Self-Portrait 12/7/11

I find myself gazing at the mirror on the wall,
it's been quite a while, wonder if I've changed at all.
A baby face, still, hidden 'neath a scruffy beard,
some innocence remains through the hardship this year.
For better or worse now, it's difficult to say,
for so much this year took who I once was away,
and still through it all, there are many lessons I've learned,
every scar on my arm is a badge that I've earned.
This one's for a friend, who died in his prime,
and this for a dream that was broken in time.
Another's a lover chased away by my fears,
and the deepest one, there, was to stop all my tears.
I can still feel myself hold that gun to my head,
as I lay taking stock of my life in my bed,
my finger on the trigger drawing a deep final breath,
as my heart filled with rage when I denied myself death.
Yes, I wear that badge, too, I carved it into my skin.
'Twas punishment for not following through with my sin.
Yet, I feel stronger for it looking back on it now.
I'm sure I shall find happiness....
Someday......
Somehow.....

Time is on My Side

The past is there for us to learn, to cherish, and maybe even grow.
Some things were good, and some were bad, but still,
It takes time for us to learn which is which, if we ever know,
yet for some memories, we never will.

So often it comes, we live in the past,
We analyze everything we've lost, and fall to the pain.
It feels that life has gone by far to fast,
No progress made, with nothing to gain.

Do we then, look ahead, at the future we see?
The clouded visions along the foggy lane,
Where we will go, and who we will be,
So much unknown can drive you insane.

Maybe our goals are the things that we seek,
Something to achieve and attain,
But that will occur, in months, days, or weeks,
Upon their reaching, we look back again.

We therefore must live in the now and the here,
But never forgetting the future or past.
We need only to look around and see clear,
That happiness is, and if we wish, it can last.

A Toast, Between Friends

To the lives we live, and the loves we love, and everything before.
We live our lives till the day we die, and not a moment more.
We accept that which we cannot change, and change things as we need,
for life is life, and merely that, whether good or bad our deeds.
We do all that we can with the short time we have here
so while I sit with you, my friend, let's take time for one more beer.

Island Nights

I've been fishin' with friends
on a beach with no end,
standing in surf lit by the moon.

My only wish
is to catch a big fish.
I don't care if it don't happen soon.

Because with the wind and the waves,
all the money we saved,
to be here with the regular crew,

Just to sit and poke fun,
in the moonlight or sun,
the way that we always do,

With every dime that we've spent,
everywhere that we went,
made every bit of this trip worth its while.

As I lounge on the beach,
a cold beer within reach,
The worst any can do is to smile.

From Way up Here

A man down there's dressed in a tux, beside his blushing bride in her dress of white.
Another man is dressed up, too.  He lays in wait for his funereal rite.
A child was born, just now, down there.  He gasps and screams out his first breath.
How odd that I should witness the joy and pain, the life and death.

I watch the clouds as I skim by, and cannot see these tales below,
Yet though I can't testify to any of this, somehow, in my heart, I know.
It takes all kinds in that little lego land, as I view the world from on high,
And who knows?  Perhaps, someday, someone else will look down, thus, and cast their thoughts on you or I.

So for all those sweet gals, laying bruised and beaten,
All those hobos who haven't eaten,
For the kids lying awake, wondering where mommy is,
And for the others who think they'll never be missed,
Look up to the sky, and think of me, too
For if I'm e'er flyin' I'm thinkin' of you.

A Sonnet, Upon Dying

Life, while precious, is a choice
we take while we can.
Each of us tries to find their voice,
in this unfortunate world of man.

While some of us just fade away,
and others will burn out,
worry not for your statement, this day,
nor your victories, your clout.

Instead, I beseech my fellow man,
to live for every breath they take.
To make their lives the best they can,
lest they should die before they wake.

For all your thoughts, both shallow and deep,
I give these words before my final sleep.

The Man Behind the Counter

O, weary traveler, come see me,
For what you need to travel on.
I'm glad to help you on your way,
I, too, a simple vagabond.
Directions there, a cup of joe,
Maybe just a bite to eat,
An ear to listen, a helping hand,
To get you back upon your feet.
Do you need to bum a smoke?
As it happens, I've got two.
We can both go out and have a puff
before you set yourself en route.
Perhaps, one day, I too shall roam
along that winding road.
Who knows?  We may yet meet again,
it may be you lightens my load.

O, weary traveler, come see me,
to rest your tired soul.
If I can, I'll help you out,
to pay for this road's toll.
I can't myself, that's why I'm here,
or else I'd travel on.
An extra buck, and say the word
you know that I'd be gone.
But, if you're stuck, stay here with me,
I could always use a friend,
and maybe soon, we'll travel on,
and follow this road down to the end.

How To Slay a Dragon, In Memory of Chris Hammar

A gentleman and scholar, too, the knight rode into town,
With armor bright, and honor true, to take the dragon down.
To pick such a hard, and dangerous fight, he had no reason why,
So many men had tried before, and every one had died.

They watched him train all day and night, with sword and shield, and spear,
The winner of so many fights, he ne'er showed any fear.
So fearlessly, he started up the mountainside, so tall,
as the townsfolk watched from down below, to see the dragon fall.

With fire from the dragon's breath, the temperature did rise,
His sword and shield were glowing red, and shining in the sky.
One last mighty sword thrust and the dragon, he was slain.
They both came down the mountain, they were each other's bane.

The townsfolk all knelt down to pray, so it went or so I'm told,
and without the dragon's fiery breath, that desert land grew cold.....

One morning early in March, he lay there in his bed,
His bottle from the pharmacy was seen beside his head.
The winter air was frosty, his body had turned cold,
as he fought the final battle with the dragon in his soul.

Ode to a Friend

On the side of the road, on a balmy summer's night,
two friends had stopped for a smoke.
As the engine settled, they enjoyed their spir'tual rite,
talking of old times, telling old jokes.

Saturday nights, spent with Mary Jane,
some would have called it a crime,
but if it was you in that truck, you'd see it plain,
as simply two friends, passing the time.

Every weekend the same, spent playing this game,
searching for a party, with friends.
The drive was a must, but quite often a bust,
but week to week, that talk wouldn't end.

It's fair to say that we both knew a lot,
though, I know that he taught me a great deal,
as we drove through the night, bowl by bowl, spot by spot,
just living our youthful days out with zeal.

Valentine's Day

The casket lay open, at the head of the hall,
as the preacher took his place in front of us all.
He said a few words, about a long life, lived well,
told us of heaven, then warned us of hell.
Then, many stood up, spoke of lives she had touched,
other, just cried, knowing they'd miss her so much.
As the goodbyes were said, we all parted ways,
for we knew that nothing was left for us to say.
But as we were leaving, her sharpshin hawk flew,
as if she stopped by, to say, "How do you do?"
Just as quickly as it came, it then flew away,
as a passerby stopped, and said, "Happy Valentine's Day."

Self-Portrait 2/12/11

What do I see in the looking glass there?
Where once was a boy with dirty blonde hair,
Now stands a young man, his face lined with care.

As I stare deeply into those sunken brown eyes,
I see into his soul, and I realize,
Therein, despite all of his worries, a happines lies.

Though his hands may be calloused, his back may be bent,
His bills are all paid, his money's all spent,
But it was worth every penny if you knew where he went.

He won't ever be rich, yet will never be poor,
Since he knows that wealth seems to mean something more,
Than the money folks save, or the items they store.

His treasures lie, not in a shed full of junk,
Nor is it buried, deep down in a trunk.
No, it's more like a ship, that capsized, then was sunk.

If you're so lucky to find it, and so brave as to dive,
You'll see how it's passengers lived, while alive,
and can choose for yourself, who's impoverished, and who thrived.

Still, both are now here, decomposing to clay.
For richer, or poorer, we'll all end that way,
which that man in the mirror remembers, as he lives for each day.

This is what I'll remember, when I next see him there,
in the looking glass, meeting his pitiless stare,
and will know, that I too, can in that happiness share.

Lost 'n' Found

A hat, a coat, a purse, in a box,
beside me, and a discarded glove.
We sit and wait in Lost and Found,
where no one takes note to give us any love.

Day by day, we get passed by,
by all kinds of different folks.
Night by night, the crowds die down,
it's hard, in silence, to retain hope.

"So, who owned you?" the hat will ask,
of his dear ragtag coat friend.
"I was the coat of a camping man,
"Seeing mountain views that would never end."

The coat went on, as some will do,
"The sights I've seen have gotten me through.
"Since I was lost on the subway there,
"I'm left to wonder if my owner cares."

As his sentence ended, a hand reached down,
and he fell across his owner's back.
It took a month, but not just the coat was found
we all found the hope, that we all had lacked.

Winter Reveries

Laying asleep, in bed one night,
As I dreamt about the sun,
Unbeknownst to me, outside,
A snowfall had begun.

A silent winter night it was,
or at least it would have been,
if not for snowflakes touching down,
Outside of my house, unseen.

I woke to find the shining sun,
Reflecting on the freshly fallen snow.
Hues of orange, yellow, and pink,
from the rising sun will show.

And as I step onto the porch,
to immerse myself in winter air,
I see the old oak trees, surrounding me,
Wise men, with white winter hair.

Their branches creaking as they sway,
Stretching out in the morning breeze,
For they, too, have just awoken,
With aching backs, and shaking knees.

But every morn, they're standing tall,
and sometimes on peaceful winter days,
If you stand quietly, in their company,
They'll tell you their secrets, you can learn their ways.

To become one with your surroundings,
Living quietly, simply as nature intended,
To freely mingle with the world about,
You'll find your tattered soul, soon, mended.

Drunken Ramblings

Standing in the dark,
and wishing I could see.
Looking for the lives,
that could have been me.
I wish for my future,
yearn for my past.
Searching for a dream,
that can finally last.
My life is a vortex,
of regret, and of shame.
Trudging through days,
that all feel the same.
Feeling all the feelings,
that I've felt before,
and always I'm hoping
to find something more.
Perhaps one day,
I'll get where I'm going,
and find my place,
without ever knowing,
of my troubles and strife,
the hardships of life,
and simply be me,
so I can once again see.