen
I should have never answered those questions
they had found me sitting there on that rock
water still dripping from my ragged clothes

it was said that I was giggling like an idiot
I don’t remember much aside from the cold
the cold and that strange hand from nowhere
I can still describe each of those gnarled fingers

fingers with twisty knobby joints like tree roots
that hand supported by such a long thin arm
reaching out through frigid murky water
stopping my senseless plunge into darkness

queries delved far into my deepest thoughts
memories that would not remain suppressed
leaving a chill deeper than that frigid water
a chill that lingers after all these years

they tell me I am all better now at long last
the decision to commit had long been made
nothing much has changed after all this time
shocking brought intense pain but no relief

relief has finally come I am on my way home
my ordeal is almost ended or is it really
nagging doubts assail me from every side
should never have made mention of that crown

that crown is at the root of all that happened
I can longer charge recklessly at windmills
I feel that my days of chasing giants has ended
restraint would have been wiser than wine bags

I could care less what they think of me now
time has come to start on the final chapter
first I must take away of all those old pages
my committal has generated a deep resolve

a deep resolve to revisit that strange event
a convulsive plunge into frigid murky depths
reaching from nowhere that same gnarled hand
this time extended in welcome

cracks

I’ve oft pondered the meaning of “fall through the cracks”
could this old idiom hold an actual truth or definition
I mean could one literally fall through said cracks
could one be cast through a crack to another realm
it’s not a question that can be answered by science
conjecture only offers a trifling investment of fact
not related to the fingering of knotted prayer cords
variations of reality leads one to practical applications
staring at a blank wall would never be of any benefit
possibilities abound crawling across a hardwood floor
at the risk of being misunderstood cracks are there
so taking a page from a story about a looking glass
placed my eye to a crack to see what lay beyond
what happens when you let someone fall
gamboling about like a puppet on a string

a wave of sadness almost overwhelmed my senses
before me there appeared a stupendous panorama
faces as far as I could see parading past before me
some vaguely familiar others completely strange
my friends begin to pass with pained expressions
I know so many that I had completely forgotten
no not forgotten but pushed wantonly aside
by one who no longer wanted them any more
I was beginning at last to understand
what it means to “fall through the cracks”

ironmongery

Mind!
I don’t mean to say
that I know
of my own knowledge
what there is particularly
dead
about a door nail
I might have been inclined
myself
to regard a coffin nail
as the deadest piece
of ironmongery
in the trade
but the wisdom
of our ancestors
is in the simile
and my unhallowed hands
shall not disturb it
or the country’s done for
You will therefore permit
me to repeat  emphatically
that Marley was as dead
as a door nail.

VIEJO MOLINO

molino is a Spanish word for windmill

they have been known to appear as giants

it would be most ignominious to assault one

stationary tho they be helpless they are not

such folly as befell that noble of la Mancha

waits beneath those wildly flailing arms

remembrance rules my early morning ritual

as I pour yet another cup of Viejo Molino

Robbing Cervantes

e’en tho he being gone four hundred years plus two
close perusal of his scripted thoughts still lead
to speculate could this be me if not then who
asked do not we share that same time-ravaged steed
shared curiosity and folly has come to pass
brought to my house as many as ever could get
fruitless dreams were there to chase ‘til alas
I dried my brains in such sort I lost all judgment

my fantasy has filled with those things that I read
wherein I give my account of my misfortunes
yet whiles they speak not their own native tongue
yon author of that great work is likewise my friend
purge certain base things that lurk among our conceits
it will not be amiss to remove this stumbling-block
observe well this caveat which I shall give thee
that herein I shall be most punctually obeyed

delusion

inflamed by need
I feel unacceptable
incensed by dread
wounded empty
confused by delusion
a hideous reflection
obsessed by mind
draining self seeking
completion outside self
I abhor my afflictions
overcome by them

for others affection
standing at a crossroads
which way should I go
for such affliction of both
from burning experiences
feeling pain and grief
my truth is something
I’m not able to accept

FLAG

Isn’t it strange that here in America,
our flag and our culture offend
so many different people,
but not so our benefits?

this causes one to wonder
how someone can proudly wave
the flag of another country,
but consider it punishment
to be sent back there.