My Momma’s House


, ,

My Momma’s House

Familiar creaks in the ancient floor
Once a bane to childhood creeping
Teenager sneaking
Now a quaint and mournful sigh

Wood and concrete mixed for strength
She built the ultimate stability through perseverance
Tears and loss
Now unable to hold her dreams real

Memories born, attached to our births
Ghosts of good and bad play hide and seek with our tears
Formative philosophies born and raised here
They march into yesterday’s realm inexorable. Relentless.

My momma’s house pours over my soul
The single most important artifact of a life
The stalwart line in the sand against the tsunami of time
Falls into memory itself with pain, regret, helplessness, sadness

My momma’s house a lifeblood gift generations ago
A rock on which to build
To send lives out into the world to thrive in their own ways
A marker bobbing in the sea of life which ends with these same lives

Legacy builds through action
My momma’s breath runs deep, embedded in the silent walls
Sixty-four years here, the bulk spent in oneness alone
While the rest of us bustled about in our Don Quixote pursuits to construct our lives

My momma’s house, make no mistake
Anchored to her heart, tied to our souls
She cannot stay, she cannot stay
Peril in the fall of the house of mother

Profound loss screams silent tears down sullen cheeks
No recourse allowed
No alternative day-saving
No cavalry to ride to our rescue like in the books and movies we once enjoyed here

My momma’s house is my house.
My momma’s house is all my sisters’ house
My momma’s house is my father’s house
Again, my momma’s house is hers, her tie to life, her fortress against time

My momma’s house silently accuses
Yet my momma’s house silently accepts and encourages
My momma’s house thinks no thoughts, owns no convictions
Save the ones coursing my brain and heart and deepest essence in long ago learned lessons

My momma’s house bore our imperfections well
My tears in this very room uncountable
My security within its walls never doubted
Until now as I say goodbye to a home well constructed

Yes, my momma’s house owes its strength to the concept of home
Persevered through a lifetime of struggle
Only a house in timber, always a home
Always a foundation built on the backs of we who shared her adamant embrace of this place

My momma’s home strikes its blow deep
Goodbye not something to take lightly
More to cower from and lend flight to feet aching to flee reality
Yet my momma’s home stands on the foundation of understanding and love

Forgiveness for what must be done does not arrive questioned from my momma’s home
Only from the tired, grief-stricken hearts who must gently explode the atomic bomb
The mushroom cloud of goodbye cannot be mended
Only cherished as something few get to experience

My momma’s home is a testament to quiet strength
To love and caring and softness and self determination
To everything and more a child could ever aspire to
To a life well-lived and a heart well-loved

My momma’s house should never fall
Yet time, decay of mind and will
Devastating truths of this existence
Win the battle whose outcome for all of us lies never in question

My momma’s home cradles my loves and hates
My achievements and failures
Myself and my children
My life and my death
For all were born here
All sprouted from this castle forged from her tenacious endeavor
To build a haven for love, life,
A refuge from reality, a reality from fantasy
A fantasy from effort, an effort which completed a legacy

My momma’s home owns forever the floor creaks
Forever the cries, yelling, tears, heart-numbing sadnesses
Along with our triumphs, our victories, our life credentials
And no relinquishment of this brick and mortar can ever steal this away

For despite how the loss of this house feels deep in my bones
This mighty hotbed of lives well played does not reside at an address
This physical thing which destroys my eyes and ears and nose and tongue and fingers by its loss
Never truly owned a single viable emotional existence that did not owe its mere contemplation to anything or anyone other than my most honorable, loving, kind, gentle, silent-strong mother

My momma’s home may not be attributed to the rest of us
We stand as mere contributors to her dream and her will
We should applaud her efforts
We should applaud our contributions
We should understand she built this home despite us
Ultimately and deserving of every tear we could possibly shed
My momma built this home for us as much as for herself
For this home resides in her heart and we all were one day born of that heart
And one day we will mourn that heart
Hopefully we celebrate that heart
Hopefully, in some manner, in some way even paled, we spread that heart to others.

No amount of pain can describe saying goodbye to this house
Yet the home still resides within her
When she’s gone, the home still resides in us
When we’re gone, the home still resides in those we touched through her legacy

May that ripple travel eternity…


The Life That Wasn’t

P1020006The Life That Wasn’t

Trees of green, red roses too
For years and years, the voice, the heart, the song
Letters I’ve written never meaning to send
For years and years, the melody, the wailing heart, the song

Babies’ first cries ricochet past recollection
But tiny lads and lasses grow
Too fast
Too smart
Too different
Yet their lives become mortar to legacy and love

Connections lost throughout our lives
Lost through busy schedules
Lost through domineering spouses
Lost through internal fears
Lost through selfish interests
Lost through time’s limited agreement with our bodies and their activities
Yet somehow, in some fashion, that connection survives

The life-that-was defined itself in perpetual series’ of accidents, failures, and conflicts
Nothing worked perfectly
Much worked minimally
Some worked well
A little worked amazingly
And something filtered through all on its own

Strength of character

The life-that-wasn’t was perfect
Ooga booga children with frolicking happy days and nights
Baseball and basketball and orchestra and chorus and ballet and music and art
All choreographed under the conductor’s wand to immaculate serenity

The life-that-wasn’t filled the dream of the heart
The longing of the soul
The best wishes of personality
The knowledge of good

The life-that-wasn’t felt the sting of emotional, spiritual, and psychological abuse
Only to lay the groundwork with nutrients to survive
To grow stronger
And to prepare grown Ooga Boogas for their trials

The life-that-wasn’t should have been
The life-that-wasn’t harkened fairytale wonder
The life-that-wasn’t struggled against black negativity
The life-that-wasn’t could never hope to survive on its own

Ah, but that life-that-was grew them strong
Grew them smart
Grew them self-reliant
Grew them with a goodness, something for which every parent dreams

There exist infinite live’s that weren’t
The life-that-wasn’t never overcomes the darkness
The life-that-wasn’t never makes the dawn
But the spirit of the life-that-wasn’t survived on the wings of love

And legacy

You read this
You must realize
You stand as someone’s legacy
No matter what you built
No matter what you destroyed
You define someone’s legacy
You enhance or degrade your own

Never too late while you breathe to strive for love and legacy
For the life-that-wasn’t

But should have been…



, , , , ,

Darkened street 3Ascension…

A redeye slogs its way across soggy Eastern skies
Its mournful drone labors to reunite loved ones
Sleep begs and beckons its continuation
As the will nearly loses its familiar feeble fight to blossom into another day

Soft piano notes acknowledge the sixth hour
While the brain shakes off the cares of dreams and fantasy lives
Dayspring dawns as fingers gently caress letters from inanimate objects
And my soul projects its thankfulness for these words to begin this morn’s resurgence to life…



I want to be your hero
The one who travels your heart
The thought you have in random moments
The smile which tickles your face and mind

I want to be your hero
The strength you need when you’re feeling down
The arms you desire when your soul needs held
The kindness you seek when the world is cold

I want to be your hero
The gentle hand to caress your nights
The loving kiss which lingers on your lips
The embrace which causes the cares of this world to fade away

I want to be your hero
Because you most definitely are mine
You stroll my heart in every moment
You run my thoughts in wanton abandon
You tug smiles to my face throughout my day
You lift me even in my darkest despair
You hold me tight and my world is healed
You warm me in the coldest of times
Your hand caresses my face and I melt
You kiss me and my lips beg for more
You hug me and all is well…

You are MY hero, my love, my life
My inspiration, motivation, my conduit for goodness
And I strive to be your adoring hero
For my life is complete in the love from your eyes…

My Valentine

0255My Valentine

Affection lingers long past midnight on empty streets bathed in silken moonlight
Leaves tumbling like water in a brook past my feet strolling from your door.
I wonder what’s your thoughts, where’s your mind, how’s your heart
And mine beats, double-time.

Adoration tickles the tingles racing along each loving nerve
Night’s noises play the tune, the one that leaves me all aswoon
Perfect creature in your room, there’s but one thought on my mind
And I wonder when I’ll meet your soft lips again.

My Valentine, I love your sweetness, your loving kindness lurks my soul
Morning looms like a sultry beacon to the song swirling in my heart
I wander quiet in the moonbeams, what magic hijinx enwraps me so
And my joy’s a bolt of lightning

My Valentine, you sing my story, your aura pervades all I know
When next the evening comes to greet me, I look forward to all we are
I wonder how my stars aligned so nicely,
And you own my heart’s desire.

Birthday Song #31

mike-black-and-white-300Love expressions vary from person to person, personality to personality. We all possess them and there can be many similarities amongst us. Ultimately, however, the feelings generated within us vary dramatically. The levels of emotion fluctuate dramatically from one person to the next for the “similar” expressions of love.

We each own a uniqueness. This day and age, governments and corporations and religions strive to homogenize us into one easily labeled entity. This only works if we buy into their crap. When each of us are able to see ourselves as unique and special, we develop a sense of security and confidence within ourselves.

This does not mean we stand radically different from others, just that we each are viable individuals in our own right.

I enjoy celebrating love, especially the love I feel for others. For no one else may exactly express how I feel any more than I may exactly express how they feel. The important aspect to all this is that we each are able to feel and express ourselves.

This is the 31st day of Michele’s birthday celebration. I’ve enjoyed this tremendously. The exploration of my heart always reveals surprises and never comes up hollow with respect to emotion. For everyone out there who loves someone (that means you), know that your love is real, tangible, viable and important, if for no one else on earth but you. Take heart in the fact that you feel love, and work to nurture and grow it. When you love someone you truly invest in yourself if you but take the time to look.

And yes, love falls even sweeter when it’s requited. The fact you own the capacity to love, feel love, and express love, in and of itself, benefits you.

Clock HandsThe Last Day

We think there will always be a last day:
Last day of summer
Last day of football
Last day of college
Last day of living with parents
Last day of camp
Last day of work
Last day of vacation
Last day of life

Yet, there will always be a last day.
Even when we’re gone
Even when the earth dies and gasps its final breath
Even when stars wink out of their existence
Some solar day, somewhere, somehow, will witness its last day

Then what?
There’s no concept of zero here.
The Romans had it right.
There is no zero, no nonexistence
For, whatever happens, everything still exists
Stars, moons, galaxies, planets, inarguable eternity in the cosmos.

So for me and you, there exists no last day
No final moment where our existence gets wiped from the slate of history
No inglorious ending falling into the abyss and obscurity of time
For should all manner of substance and light and dark flee the heavens
Our love will carry eternity

Love stands as the most powerful existential part of life
Neither adequately measured nor controlled
For no manner of legislation, war or devastation
May bring about its total destruction.

My love for you will enjoy eternity
Filled with hope and togetherness
Fully a celebration where the concept of a last day
Owns no meaning, no thought, no finality.

To know love is to know immortality
This is my understanding
In my life, our love feels…
Meant to be

My heart will carry us forever to a place where time, including the concept of days, becomes irrelevant.

I adore you, Petite Choo Choo!


Birthday Song #30

img_0452Way Too Easy to Forget

Isn’t that true of so much of life?
We forget so many great things.
Like what it really felt like on those magic mornings at seven years old
Dew sparkling the ground like liquid diamonds
Like the autumn breezes which tickles the body’s warmth,
Crisp leaves crunching, colors abounding, and the thrill of burnt orange crayons

We forget the taste of Granny’s blackberry cobbler.
Yes, the flavor resided someplace beyond heaven,
Like the wind in your hair as you serpentine-glided your bike down a hill.
Like the smile you felt growing inside your belly, dancing up your esophagus
A laugh exploding from your mouth because your best friend ripped one.

We forget the joys of striking out on our own
Like leaving town with all possessions crammed into a compact car
Destination the horizon of the future when the tingle of fear felt good.
Like the first living room furniture looking so grown up
And the bookshelves, ah, those wonderful, wonderful bookshelves.

Yes, I remember these things, yet I fail the memories badly
For the feelings, the tastes, the smells, the emotional intensities
Imprinted only their record, not the immaculate reliving of the moments.
For all the beauty and wonder of life passed by,
Hollow melancholy taints them all like a creeping mold

Then there’s you.
Every single time our hands enfold each other, memories of that walk on the beach,
Vivid in all its emotional glory, fill my heart with amazing newness from an old event.
Every single smiling kiss fills my soul with wonder and joy no less powerful as the first,
That one in the doorway which I managed to feel on my lips all the way home and into incredible sleep

Life stands rife with memories in two dimensions
Vivid solely in the knowledge they once held power
But you and I, we rekindle and cherish each other
Just as the dreams always portrayed

Way too easy to remember,
To relive,
To embrace,
To feel,

That’s the way to love – keep it way too easy to remember

Birthday Song #29


MMC2 12-31-2015If I Had to do it All Over Again

I’d fall down the front porch steps and land on my head
I’d get lost at six in the Colorado mountains again
I’d listen to the dreadful quarrels and drunken yelling
I’d cry on Christmas Eve again at twelve
I’d lose my heart at the seventh-grade sock hop
I’d suffer the pain of my best friend stealing my girl
I’d endure the grief of my Granny’s dying
I’d surrender myself to my lonely fate
I’d withstand my father’s evil contempt
I’d go through the disintegration of a four-year proposal
I’d face my first brush with death once again
I’d resign myself to the loss of a good woman who I thought was the answer
I’d survive two decades of hell and abuse
I’d cope with a second, more direct brush with death
I’d brook the struggles of everyday life
None, not one, of these terrors would sway me
Not one, none, of the curses would deter
For if I knew you would be there waiting
If I knew our lives would connect
I would subject myself to all that indeed harmed me
If I had to do it all over again…

…for you

Birthday Song #27

AYAM Crop 1Sometimes Young

You’re sometimes young
Music brushes past your ears like a free-flowing highway
Destination heart, soul, emotions
Access to the stories of your life as if some mystical key unlocks you
Releasing all the pains, anguish, exhilarations, passions,
Those higher planes of ourselves that the everyday life does not allow.

You’re sometimes young
Wistful thoughts travel with the audial delights
Distant past made palpable again to delight or dismay
Your ability to craft the emotions from sound becomes creativity induced
Wonder and amazement overrun by the flood of feelings
And the need to bring the best of you, left behind, into the here and now.

You’re sometimes young
In music, in love, in harmony, in melancholy
You find yourself open to the dusty halls within
As you stir up the flakes of all you held dear
Reality a questionable thing when you glimpse who you were
Who you are, and define who you will be

You’re sometimes young
Hand in hand with love, music, peace, tranquility
At one with your past, present, future
She smiles while you kiss her like she knows joy intimately
Your life takes on meaning, you invigorate your mind
Youth becomes real once again and you realize it never truly left at all…