Don’t Tweak My Nose

I’ve had my fill of your baneful excuses,
Your painful running off at the mouth,
The ceaseless profusion of uncensored gall,
The unending stream of vocal abuses.
This is the end,
No further extension.
The cord has run out on your flittering kite.
Billy-clubbed poses and
Bullied pretensions
Carry you only so far in this fight.
You have to leave now. Don’t try to argue.
Don’t be deceived into thinking you’ll stay.
Options are out, so head for the pavement,
And don’t tweak my nose as you’re walking away.

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Winsome Ecstasy

Oh, you creature of God’s great favor,
How is it you have chosen me to
Feast at your table, walk in your shadow,
Leap to your bidding, sleep by you side?
Of all the great fortune that could have befallen
This most humble servant, I could not ask more
Than the blessing of you, the essence of you,
A walk through the meadows where angels reside
Bestowing their message, their healing faith
That is only the breath of the One who endures.
Manna has fallen as sweet as the honeycomb
Filling my breast with the scent of its’ rose,
Keeping its’ promise to feed my soul, to
Lift up my spirit to levels unknown.
You are my garden, lovingly tended,
An island of passion where happiness grows.

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Zones Forbidden

There are places we're not meant to go,
Walls that we're not meant to scale,
Battles fought with foe so mighty,
No point,
No chance we may prevail.

Still there are those who dare to try,
Who face unknown and test their fear.
Often beaten, torn and shattered,
Battered into mournful tears.

There lies in our human spirit,
Deep inside, most often hidden,
Staunch defiance, daring do,
To travel into zones forbidden.

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Zero Hour

Check again.  Is all in order?
Have you everything?
Check out time and you're not ready.
Typical to say the least.
Piddle, piddle, dawdle, diddle,
Never in a rush until
Zero hour comes and you
Become a raving beast,
Ranting, rushing willy-nilly,
Hither-tither to and fro.
Time ticks shorter every second
Watching your impatience grow.
Planning would have been a plus.
Perhaps you wouldn't be so sour
If you had concentrated, honing in
On this, the zero hour.

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X-Ray of the Soul

Broken bones can be detected,
Then set in place to heal.
Physicians never have to guess
With modern day machines.
Take a picture. Look inside.
X-ray will reveal
The battered, tattered, broken matter
That was previously unseen.
Sad to say this wonder,
This precious miracle,
Is not the grand solution to all ill.
If only we could somehow take
An x-ray of the soul,
Very few could stand
To pay the bill.

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"X" Marks the Spot

On a multicolored treasure map created and
Designed by youth,
Experience draws lines and markers,
Scaling facts,
Pointing truth.
Goals begin to focus as
Objectives become clear.
Fact spreads like a virus
As calm belabors fear.
Hoping to achieve,
Glad to receive the gifts we got.
Searching, ever searching,
For the 'x' that marks the spot.

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Wash Day

Mom's old wringer washer was an ominous contraption,
Back porch dweller, silent sentinel.
But wash day saw it spring to life
With reckless wild abandon,
A fire-breathing dragon sent from hell.

Water drawn from nearby well
To feed her empty belly,
Carried pail by pail 'til she was full.
Grinding agitation as she
Mauled her fabric diet,
Everything from silk to scratchy wool.

Mother's little helpers would
Complain and run away,
Much too busy for such mundane tasks.
Totally exasperated, trudging on ahead,
She'd grit her teeth and don her mother's mask.

Washing, wringing, rinsing, ringing,
Ringing once again,
Seemed a never-ending carousel.
Difficult but necessary,
Mom did not complain.
She tamed the weekly dragon sent from hell.

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Walking Through the Wood

Master rabbit foraging,
Where is your home address?
Do you believe I mean no harm?
Forgive me to confess that
I am only passing through your
Neighborhood upon this day,
An interested observer
Here to watch you as you play.

Walking through the wood
In search of secrets, natures guise.
Pleasuring my mind with beauty
Filtered through these eyes,
Sheltered in your forest womb,
A modern Robin Hood,
Seeking peace and solitude
Walking through the wood.

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Victory Is Easy - But Someone Has To Lose

Winning can be such a welcome bouquet.
Roses and lilacs should smell half as sweet.
Victory rides on the wings of the tides to leave
Sparkling pearls on the shore at our feet.
Counted so rare, the favor we savor
When triumph uplifts over summit and peak.
Hardly a thought of the depths of dilemma
Suffered by those trodden down in defeat.

Winning is easy. It bears not the burden
Of inward reflection, inspection or thought.
A wild and untethered complete celebration
Is what you expect from the battle you fought.
But out in the wings there awaits a new challenge.
Take care which opponent you knowingly choose,
For only the winner can claim victory's laurels.
Someone has to lose.

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Voices from The Past

Oft life offers difficulties,
Plagues of indecisiveness,
Barrel-chested thugs who pound
On reason with an iron fist.
Cannibals of logic,
Clear confusion from mass offerings,
Twisted, thwarted, thrashed and trashed
'Til every point is soundly missed.

What would FDR have done?
Would doctor King just preach and pray?
Would Confucius have the answer?
What would Gandhi say?
Would your grandpa share your burden?
Could old friend's advice apply?
Can philosophers of old help lift
The darkness from your eyes?

There's a time for us to listen,
Keeping pace, but not too fast.
A cloak of benefit abides within
These voices from the past.

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Visionary

Future calls to visionaries
With a voice so subtle that
It's only heard in whispers
Born on gently curving winds.

Sighted knowledge bears ideas
Filling oceans of the mind,
Giving nurture to the fruitful
Garden that we tend.

Scoffed and mocked and laughed about
For laying bare the plots and schemes.
Still unscathed with brow well-set
In seeking out their wildest dreams.

Always there, just out of reach,
An overflowing treasure chest.
Visionaries reach beyond,
Clutching diamonds to their breast.

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Useless Conversation

Almost a whisper the ear strains to hear,
Caught in a circle with no place to go.
Merely a greeting, a "how do you do?"
Rhetorical. Really not wanting to know.

Yesterday's detail reviewed once again.
Polite chit-chat, etchings mundane.
Simple retelling of soap opera lives
Can drive thinking people to think they're insane.

Wrapped up in newspaper, out with the trash...
Like a fish three days after it's caught.
Time better spent immersed in invention,
The simple art of common thought.

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Under The Sheltering Pines

Carpeting brown beneath canopy green,
Layer on layer so spongy and plush
That the sole of my shoe makes no sound
As I stroll through the stand,
So endearing, I dare not to rush.
Afraid I may miss the sweet laughter of robins
Proclaiming their conquest
Pulled fresh from the earth.
I seek out their nesting place every springtime,
Amazed and bewitched at nature's rebirth.

But the pine is a constant.
It always endures.
With roots running deeper than diamond mines.
So blissful to saunter,
Admiring the view,
In the shade of the sheltering pines.

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Umbilical

Even before we pass into this world,
Before the first life-breath invades our breast,
A bond of attachment is formed in the mind,
Bred in the heart, in the womb where we rest.

Breaking free only means changing our course
And direction. Freedom itself is benign.
Certain connections can never be broken.
Some things can never be left behind.

Trading in secrets of youthful dimension,
Bargaining, bartering, striving to grow,
Trace the umbilical to its beginning.
The past tells the future which way it must go.

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Testing Memory

Life is just a "jeopardy" game.
Someone yells the answer,
And you wonder what the question was.
Sometimes you hesitate and think.
Sometimes you answer without pause.
Sometimes you ponder and reflect,
"I used to know that way back when".
But then before you can remember
Some smartass comes buzzing in
To steal your thunder,
Such a blunder.
Thinks he's such a modern wonder.
Makes you want to dig a hole
And put him about six feet under....
Only kidding... Just a game.
Violence is sick and lame.
And I'm sure that you'll agree,
It's such fun testing memory.

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Total Recall

I remember it all...
Every word, every sigh,
Every breath to the last...
Silent echo... Goodbye.
Waiting motionless...
Senseless denial of rest.
Counting the rise and fall
Of your chest.
Time becoming a road without end.
Taking the measure of this gentle friend.
Each second is stilled.
I remember it all.
A burden to carry,
This total recall.

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Thrown Back

Like a fish too small to bother...
Doesn't register or rate...
Tossed back into murky waters.
Wasted time. Wasted bait.

Young love spurned and unrequited...
Heart of glass begins to crack...
Till it shatters into pieces...
Mercilessly thrown back.

Wiser now and more mature...

Bitter hindsight turned around
To face the cold hard facts ahead,
To not look back,
Not look down.

Knowing that the pond holds many
As we glide among the pack,
One will find and swim beside me.
We will never be thrown back.

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Searching For Details

The ifs and whens and
Wherefores and therefores.
The whats, the whos and whys
Plague the air in search of a reason.
Searching for details
To uncover lies.
Forces of evil surround the encampment.
Flagrantly rumoring innuendo,
Disseminating their disinformation,
Clouding the truth with a blanket of snow.
Fact into fiction,
Fiction to fact.
Follow the paper trail,
Find and attack.
Becoming a sleuth with a monocled brow.
Searching for details,
Wondering how.

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Snakes and Lizards

Don't like slimly...
Don't like slinky...
Don't like creepy, crawly, stinky...
Don't like flies or
Bees or bugs...
Snakes or lizards...
Snails or slugs.
I know boys are supposed to like
Things that slither, sting or bite.
It's just curiosity. They say that's how it ought to be.
Well,
Call me crazy.
Call me strange.
To me it seems a bit deranged
To want to see or
Even touch
These snakes and lizards,
Bugs and such.

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Souvenirs

I recall when we climbed "Stone Mountain",
Looking out over mile after mile
Of tall Georgia pine reaching skyward
In worship. It still makes me smile
To think of that day, so majestic and free
Where sight never sees and sound never hears.
A small piece of granite
From high on the mountain
Became my most treasured
Of all souvenirs.
Not platinum or silver,
Not diamond or gold,
Not emerald or ruby red stone.
A piece of a memory.
A glorious moment.
God and the mountain...
And me all alone.

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Reminders

Tie a string around your finger.
Write yourself a little note and
Place it where you're sure to see it,
Pin it to your overcoat!
Ask a friend to call you later.
Cause a memory to stir.
Looking out beyond tomorrow,
Write it on your calendar.
Tricks and stunts abound aplenty
In the old reminder game.
Those who use them will succeed.
Those who don't... Well, who's to blame?

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Recollections

The mind plays tricks
On mundane recollections from the past.
It bogs down in a swamp
Just when it's needed to run fast.
Fleetingly just out of reach,
It wants to be unmasked,
And when it's caught, it breathes a sigh
As it is shared at last.
Recollections told by friends,
Such sweet apparitions.
Calling up a smiling past,
A memory transmission.

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Remembrance

Floating ghosts of yesterday,
Background crawlers coiled to spring.
Frosting on a memory
Sweetly comes recycling.
Spurred forth in a second's flash,
Keyed by senses, sound or sight.
Spilling out in conversation
Or reflected cool and quiet.
Thoughtful longings for the past,
Tucked in memory, not by chance.
Keepsakes treasured, never spent,
Shrines of fond remembrance.

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Quid Pro Quo

Swapping baseball cards when I was young
Was not a business.
Sentimental value was the only valid key.
Even up and fair exchange had nothing whatsoever
To do with money. It just seemed
The way it ought to be.

Values change like seedlings into saplings into trees.
Quid pro quo grows less important
As the leaves turn brown.
Even up no longer is the goal
Or the safe haven.
Motive turns to greed
Before the leaves come crashing down.

Why is it never quite enough
To reap just what you sow?
Why can't we just be satisfied?
What's wrong with quid pro quo?

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Pretending

Little Joey plays so hard at being what he sees,
Imagination racing like the rhythm of a train.
Making temporary worlds inspires as it frees
His soul to grow like new mown grass after the rain.

Susie tries to catch a star and hold it as a treasure,
Growing up so quickly that she causes heads to spin.
Stepping into mother's shoes, trying hard to measure
Up to expectations of both kith and kin.

Animations learned in youth
Become a lifetime folly.
Pretending soon becomes a vivid point of reference.
The wise will quickly learn to use escape
To keep them jolly.
The unwise simply cannot see
To tell the difference.

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Pistols, Slingshots and Mason Jar Lids

A carved out pistol of pliable pine
Tucked away neatly in the belt
Made me the toughest hombre in town,
King of the hill, the fastest draw,
Cop to their robbers, hop-along kid,
Equal to whatever hand might be dealt,
Eager to challenge the forces of evil,
Ready with lightning to face one and all.

Sturdy piece cut from the fork of a sapling,
Strips of old inner tube tied to each end,
Tin cans and bottles lined up on a boulder
To practice an art form as old as dirt.
Pebbles fly with the speed of a rocket.
Bottles smash and tin cans bend
As mother admonishes, ranting and scolding,
Wildly afraid that someone may get hurt.

Pilfered ring from a Mason jar lid,
And fifty three tons of imagination,
I've license to drive, spinning wheels, popping gears,
Changing course and direction but never speed.
I become Richard Petty, or Bobby or Cale,
The winner's circle my one destination.
Not looking back as I race the wide oval,
Desperately trying to stay in the lead.

Life is so simple with youth as companion.
Imagination is all that you need.

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Perception / Misconception

Looking out on a level plain
And asking the question "does anyone care?"
Silently longing to break with tradition
Without ending up alone in despair.
Perception from angles acute and obtuse,
Varying versions of justice and truth,
Backgrounds and foregrounds, shadows and glare,
Break down the barriers formed in our youth.

Plans thought out, though ill conceived,
Treasures sought for a rainy day,
Pleasures of the world surrounding
All our simple folksy ways.
Trouble comes and, unprepared,
The burden stings like iron gloves
Smashed upon the cheek of wisdom,
Crashing down from high above.

Perception of our misconception.
Embarrassment to noble thought.
Deeds will out and battles count
When we perceive them to be fought.

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Only Time

How long is forever?
When did it begin?
Is existence a recurring thing?
Does anything really ever end?
Do spirits live inside our shells?
Do lonely souls continue on?
Is everlasting peace a dream
Or just another fabled con?
Do you have all the vivid answers?
Does reason plague your mortal mind?
Does life slap back at you when you
Pose questions seemingly unkind?
Is it our place to understand
The fleeting rhythm or the rhyme?
Or does the answer lie beyond this life?
Who knows?
Only time.

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Out of Step... Out of Place

The army steps in step by step,
Each footfall neatly mapped.
With twelve to the front
And eight to the rear
Each arm swing has been choreographed.
Eyes straight forward,
Posture checked,
Weapons neatly held in place,
No syncopation is allowed
In this display of rhythmic grace.
No one allowed to miss a beat...
No one allowed to wander...
No time for stopping to reflect...
No time to pose or ponder.
Always in a rush,
Though I don't understand the race.
No wonder I feel out of step...
And even out of place.

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Observation Point

Looking out from a vantage point
High above the masses,
Seeking all the wisdom left by ages eons past,
Yearning understanding as a guide
Through rocky passes,
Hoping against hope that every breath
Won't be the last.
Being an observer of
The human situation,
Learning how they deal with strain
And daily aggravation,
Seeing how they grow and go
In multiple directions,
Little secrets that they hide
Just to avoid detection.
Mumbled, jumbled lives so
Froth with muddled complication.
Amazing what one sees from this
High point of observation.

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