It Might As Well Be Spring

Chirp chirp

    Chirp chirp

I take a sip of tea

Chirp chirp

I turn my head 

and see nothing

A moment passes

Chirp chirp

I walk to the window

Bare tree branches

Finally

I see her

Twig in beak

Moving branch

to branch

Chirp chirp

   Chirp chirp  

A Little Bit

Hold on to that bit of sanity

hanging back there in the closet

You never know when

you will need it

but you will

and you will be 

very glad 

you have it 

when the time comes

Moment Remembered

Old family pictures frame memories

I don't remember living.

Sky blue 1982 Monte Carlo was

the family car 

                       when I was growing up. 

Sitting on the trunk of the car in jeans 

and a long sleeve button up shirt

while my father wears a tank top 

that matches the car

as he leans into me and rests 

his right arm.

We could never be that young

again. 

A Bore

I have to tell myself 

I'm a good person.

It doesn't always

come easy to me. 

I feel the weight

of my weaknesses

and mistakes 

all too often.

At times it gets to me.

This was a problem

in the past that I am

still working through.

This poem is boring

and for that I apologize.

I am not here to 

mythologize myself.

The drunkenness

is nothing worth 

exploiting for gain.

A quiet and still mind

is more focused. 

This is where I am

and where I wish to be.

Ordinariness

 The more I search for work the more I realize I do not wish to place myself

into the position so many of us are forced to. Trading our lives for comfort 

and survival in a system that makes us handily expendable. Salvation does 

not come from an external force, it must be one created and willed. 

The crisis I have felt within myself has been that of a search for purpose. I have

defined that purpose by wanting to do something to create change and good.

I do not know if this will be a means to my own salvation but it is as good of an 

answer as I have ever been able to come up with. The path this places me on will 

be one that will consume my life for the better part of the next few years. I am 38

years old. I will realistically be no younger than 41 in a new profession if things 

all manage to work successfully towards that end. I feel so old and so young. I can

only move forward even as I look back and reflect at the time that has gone behind.

The coffee helps. It is not killing me, unlike old habits I indulged in. 

I watch my nieces grow up and the time is running wild and quick. 

They will remember me in the way I am now. This is the image they will have

of me, much as how I will always remember my parents from my childhood. 

Looking into the fields and seeing the grazing deer, what was that feeling?

The green grapes were fresh and juicy. There was a slight crunch in the coolness

of their taste. Simple pleasures that were once the heigh of decadence and luxury.

Alive but unsettled. Thinking but breathing. Living and sitting still.

Sitting still and moving through existence. Alive but never born.

Emerging into this world. 

 

Reset

Tea first thing

instead of coffee

just once

on this day

A changed ritual

in a different place

Sleep is a ghost

dragging itself

haphazardly

through

consciousness

A sore right foot

aching steps

Wind moving

through skeletal

fingers outside

Buds not ready 

to bloom

patiently

waiting their turn

A Life In Cinema

I remember my childhood in bits and pieces

As though it were a puzzle to be assembled

Isolated moments frozen and separated 

from the rest of the narrative

Sitting on the floor of an apartment 

soft carpet on my legs

pencil in one hand

scrawling lines on a saltine cracker

which I promptly ate

only to have my mother

walk in horrified 

and take both away

A large classroom filled with students

my parents among them

with me in tow

Too young and poor

to have anyone look after me

Everyone striving to learn

a tongue foreign to theirs

How old was I

Meeting my grandparents

my father's parents

Being in their home

in rural Mexico

Seeing the vast depth of a well

Watching Abuela raise a bucket

of fresh water to heat over the fire

for me to bathe in

Being in my grandparents house

and seeing a thatched roof

filled with rows of deer skulls

from my Abuelo hunting 

to provide food

for his wife and eight children

Scenes missing from the film

implying the whole

An ongoing story

with characters coming and going

Playing my part as best I can

Trying to not forget 

what I have seen 

what has been lived

What Morning Is This?

There is nothing normal here. We believe there is normal

but it's really just a matter of what we are used to. Then 

again that's what people who are trying to justify horrible

behavior would say. It has been more than a year since 

abnormal took hold of what we had been used to. In that 

time we have lamented the loss of our lives and the old 

way of doing things. 

I have struggled with myself. I have let myself feed the 

darker parts of my nature, only to turn back on them 

to save myself. I am doing better. I am closer to whole.

The honesty of looking at myself with open eyes is often

difficult. Have I wasted time? Have I wasted the time of 

others? Have I dedicated myself to meaningless pursuits?

Given a chance would I numb myself to the point of self

immolation? At times I feel like a failure, a fraud. This 

light is not flattering. 

At heart I cannot allow myself to remain in the darkness.

I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and the wind in 

my hair and feel that this is where and when I need to be. 

I do not know how far this path goes or how many days

are ahead. I must push onward. I have too much faith.

Kitchen Table

Blooming tulip

Petals spreading

Stemmed body 

held gently

in a milk bottle

Garbage bins 

sit outside the 

kitchen window

filling vast bellies

She is sleeping

in the bedroom

as afternoon

turns to evening

No Birth

Before the dawning light of life

Gestating in amniotic amnesia

Diving in place

Tethered

Feeding

Growing

Then

at last

emerging

from nature

Gasping

Crying out

A door opened

.Live with an open and honest heart

but always be ready to defend it.

The Gift

Memories are a beautiful place

I like to visit from time to time

to admire the view

Sunlight bursting through leaves

and ocean salt filling my nose

Present presence is a gift

I must give myself

however.

Now is the eternal gift.

Photo Album

Call it home

or whatever you like

looking through

fading photograph

memories

Eternal youth

frozen in amber

gleaming bright

Alive

so very

very alive