, , , ,


Look at this
This hope
This tease
That life will not ever end

But it does

Look at this hope
This love
This heart
Which cannot breach its fear

But it does

Look at this love
This power
This lust
That she’s unattainable

But she is

Look at this heart
This pain
This wellspring
That cannot hold back its tears

But it does

Look at this life
This passion
This fight
That wearies so much it cannot go on

…but it does

Love and Pain

Love and Pain

From joy
From love
From hate
From fear

Passions roil inside
Emotions toil for understanding
Life wends its way through time
Love erupts from the soul

Or gets capped by cruelty
Self inflicted
Others inflicted
No matter.

The loss stands real

All own roots within
Acknowledging your self worth becomes vital
Love yourself
Love the pain you self inflict

Take time to ask yourself why
Massage your love
Give love to yourself in abundance
Find your truth

Heal your pain


Random thoughts fire through my brain constantly.

What’s that? That happens to everyone?

Ok, Random thoughts fire through my brain constantly and I am dedicated to writing them down. Sharing them. OK?

A couple things camped out “top-of-mind” here of late. One thought is this: Why do we pay for dating sites rather than use our own sites and social media? It seems like you would meet people more in your life rhythm. Yeah, I get that you might then attract the crazies to your personal sites and media. But you could block and report them and move on. From what I’ve heard on the dating sites, there’s some real wackoes doing stupid things… Those reports mostly come to me through women who tell of men (apparently lots of them) who send them pictures of their, well, uh, you know…

But lets not let women off the hook. For all the men whose vulgarities ruin our gender for the rest of us, there’s the demanding women who tell you what mold you must fill and how to fill it to simply talk to them. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in being the best “me” I can be, not the best “crafted me” by someone who does not even know me.

A couple days ago a woman messaged me the lame and sure-to-not-get-a-response-from-me “Hey there!” I get it. Some people are timid. Hell, I can be timid. I am simply not interested. Yet I still look at their profile, and yes, their picture. This particular profile seemed interesting so I broke my rule of not answering the “Hey there!” lameness. I replied in kind with a simple “Hello!”

Her response? She stated: “Really? Hello? That’s it?” I must interject at this point my immediate reaction. One: Her ego is far too inflated. Two: She’s the one who showed interest in me. I’m just giving her opportunity to speak. Boy, did she ever. I responded with an apology which stated I don’t typically respond to “Hey there!” but she seemed interesting so I said hello. This woman went on to bash me and unload a whole shit-ton of pent up anger. The most comical aspect of all this? In her profile she stated how extremely laid back she is! LOL!

SO, men are vulgar and women are angry and controlling. But no, not all men are that base and not all women are that whack. But the numbers in both categories are disconcerting. Makes me wonder if I really desire a woman in my life… I may be better off alone…



My “Midnight in Her Heart” friend. I miss her. Life is such a crazy thing. I met this wonderful woman online over a decade ago (hmm, a bit of a tie-in to the above online dating thing…). We became fast friends. I admire her intelligence, her wisdom, her loving, gentle spirit and her dedication to make this world a better place. I suppose, in a real sense, I fell in love with Ayesha. I’ve never spoken with her. Simply texts in FB messages or blog comments. She is of Pakistani descent and lives/lived in London. Somehow, life washed over us and she was swept one way and I another.

There’s no FB page visible now. No, I did not do anything stalker-ish. If anything, I was quite silent. I am not one to intrude. The point? Where’s the point here? Oh yeah, I miss her.

Ayesha, over the years, got me through so much without ever knowing she’d done a thing. The fact she loves my writing, a complete stranger with high intellect and wisdom, helped me in my darker moments of self-doubt. I could write something from my heart and she would comment. In fact, I’ve written a book, a collection of my writings and her comments and I’ve dedicated the entire work to her.

But now, now when I am most able and free to connect with her, she’s become a ghost. A phantom. A cherished memory which grows more bittersweet every day. Time is cruel. Distance can be cruel. I suppose I must resign myself to her suggestion of Keats’ “Grecian Urn.”  Talk about bittersweet. Look it up sometime. I understand what Ayesha was saying. The analogy had to do as much with her life situation as mine. But I always harbored a hope that one day we would meet, fall into each other’s arms like fast friends do, and enjoy each other’s company. If only for a day.

I realize that’s “hopeless romantic” type of crap, but that’s me. That’s who I am.

I feel myself growing more jaded and sad with life. That’s not me. That’s not who I aspire to be. Yet, this IS part of who I am. To deny these feelings would be a lie. I work hard these days to no longer lie to myself. So I fondly recall how special Ayesha makes me feel. Yes, I have all her writings (obviously because I’ve written that book…). I may look over them at any time and feel loved by someone who only knew one thing about me – my heart.

She never saw my idiosyncrasies which might drive her crazy. My habits, good and bad. Ayesha tuned into my heart through my writing like no one else ever has. She not only read my work, she not only took interest in it, she would tell me when my words made her laugh and cry and think. She walked my heart through my writings. She tuned in to me and set up residence in my soul. She has free access and she never abused that. She was always kind. I suppose, like she would say, this is the highest relationship we could ever have. But I would/will fly to Europe to see her if she ever offered/offers.

Again, I’m off track. Easy to do inside my heart when it comes to Ayesha. I have always felt I’ve stumbled through life in such an amazingly awkward manner. I’ve missed so many opportunities due to my penchant for not taking the beaten path. I truly have few regrets. Just a couple biggies. One is losing touch with Ayesha. The other is ever meeting my ex, but that’s something I’ve dealt with and I’m good with now.

We truly do need to make the most of our days. We live our lives like we have forever. We should be more aware of our own personal needs and take care of ourselves better. No one is coming to save you from yourself. This won’t happen. That’s up to you. Keep your friends close. Do what it takes to keep in touch with those whom you love.

Ah. Online dating. I’m calling that quits here soon. I am far too busy for random women to attempt to fit into my extremely busy life. If I meet someone, she will likely be connected to something I am doing and will easily step into a rhythm with me and I will adjust my rhythm with hers. We’ll dance.

Or we won’t. I think it’s unfair of me to expect a woman to desire to join with my hectic life. It’s also unfair for me to expect that Ayesha has the ability and freedom to stay connected to me. We come from two very different worlds, but this I know, we are kindred spirits. Not meeting her in my life will be a sadness I will carry with me to my grave. But like the Grecian Urn, I will also carry her love for me and mine for her there as well. In the end, it all works, doesn’t it?

We really have little choice other than to keep our loved ones in our hearts and in our lives each day.

Random thoughts on this evening of decadent rhythms blaring at the skating rink where my daughters are having a blast. Typically this is where I would create some sort of poetic writing. I don’t know that I still possess the ability to go there. I suppose I do. Ayesha stated she loved my poetry raw and off the cuff. Let’s give it a whirl…


Time circles
Love spirals
Passion waxes and wanes
Life sparks of insane emotions firing off in so many directions

Answers exist only by our definitions despite what others will tell you
Answers become what you make them
When you look to someone else for the “correct” answer key, you no longer live YOUR life
Death creeps up behind us all

Time repeats itself
Like a bad student
We don’t listen
We drown our reality with distraction until time and death dance ever close and we feel the brush of their aura

Love twists and turns
Like the darkened tubular waterslides where we’re jerked in directions we cannot see or fathom
We know where we splash down in the end
The ride is exhilarating and at point frightening beyond understanding

Ah, passion
Do others kill it? Time? Age? Boredom?
Or do we do the deed ourselves, by our own hands, our own hearts, our own damage, our own inability to rise above complacency

Snatching and grasping throughout our days.
Relying on others for answers each of us must find on our own, or not
For we came into this world alone, we exit alone.

Answers remain ours for the making
Answers demand nothing
Answers wait on us to embrace them
Whether they stand as right or wrong rests with our interpretation.

Live your life
Love your life
Cherish your life
Embrace your life

Curtains and Tapestries


, ,

Driving south on US1 one evening, “Stories of the Painted Desert” by the Rippingtons came up on my Pandora account. Instantaneously I was transported back to my early grade school self. I was lying in bed, about to fall asleep. I was staring, smiling, and losing myself in the curtains my mother had just made for the window in my room.

To call this a room is quite a stretch. It was actually a breakfast nook converted to my bedroom. The room consisted of my bed and a bar that served as a depository for clothes hangers at the foot of my bed. My window was at the head of my bed, so I was lying with my head near the makeshift closet.

If I stepped off my bed, I had one foot of room before I reached a curtain that shrouded my room from the kitchen. There as a small end table at the head of the bed which held my alarm clock and any number of young boy paraphernalia.

The window curtain popped up in the midst of this beautiful melody because the curtain design was a western scene. Cactus’. Cowboy hats. Boots, Desert. I adored these curtains. My imagination could run wild. I had been to the Painted desert when I was five years old. I’d seen cactus’ and deserts like Death Valley. These curtains became a portal for a mind ready to go places and do things.

Tears streamed my cheeks as I drove home that night. My mother’s Alzheimer’s has all but robbed me of her wonderful self. Memories like this are truly all I have of her now. While she is a sweet woman with no ability to remember much of anything now, the vibrant, intelligent woman has faded into the darkening gray areas of one of the cruelest of diseases.

I work hard to avoid these moments of loss, these moments of painful memory. I would think if Mom were dead these memories would be more cherished. Don’t get me wrong, the reason I’m crying is that I deeply cherish the memory. She made those curtains special. Just for me. The fact that over a half century later I can feel the joy and excitement and wonder of those curtains is a testament to my wonderful mother.

Like many of us, I’ve had much too much pain in my life. My sense is that this will never end. Pain is interwoven into everything we do. See. Taste. Smell Hear.

I’m not being morbid. This is truth. Pie-in-the-sky is not true. I love my mother. I love the little things she did for me throughout my life. I love the fact that I had her as a mother. A son could not ask for better.

But I drive four hours to visit her. I spend hours with her. I take her to lunch. Five minutes after I leave, I was never there. No recollection. She will even tell you she has not seen or heard from me in months.

The tears well up from this reality. I love those curtains. I wish to God I still had them today. They remind me of goodness and joy in life. They remind me that I am special. They remind me that all is not dark. Yet, the tether remains between that mom of long ago and the mom of today. I don’t know how to separate the two emotionally.

I can do this intellectually. I can deny the pain of my mother’s current condition, but then I cannot revel in the wonder of those moments when I felt so awesome my skin tingled. I seldom allow myself to feel these deep emotions regarding Mom because the disease interferes a delivers tears without fail. The loss is too much to bear.

This one was worth it, however. I hadn’t thought of those curtains for decades. Literally for a half century. The feelings which flooded my soul were worth the tears and the pain. I was able to talk to my sister about the curtains. She remembered them well. Mom even remembered them because her long term memory is not shot all to hell yet.

Everyone deserves to feel special. Everyone deserves the opportunity to dream and to imagine and to enjoy a gift. I listen to this song often. The music does the Painted Desert justice. I’ve revisited that wonder place a number of times since I was six.

Isn’t this how life truly goes? Everything is intertwined in a tapestry of experiences. Good. Bad. Joyful. Painful. The song is lovely. The memory of my curtains a joy. The room I treasured in the little breakfast nook makes me smile. The pain of virtually, but not totally, losing my mother cuts to my core like a jagged, rusty blade.

In the end, we either decide the experience (of actual events as well as the memory) are worth the emotions they draw forth. These days I work hard at finding them worthwhile. Otherwise, the pain of life overwhelms me. All becomes dark. Hope scurries into the shadows. Love weeps for all the losses. Dreams wither and die on their fragile vines.

Or, the bittersweet aspects of life get cherished. The fact that I can feel this deeply signals my inner emotional health is good. I enjoy the flavor of a song even more. I revel in the memory of kindness and a gift from my beloved mother with more zeal. I cry deeper tears from the pain of losing her while she still yet lives. And I call it all good as this represents the fullness, the Yin and Yang of life.

I love you, Mom. Thank you for giving that ability to love to me through your life and how you lived it… And as with all my visits with you these days, they are no longer for you any more than this writing is for you. If you could read this and retain it, that would be another story. This is for me. I get to cry these tears again and they feel right and true and good. I get to feel your love again, especially in the loss of you, and this is good for I am able to cherish you more deeply.

As with anyone who’s lost an incredible, loving parent, I will miss you all the days of my life. I will keep your memory alive in me as long as I possibly can. If I should ever fail at this, my words will have to suffice to carry this all forward.

Speaking of Curtains, every time I think of that word (curtains) I immediately think of this song from Elton John’s “Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy” album. Always my favorite song on the album, I remember spinning the tune on my various turntables and CD players over the years.

Such a beautifully written song. I love live music and having Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart cover it is amazing to me. They do a wonderful job of carrying the tune forward and staying true to its essence and power.

If you listen closely to the lyrics they reflect what I wrote above about my Curtains. Especially the part where the song says “Just like us, you must have had, a once upon a time.” My mother’s curtains gave me one of those once upon a time era’s in my life. There is so much beauty in life. So much connectivity. So much to be grateful for.

Life is truly the tapestry many have spoken of throughout the existence of man. We should step back more often and take a look at the beauty woven into our lives. When we do, we see the pain and suffering are as much a part of the beauty as the joys and exhilaration. We miss our truest connection to life when all we focus upon is the positive, or in my case, deny the negative or the painful.

Love your life. Love the tapestry you’ve woven throughout your years. Accept all the flaws and revel in them for they define who you are, whether you like it or not. I recommend liking your foibles and flaws, whether you get them corrected or cleaned up because you throw away an integral slice of yourself every time you deny who you are.

Own your life. Live it. Feel it. Connect to it. Find the threads of your tapestry and admire the entire story it tells.

Drops of Sadness


, ,

Drops of Sadness

Love is a crazy thing
Feelings stream throughout your soul
Love is a crazy life
Emotions fill voids to make you whole

Love is a crazy day
Thoughts, dreams and lullabies
Love is a lonely night
Sad drops of darkened skies

Love is a crazy mood
Pools mixed with all you feel
Love is a crazy existence
It’s mixtures make it all so real

Love is a crazy touch
A hand to hold which makes you thrill
Love is a crazy drive
Lips beg a kiss to steal

Love gives you life and joy
To mix in with sadness’s pain
Love gives you all you need
If only you feed and sustain

Love lends you smiles all day
Rented for the price you pay
Love’s hope builds each moment clear
That’s why you hold her dear…



Your soul,
Feeling like a rag doll in a huge darkened tunnel
Tossed about by hurricane force winds
Debris and people rocketing all around you
Bumping you. Jostling you.
Moments of quiet
Become tempests of fury.
You contribute by jumping into the chaos
You don’t know why…

The darkness remains stark.
In all this hyper-activity
When you’re thrown close enough
You see things.
Mostly pain.

You flail about for a handhold.
Sadness rules much of this realm.
Guilt for simply existing here, slashes at you
The blows hurt.

As you fly, out of control,
Others in this phantom world careen around you
Many you recognize
Not often by name but by pain and suffering
You see their wounds
Not so much how they got there
But what keeps them in this hellish tunnel of darkness and chaos

A few,
Very few,
You meet
You exchange time.
Milliseconds of hope to build on
As you each whirl out of control
Tossed into a macabre dance
And you touch
And you squeeze every ounce of hope
That each of you may find a way
A means to grasp a tether
A way home together
Against all odds
Against all fury

There become times of distance and separation
If fortunate,
Times of being tossed together
You learn to semi-control your path
Even though the whirlwind takes you at its emotional whim
You seek answers
You cry.
You know despair
You appreciate love
For it is here
In your deepest darkness
When love is the rarest commodity
You beam love out like an SOS or a lighthouse
You find your genuine love
Not the common, surface oriented stuff
You give it away
But you need love
You need to be touched
You need some bearings

When that spark arrives
Chaos still whipping you every direction
Love itself becomes pain
The most important aspect of all
Is to hold on to the trust that love will truly bring the winds down
Peace may creep back into your life
And through the entire experience
You find that you generated the tornadic winds
You kept out the light
You freefell due to your own volition
You needed answers
If you’re strong enough
Determined enough
Willing to find yourself enough
The maelstrom will not destroy you

You may step out and trust
Not others, for they live their own desperations
You trust yourself
You trust your love
You trust your heart
You trust your soul
And you live in a higher love for life

That is the hope
Whatever your condition
Whatever your reason for arrival
Whatever your circumstance
You go through it all
You find yourself
You discover truth

My Key of Life…

The following comprise songs in my key of life today.

The first is My Funny Valentine. The most amazing rendition of this song I’ve ever heard. That is was live and sung by a woman fighting stage fright makes it even more dramatic.

Next, one of the most powerful songs of life wrapped in a beautiful performance. Today

One of my favorite Sade songs wraps up my little emotional reverie… I Will Be Your Friend…

Midnight Heart


, , ,

Midnight Heart

Lying in bed
Fingers trace imaginary strands of hair which
Ethereal wisps of love
Swirl through the smooth jazz gleefully dancing through ears
Perfecting the illusion of connection
Borrowing time for passion to simmer away minutes
Leading through the paths of hours creating
Thoughts, emotions, joy in the fleeting moments of non-aloneness to
Pass along hope to future days
Days of sunshine
Days of held hands
Days of thunderstorms with lightning dazzling the heart
Revealing exquisitely powerful attraction
So beautiful
So complete
No external force exists to trample what romance stands for
No external restrictions hold any keys to this kingdom of light
For the heart and soul know what our mind cannot control.
As the bed continues to invite sleep
Rhythms and intricate melodies tease relaxation
A deep, warm smile knows
Knows that indefinable concept we label love
Never dies from denial
But withers in the hands of inner self-doubt
Lying in bed

All we own is time
We measure lives with chronological labels
As if minutes, hours, days, weeks hold any meaning
For all that exists worthwhile should be measured by twirling hair
Knee-crippling kisses
Sleep-stealing passions
Conversations of magnitudes ranging from silly to sublime
Nights of fancy
Days of discovery
Answers always revealed within
So many questions
Yet, for want of peace, we bypass life
Lying in bed,
Love this night sings her siren song
In thoughts which cry out from a lifetime
and echo ever so dimly under the cacophony of a world in chaos
No understanding of why this love is not wanted
Sadness drips sweet droplets of love’s lifeblood
Forming tiny rivers in a scarred heart
Which feels life rise again despite itself
For finally, as light fades into darkness
Self-worth and self-love find solace in each other
No one else need understand
A smile of independence
A smile of self-assured confidence
A smile for all the weariness
A smile for what could be
A corrective smile for what is
And a smile for the sad little boy
Head hung low in bewilderment
Wondering why he’s always so alone
When all he desires is one connection to one person for one moment in time
His time will come
Either by death’s hand
Or the grace of peace from one simple dream come true
One simple wish
Larger than the Universe itself
Wrapped in nothing more than that elusive creature called love
Lost and found in the kiss which will not be denied the brave heart…

So Natural


, , , ,

So Natural

So natural to write words
A voice in the heart
Sings concepts through fingers.
In the quiet hours of pre-dawn,
You glide through my heart,
Ethereal, sublime, surreal.
All that’s left are the moments,
Special times met with delicious sexual tensions,
As real and present as the morning sun.
We parlay through our snippets of companionship,
Running through thunderstorms.

So natural to write words
Playthings which draw ever-dotted-line-lives to the page.
Low-tide castles to be obliterated by the sea of time,
Rebuilt as often as we desire,
As often as we may afford the energy,
As often as love cannot be silenced,
As often as breath allows.
And in those moments when you swipe my breaths away,
All I may do is smile.
For the castle rebuilds itself.
Despite me.
Despite you.

So natural to write words
Pale imitation beings which carry the colors of a rainbow.
The passions of a lover.
The musings of brilliance.
The silliness of a man gone bonkers.
And discover knowing love is all.
Not that this concept ever stood in doubt,
But that we own the privilege to love and be loved.
In life, we drastically underestimate love’s scope.
To play once again with possibilities.
With eyes directly off the horizons of love.
Fresh with perspective.
Wizened by age.
Fueled by a soul more open than ever.

So natural to write words.
Inadequate to the task,
Yet a beauty interlaced because of connection,
Not to any one person other than self,
Connecting the dots of life which appear random and chaotic,
Which they are indeed.
Yet when one steps back and surveys the insane landscape of the page,
A transcendent beauty emerges from the mess.
An otherworldly view of life and times.
Elixirs to sip as fine wines.
To cherish.
To smile upon in their infantile pursuits.
To carry, not upon your back, but within the peace of memories loved

So natural to write words.
Expressions brought to the page.
Love songs.
Diabolical attacks.
Yet through their mists,
Carnages of nonexistent battles,
Witnessed within,
Battles of what to do with love,
Whose folly lies not in their sometimes foolish expression,
But more so in those expressions restrained.
Those which struggled for freedom,
Those clung to in fear.
For what manic power comprises words,
But the inner self striving for release,
Through a medium poorly constructed,
And a heart beautifully crafted.

So natural to write words.
Darkened mornings of sultry wishes.
Extravagant dreams of what may be.
So easily washed away by dawns harsher light.
But now, for those who see,
Who feel,
Who understand more of life’s true essence,
I see you.
Your power.
Your beauty.
Your natural grace disguised in clumsy conventions.
Constructs of your mind, heart, and soul.
And while I stroll in your garden of love,
Which, more directly stated,
Are the delicious moments we share in time,
I’m reminded that love and passion within this soul,
Within my core essence,
Are intended for use.
For focus.
For release.
For sharing.

So natural to write words.
All the more lovely to have your left hand scribble on my page.
The impermanence of this life threatens to wipe our slates,
Yet we continue to draw.
For words only exist as tools for artists
Who delight in crafting their thoughts and dreams and nightmares,
Creating colors typically through black and white symbols,
To convey the spectrums of good and evil within,
Both being important,
Both being connected,
Just like you and I.

One day.
“One days” never happen
We quicken ourselves to them
Or they die the quiet deaths of fleeting dreams.

One day
We will have each other.
Or not.
Either will define us in some manner.
Either will impact us in some manner.
Neither scenario will destroy us.

So natural to write words.
To state a case.
To paint with the tools of passion.
So natural to write of love.
Through each day as follies and victories rise,
Each as fragrant as the other,
The fact you glide as a misted ghost,
Materializing in moments,
Disappearing in the space between breaths,
Only lends smiles to an inner face.
For you are the wind.
Beautiful beyond all seeing.
Lightest of touches.
Unseen furies to tussle existence.
Soothing in your softness.
Frightening in your capacity to rage.
Missed sorely in your silence.
Cherished beyond imagination in your merest of touches.
You are owned by no one,
Yet you visit us all through your loving touch.

So natural to write words.
So natural for you to blow in and out of my life,
For your life follows the paths of ghosts.
Those of us fortunate for your touch,
May only wait and hope for another.

So natural to write words.
These words stand true –
Trust me.

A plea to the breezes of love,
That they may touch my soul,
And in return, be offered relief.
If only in moments,
For as we know,
Moments are all that’s allowed us,

Which is oh so natural…