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I've been hearing news about the tragic shooting in Newtown, Connecticut
which happened almost a year ago, so I decided to post my poem again as a tribute.
The tragedy was fresh and heavy on my mind when I wrote this...
The wind howls outside my balcony door
My feet are cold from walking across the floor
As I step outside to look at the snow
I know for sure I won’t be sleeping anymore
It’s 5 am … only five hours of sleep
The house is so quiet, kids aren’t making a peep
I head to the kitchen, down darkened stairs
Coffee doesn’t take very long to prepare
Back in my bed where it’s cozy and nice
I pull the covers up, my body cold as ice
My legs are warming with my notebook on my lap
I’m thankful for the company of an early morning chat
The lights begin to flicker, my internet is gone
No one to chat with, I find myself alone
I light the few candles I have sitting about
Just in time for the power and lights to go out
Buried under covers, too bad I’m alone
The coffee tastes good, it’s still kind of warm
I close my tired eyes to take time to pray
And think about what’s ahead for the day
My mind won’t cooperate, thoughts starts to wander
So many things that I start to ponder
Like funerals for those little ones, starting today*
In a town in Connecticut, so far away
yet so close to home, in a manner of speaking
I think of my children in their rooms still sleeping
My tears feel hot coming down my cold cheeks
As I think of the events of this sorrowful week
And of all the evil which has been unfurled
And tomorrow, supposedly the end of the world*
Well, maybe the end would be just as well
We’re already living in a sort of hell
No! I can’t think like that…I have to stop
I just wish I could have a direct talk with God
And find out what it is that He wants me to think
Find out why such bad things are happening
Why did those children have to die?
How will those parents say goodbye?
My heart aches so much as I look at the ceiling
I can’t imagine what those parents are feeling!
God, give me some answers! Show me the way!
What is the point of getting up today?
What is it I’m feeling…? Is it grief, or fear?
I hope in time things might become clear
Sitting in the dark as the temperature falls
The candles flicker gently, making shadows on the wall
Those candles smell good, they smell of peace
I close my eyes to try to get some sleep
Quietly there comes a stirring from within me
I could imagine God's words, through a gentle epiphany
The children are ok… they’re in a better place
Their parents have pain that I’ll help them to face
This brings me such sorrow, I am hurting too
But I’ll use this for good, I can promise you
Things happen in this life that can’t be understood
Let your heart ache for the evil, but search for the good
Remember all those things that make life worth living
Like family and friends… like serving others, and giving…
Do what you can to make the world a little better
Just spread the love… and try to remember
This world is not the end, and it isn’t your home
And neither is your body… That’s just skin and bones
There are beautiful things in store for you
I know you can’t imagine, but believe that it’s true
And tell other people, so they will have hope
It’s the only thing on earth that will help them to cope
I look out the window at the snow flying by
The sun is coming up, but gray fills the sky
I may not have the answers to all I want know
I just have to believe that God is in control
A peace comes over me like a little gift
I feel that a burden has been lifted
I still feel sad, but hopeful, in a way…
At least I think I'm ready to face another day
*Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
On December 14, 2012, 20-year-old Adam Lanza fatally shot twenty children and six adult staff members in a mass murder at Sandy Hook Elementary School in the village of Sandy Hook in Newtown, Connecticut. Before driving to the school, Lanza shot and killed his mother Nancy at their Newtown home. As first responders arrived, he committed suicide by shooting himself in the head.
It was the second deadliest mass shooting by a single person in American history, after the 2007 Virginia Tech massacre, and the second deadliest mass murder at a U.S. elementary school, after the 1927 Bath School bombings in Michigan.
The shootings prompted renewed debate about gun control in the United States, and a proposal for new legislation banning the sale and manufacture of certain types of semi-automatic firearms and magazines with more than ten rounds of ammunition.
* Some people believed the world would end on 12/21/12 all because the Mayan Long Count calendar was thought to be reaching the end of its cycle.
You can always tell by the eyes
When they’re starting to go
You’ll fall for a few of their lies
Before you begin to know
And you will just defy it
(But they know you will never go)
They’ll glide through the waters and skies
The erratic behavior will soon begin to show
Above and away the storm dies
A cold, hollow feeling in a black and white glow
And they will justify it
(But you know it will take them slow)
You’ll slowly begin to realize
Static is policing their echo
The red stitching in their burnt Eye
That will probably never unsew
And they will just deny it
(But you know they will always go)
The phantom’s days are aphotic
Ocean whispers deicide to Moon
The morning clouds aquatic
Reaching the waves with a bent spoon
Mind is lifted and neurotic
The Earth will come back to you soon
And you won’t feel so erotic
While alone in your hotel room
(Sex with the city sleepers)
Alive where Death lives
Gone where the waves go
Asleep where dreams wake
Dead where feelings die
…A light where the stars are burnt…
Bid these feelings words
The machines of waters and skies
Embody the gliding emotions
Like clouds they shape themselves and go
Write this bidding to feel
Remember the thoughts that were
Like waves they flow and fade away
Rid these words of feeling
Feel anything at all, fall…
Like wind they take and they stray
Feel these words to rid
The masks and chains of oneself
And the dark feelings that boil within
Like trees they raise themselves and grow
Ocean dreams of phantom mechanisms
The world is cold and full of ghosts
They watch as their generation swims in murk
And the funeral of social segregation will never breathe
The night mirrors reflect the soul of a poet
Only one comprehends these idiosyncratic vowels
Like waves they flow and fade away
Under the white and blue cloak
The clouds are my poet smoke
Rain is the cleansing of wicked nights
With venom pollution and spider bites
That flood my mind with a static tan
Vanished through the wire, I already am
Her clouded eyes they lock to me
I, a sight she was not meant to see
My ghastly ripped soul exposed
Our deepest feelings transposed
And I know this one’s a lie
A worn exhausted sigh
Printed from the pressed death within
Those eyes seek Life all over again
(Her flawlessness the only flaw)
(His flaws make him flawless)
Phantom is high and dark as crow
Moon showers greetings below
Ocean mirrors it’s divine glow
Cloud attempts to steal the show
Earth is screaming, we ignore it though
Mind is planted and dying to grow
Life is tired and waiting to go
Static is torn and ready to sew
Death is late and killing slow
Eye is two and one doesn’t know(Shhh!)
The flames scorching the depths of Eye
Splitting the reign of one into two
I met Satan at the gates of Hell (Phoenix)
Only to be spit back to Earth like scum
Half alive and crawling through the moor
Realization was the key to the shining door
Oh my god, I’m one. Eye am God.
The mountains between the waters and skies
Keeps dreams from reality and pulls reality from dreams
Mind faces fears of the night mirrors and reflections sleep
And the liquid light of the moon opens a gateway
Where dreams don’t sleep and strength never weakens
A world where control doesn’t slip between the seams
Of your sewn mind…
(Free yourself from the shadows of life and death)
Through cataracts in the skies
A distant moan begins to rise
Through an uncharted cloud
Of a puddle yet to be in drops
The fruit sky shrieking aloud
In a garden of iridescent crops
With blooming pollution in clad soil
Entwined in a cumulonimbus coil
Morphing into a levitated brook
With a broken and faceless rook
In a receding horizon losing it’s form
Cackling out to the tempestuous storm
Flashes of embers in skies blink
Flooding the faintly seen brink
Of the distant washed away galaxies
Pygmy slowly galloping through
Rolling clouds in the skies of aquatic blue
A delicate touch of colored waves
Painting rainbows on sea graves
Where pirate ships set sail
Through a violent pour of hail
In a limitless sky of falling streams
And an icicle ocean of drying dreams
Through cataract jets in the skies
A static ambience calms and dies…
1) Since you have such a crazy drive to post every thought which goes through your mind, you consider posting your grocery lists.
2) You come up with another lame senryu just to post something new(and create a cheap entry for yet another contest).
3) Even though you post everything which comes to mind, post 3+ poems per day, every day, you believe all of your posts to be exemplary pieces.
4) (in relation to #3) You believe all of the "This is a masterpiece!" comments left on your poems, to be completely sincere.
5) You have the tendency to ignore that you are nearing 60 years of age. You put up avatars of yourself, circa 1971, and flirt with nearly every Souper below the supposed age of 30.
6) Instead of having a romantic evening with your significant other, you end up surfing the Soup blogs and drooling over member avatars.
7) After being single for 15 years, a completely compatible person asks you on a date. You decline the offer, end up surfing the Soup blogs and drooling over member avatars.
8) The admin makes an announcement concerning site maintenance, how the site might be down for 24 hrs -- upon reading the announcement, your stomach drops-out, you are filled with a phantasmagoric sense of doom which escalates into a bout of nihilism so strong, you consider methadone treatment to prepare yourself for the upcoming site-shutdown.
9) You begin methadone treatment in preparation for the two hours you will be away from the Soup(and awake)attending your best friend's funeral.
10) Your sleep-time has drastically altered to less than 4 hours of sleep per night. This is for various reasons, one of these being that every week you feel the need to leave a minimum of 1000 comments on poems, so whenever you post something new, the 'return' comments on said post, help push it up the 'Top 100 Recent Poems' list. You consider this to be an accomplishment akin to winning the Nobel Prize in Literature. You are awesome.
11) Instead of watching your favourite soap opera on the booby, you follow the soaps happening between Soupers in the blogs.
12) Every time you get a splinter, you have a strong urge to put up a blog about it to gain support and sympathy during your ordeal.
13) You put up blogs telling members that you are going to be 'gone' for 2 days, and apologize for not "being there for everyone" while away from the site.
14) After not seeing daylight for months on end, you put up a blog about seeing the most amazing thing .... you finally went outside and saw this blazing orb in the .... in the .... in the whatchamacallit, sky?
15) You forget to say "Merry Christmas!" to your family at home, but 'say' it in the Christmas blog that you put up on the Soup.
16) You forget your significant other's Birthday, but remember the Birthday of your favourite 'platonic' Souper.
17) Whenever you see or hear the word "Soup", your palms become itchy and you can barely contain yourself from using a computer/phone to login to poetrysoup.com.
18) You believe that if a poem rhymes, it is automatically a decently written poem.
19) In desperation, your family members and friends create accounts on the Soup, believing this to be the only way left to interact with you. In return, you have your account deleted and open a new one under an assumed pen-name.
20) You make the rounds each new day leaving "Good Morning!" comments on your friend's poems.
21) You go on vacation to an exotic beach location. The weather is gorgeous. The water is wonderfully warm. The sand is splendid. You don't swim in the wonderfully warm water. You don't take in the sights of the beach. You barely even notice the beach. Instead, you log onto the Soup via your laptop/phone.
22) Your children are hungry. You barely even know who your children are anymore. You don't care. *click* *clickety-click*
23) Your significant other finally offers to "do THAT thing"(yes, THAT one!)you've always fantasized him/her doing with you, but until now, he/she has always refused to fulfill for you. Now .... you don't care. *click* *clickety-click*
What I wanted !- What I got !
I wanted so much from you Moneca, my Dear,
your heart, passion, soul, your love without fear.
I always knew- for me – it wasn’t in you to give,
to accept me, consider me - with this I have to live.
I also knew, that for you, I am just above nothing,
nothing in the way of a man you’d be desiring
and in your heart, your soul – for me there is no fire
no flames to ignite – except for my funeral pyre.
I know, that somehow, I will have to let you go.
How to do so ?, I have to tell you, I do not know
for you are burned so deeply into this old heart.
To set free, get you out of me, I know not were to start.
You set fires, and lights flashing under me.
You opened my eyes once more, to let me see
and grow – now it feels, you have set me free
and with me, no longer want to be.
I remember the very first time I took you to dance,
A spontaneous act I thought might lead to romance.
That moment, experience clearly stated “ not a chance ”.
From the first, many moments that could have been, lost
for me, it has been of heartbreaking, horrendous cost.
For it has all come to not, nothing has come to fruition
as my beliefs, my desires – all lived without intuition.
I though I knew and had an understanding of you.
I wanted so much for my love to be, so you too
could get passed all that life, fate, karma never gave
and to know Moneca, that with me to the grave,
you will be special, all ways and always in my mind.
A lady like you – I am not likely to ever again find.
I live with all my failures and with your indifference.
I live with the regret that I was unable to fill all
the empty spaces in your life with what you needed.
I am sorry that I had no frame or reference,
no mentor, no higher power upon which to call.
I am sorry that I had not seen, had not heeded
your messages, lived up to be the man you looked for
and truly sorry, I am now on the outside of your door.
I truly wish Moneca, that I had made you feel special,
that I would have been able to have brought you through
and past all that has been the forces that closed you up.
I am truly sorry that you never would see in me
the capacity for being the man you wanted me to be.
I can not extricate you from my thoughts, my mind.
It seems you have been in my heart for all of time,
having permeated my life today and all my lives gone,
by the way, seems to be the lyrics of my melancholy song.
I was totally locked into you from the first time we met,
the day your beauty’s graced these eyes and yet
five years slipped by, with but a few words, and now
I feel, my time has run out, my life’s clock has stopped
ticking, you have let it run down and I do not know how to rejuvenate, rewind, bring back time that was dropped.
I am sorry that I did not give to you, all that I wanted
to share with you, all that this life of mine could offer.
I know Moneca, as long as I hang on to the memories,
the experiences I have enjoyed with you, my soul will die,
a little with the passing of each and every day,
until there is nothing left, as you and I fade away,
being nothing more then names in my books of history,
and the waning light, in the emptiness of that great night
that becomes loss, the eraser of this life and consciousness
You know Moneca, I will love you until end days,
be your friend, carry you within my heart always,
toughing my soul until we step from this plane
and onto others, and as pure light, us twain
shall travel as great waves, as sonic vibrations
through, to all unknown dimensions
that surround us, you being a part of me.
This I tell you Monica, for it will be - for all eternity !
These scraps, these specks, these flakes of my thought,
my feelings Moneca, are at an end, this is all I’ve got !
I apologize for anything written that may not
represent all the facts or some truth.
I realize that you may perceive me as uncouth.
Know my Dear, that I will no longer bore or trouble you.
B. J. “A” 2
January 18th 2009
the blood shed
no humanity done
all is lost
under the strick and pain
of all the bombs
the Cold War
nothing is new
death for nothing
revolution you say
killing hundred of lives
all for ones pay
for one to step down
or die in vein
why should we kill hundreds
for just ones gain
just blood in the book
too much for me
how about you?
more lives lost there then any time in history
D Day was the grave
for many people who fought away
we didint learn
we continue this mistake
we kill for our country
and then we go pray
thinking God will bless me
with bullets and steel
while God told me to love all
not put shells in you
not all injuries are deep
some are mental week
PTSD and many things
my presentation is explaining
how the war isn't for those who died
and how it affect the kids and other wise
families are devastated
kids with no dads
imagine a life
were you go home
only find the mom
and sometimes go to your dads tomb stone
all for the sack of the country
who is well of living on its supplies and many thing
or imagine going home
here your mom cry
until you read the letter
that your dad died
or gone missing under the wind
were your supposed to know the troops
but some just vanish again
thousand were never found
in the past few years
ofcorse they are dead
but some keep praying still
look at the war and look at the fight
not every is killed on sight
some come back home
trying to live there lifes
but then the drugs kick in
and many other lies
the lies they said out there
" dont worry you will be fine"
the man who said that died a few seconds later
sniper shot him in the eye
you think war is a joke
or something to laugh about
if you come home
your dads on morphine
trying to hide from the noise
you think it is nothing
but to him it reminds him of his past
the battles he faces
the friends he made
and the one vanished with out a trace
or the once who died in his face
the once he had to carry away
the funeral he had to pray
and the people who tried helping him escape
the war is more then a game
it more of a death sentences
once you go
it is hard to get back
more then you think
with PTSD and bipolar disease
and many other injuries
once you go to war
you wont be the same
you will see things
that are inhuman
bodies all over
blood is spilled
and the many people missing
the ones even you knew
you dont understand me
let me explain
the people who are fighting out there
wont come back the same
they will be changed
mental and physically
they will see true people
who will go insane
the people at war see many things
some not even for my age
code orange, Stalingrad , D Day
Cold War , war in the north and other out of my reach
what they did was horrible
what both sides did to their men
the russians killed their own troops
if they are trying to run back
germans slaughter the jews
the americans just nuked
japanies and their kamikazes
now lets come today
to now a day war
the technology is so unreal
it isnt worth righting for
what they did now a days was worse then before
code orange is one good example
there are many more
the death of many for the few
it isn't only the soldiers it is the kids to
the families being hit
the parents that die
and the kids have to run for their lives
PTSD is one symptom that never dies
it stays in the hearts and in the mind
it hurt the people
when the war isnt even alive
it kills them slowly
mentality is going
PTSD has a history
let me explain it to thee
it is when your traumatized
cause by war, airplane crash rape and bombing in the state
they fear the sounds of loud
they sometimes fear the sight of death
they fear the sound of pain
and they fear guns and other stuff
it started back in the day
THE FACE OF DEATH
On Monday March 14th 2011, at 1:05 PM, I believe I was looking into the face and eyes of Death, as we drove to Her, school .
I think I heard the voice and sounds of Death, on Monday March 14th 2011 at 1:15 PM as She tried to direct me past the entrance to Her class.
I felt the hands of Death, touch me as She turned away, leaving me standing there, heart in hand, bleeding profusely, no response, as she turned Her, back and walked away, not looking back .
3:40 PM and as I sat in the Henderson Mall, heart broken, feeling the pangs of regret, the Grim Reaper, cut into my chest, as I watched Lady Death, walk towards me with a look that said " die ", " go to hell " but the words that came out of Lady Death's, mouth were " such a serious look ! " and Her, response to my gift of apology ( flowers and a poem ) and my offer to give Her, a ride home where met with a curt response " I have something else to do " and She, was gone like the lights had been turned out, and then the Grim Reaper, plunged his scythe deep into my heart, twisting his blade with such aggression I could hardly breath as my lungs tightened up, my throat closed, my heart would not beat and my soul cried out in vain .
For eleven days I sat in the silences, looking into the casket, at this old fool, who, by his own hands, was killed, killed by his stupidity and thoughtless words. The evening of the eleventh day of my wake, a sweet, voice, from my memory, sang out to my dead ears, but the tones where sugarless and the lyrics where that of a dirge ringing out a death blow, as Lady Death, responded to " will I get to see you sometime ?" with a " maybe " and then " I have to go, I have things to do " and then the coffin lid came crashing down on my state of reverie, the dream shattered like a mirror struck by a meteor, shards, splinters, fragments fused together in twisted, distorted images of what once was ?, is ?, my dream, a dream that was not, is not Hers, and like Alice in Wonder Land, slipping through the looking glass, reality was not as it seemed, for one's reality, on the other side, may not be the reality of another. The visions, the desires, the dreams, one's perception, all, are but splinters of the holographic universe we inhabit, but have no control of. FATE ?, KARMA ?, THE GRAND DESIGN ?, BLIND CHOICES ?
Now I spend every hour of every day hanging on to the edges of my funeral, the wake, my spirit attends faithfully and from these, my mind will not let me escape .
I wonder if I will be able to step out from behind the looking glass ?, awake from my beautiful dream ?, face reality ?, reality reflected in those exotic, dark brown mirrors, the windows to your soul .
My Lotus Blossom, my Oriental Dream, my China Doll, my Exquisite Vision of Loveliness, my Exotic Beauty, - she has left me with my own death mask to reflect upon as I look into the mirrors ( images of what I once experienced with Her, ) and see only ghostly figures ( She and me and all that we shared, all we experienced ) haunting all the moments that lie among the ashes of all the beautiful experiences we shared, experience I believe She, has placed upon a funeral pyre, set them on fire, no longer having a desire to even remember we once lived them, them that gave my life some purpose, gave me meaning, put a sparkle in these tired old eyes and a spring to the shuffle of this old mans step. For Her, ?????????????
THE FACE OF DEATH ---------- THE DEATH MASK
Final Wishes of a Poet
Arabic poem By: Rukn-al-Din Yunus
Translated into English By:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
(Part 1 of 3)
Lend me a handful of earth
So that I may make you a statue
You have not seen the like before
In your dreams.
Lend me a breath of spring
I’ll paint you cities, seashores
And passionate rendezvous.
Lend me some of your crazy letters
And I will dispatch couriers
To deliver them to gardens
And send elegantly dressed devotees
With a touch of sadness
To receive them from the gardens
And read them to the river.
Lend me some of the words
Escaping from under your hat,
Which has no resemblance to Pablo Neruda’s,
To write you an epic
Spelled out by tyrants
To cry their own fates in the morning.
Lend me an evening you could spare
To romp through virtual streets
Named after living poets
From different generations
Wherein a river of music goes over the heads of passersby
Drowning all in ageless glamour.
Lend me the rest of the golden letters
In your pocket
To disperse them over the outskirts of my words
And the lanterns of my dreams
To light up what’s left of the opaque sentences
In the imagination of the painter
And the wisdom of the poet
Who is crazed about the clay
On the banks of the Hilla River.
(Part 2 of 3)
I'll die tonight...
O my dear wife!
I’ve never liked farewell ceremonies
In my life
So let things be normal and quiet.
Forgive me! I will not kiss you tonight
Just lie down beside me on the bed
Don’t tell the boys about my no-return journey
Don’t let the girls cry with you
Especially the married one
And the little one
The middle one as well.
Let everything be as ordained for me
By those I don’t know
All I know for sure
I will die tonight.
How? ..... I do not know!
How? ..... I do not know!
At what time? …. The mind of the poet is unable to tell.
I will die my dear wife
Don’t forget to feed the dog “Yoyo” early in the morning.
Don’t neglect spraying the garden
First in the morning
Even if it was time for the funeral.
And don’t forget the seven o'clock news
Listen to it for the sake of your love for me
They always mention news of the lost homeland.
Don’t forget ever....
The chicken feed
I’d like to hear
The cock’s crow every morning in my grave.
And hide the empty wine bottles
Out of the sight of mourners...
I don’t want them to accuse poets of infidelity.
And if they ask you
What was with him before he died?
Just tell them:
He forgot to live!
(Part 3 of 3)
Before I died
My wife made me a clay statue
And cried at it
She and her five daughters did.
But my two sons took no notice
Of their mother crying
Nor of their sisters wearing black
They seized the opportunity
And went out to join their peers
In a football game!
Before I died
My friends vied
And jostled in front of
Mercenary and non-mercenary newspapers’ buildings
Led by “Riyadh Alghareeb”
To provide their elegies for my immortal soul
Which reminds them of their own
As they greet death.
And since that day
I am holding on to my soul
Lest it slips away
In a moment
Rukn al-Din Yunus
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
* Rukn-al-Din Yunus is a poet from Iraq
A total Jedi mind f*ck from Hell is what this is. I feel like a nuclear bomb has exploded in
my mind of Hiroshima proportions and I am on the brink of a Chernobyl meltdown.
Bewildered may be the best description of what I am feeling right now. I cannot process
anything; I feel like I am in total and utter f*cking shock. I apologize for the expletives;
I normally never curse when I write because I find it uncouth, but I have to get these
feelings out; I know if I don't, I will want to cut, which is the last thing in the world I want to
do. God knows I have enough scars; I don't need or want anymore.
From great pain comes great inspiration, I believe. Even though my mind is positively
reeling at this very moment as I type, I feel exponentially inspired. I am completely
overwhelmed emotionally, and I have just now stopped sobbing and weeping enough to
write; to get these horrid feelings out of me.
Even the smallest of troubles or strife turn into absolute tragedy and catastrophe in my
mind; I cannot help or control it, and God knows I wish I could. I "catastrophize" everything.
My best friend of 15 years just called me and told me she was moving to Alabama. I
shouldn't even say "best friend" for she is more like a sister to me. Always, always she
has been close by and been there for me as I have been for her, and now she is moving
what seems like galaxies away from me, and the pain I am feeling is so tremendous and
shocking; so unnerving and vexing and tormenting and afflicting...I could go on forever
with melancholy and exasperating adjectives and descriptions. In my mind, she is dead
and I am hosting the funeral in my brain. That's totally insane; I understand that, but at
this moment I am NOT rational. For a moment after I stopped crying my eyes out, I
almost felt catatonic. In my partner's arms, I just wept as he held me; I was shaking
and shuddering furiously. I feel lost. I haven't felt this powerless or helpless since my
grandparents died. She is moving away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am
a horrible and selfish human being for I want her to stay, so desperate do I feel.
Wendy, my sister, my best friend, my partner in crime; my cohort, consort, comrade,
co-conspirator: you who know me best, inside and out, like a book...you are leaving me,
and my sorrow is swallowing me whole- devouring me like an angry, rabid beast. Don't
go; don't leave me. With every fiber of my being I wish you to stay, but you've made up
your mind and told me your decision at the worst possible time, when I am already too
stressed to deal with or process this kind of pain and anguish in a healthy way. I'm ready
to hit the bottles: whisky and Lortab. They will ease the pain and will quell the compulsion
This is the most personal blog I have written. I didn't know what else to do but turn this
despair into words to help ease the heartache and suffering. If anyone cares, I need
support right now. I need prayers and well wishes and good vibes; I am about to crumble
to pieces. I feel like the proverbial rug has been pulled out from under my feet and I don't
know what to do. This is the worst feeling in the world. Uncertainty is truly the worst of all
November 19, 2001
Dear Doc and Doris,
It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. I believe it was some years ago at the Sims reunion. That was several years before we moved here to Florida after my retirement.
I talk to Dorothy and W. D. fairly often and got your address from them a couple of months ago. I also have a recent picture of you that was taken at Mike’s funeral in Marlow.
I suppose it was something about that picture that caused me to begin reflecting on when I was a kid in Cameron many years ago. We lived down below the railroad tracks there just south of the jailhouse. I was just a kid 6 or 7 years old. Then later we moved to Houston where Dorothy and Daddy went to work in the shipyard. I remember during those years thinking often of my cousin Carl Sims and his brother Melton Sims who were far away fighting the war against the Germans in Europe. I still have pictures of you somewhere showing you in your uniform. Doc, I remember how proud I was to tell everyone about my cousins in the army and how I wanted to grow up and be a soldier and fight the Germans.
In the last couple of years those memories have been revisited with the release of the movies “Saving Private Ryan” and even more recently, “Band of Brothers.” Having never experienced the horrors of war, I look upon these two movies as the most realistic presentation of wartime action ever made. Even at that, I’m sure they haven’t portrayed what it was really like.
Doc, I write you now having much more hindsight than when I was an impressionable kid. But the years have not robbed me of the pride I have in calling you my hero. I think of those years when I was but a child and you, a young soldier. I remember how excited I was to hear any news about my cousins in the army. And I remember the sadness in hearing of Melton being killed in action.
Though time has painted a different picture for each of us, those things that linger in our memory can still be seen through the eyes of a child and a young soldier. I look at that recent picture of you and still see my hero. I see a young soldier in uniform and feel the same pride well up inside a young kid in Cameron.
Doc, I wanted you to know these things. I could have kept them hidden inside my heart and never told anyone. But, they are mine to do with as I please. And I choose to send them to you and Doris with the love I have for you. As Christians, we know that the love we are sharing in Jesus Christ will be eternal. I believe the respect and admiration I hold you in for what you did will also last forever.
Maybe we will get back to Texas one of these days. If so, I hope to have the time to come by Mexia and see you. If not, who knows, someday a kid may tug on the sleeve of a young soldier. The young soldier might turn to find a freckle-faced kid, joyful in the presence of his hero.
Doc, if not before, I’ll see you in Glory. I send you respect and most of all, love.
With eternal admiration,
What have we become?
We who used to sit in my bedroom
listening to Beatles records on headphones.
We spoke of the future.
We planned our advance.
How many cups of coffee have we consumed
in the over 30 years we've known one another?
A private village buzzing with secret flies.
An isolated two merged in one thought.
Teenage boys. Teenage men.
Men. Yes, we became men.
Grown up. Living in our own apartment.
Peanut butter and coffee in the cupboard.
Bread and margarine in the fridge.
Macaroni and Cheese for supper.
Living the good life!
University. Late night studies.
Crammed in between the parties.
Laundry day. Bags and bags of
rumpled semen stained clothes,
dumped like angry *****es
into industrial machines.
Video games and cigarettes.
Philosophy and politics.
We and our gang of other anxious young men
gathering in groups for comfort.
Planning on how we'd get laid.
Mostly going home alone and jacking off.
We grew older. Old.
Yes, I suppose we are now old men.
Just a wee bit past middle-aged.
Infrequently connecting. Suggesting times
we could meet.
Dinner and a Movie perhaps? Have we become that old?
Life goes on and has gone on.
Marriages begun. Marriages ended.
Husband. Father. Having Kids. Children. Teenagers. Young adults.
You've lost your hair. I didn't take it, but still it is lost.
Mine remains, but rude strands of grey pop
up like alabaster whores
Keep it between ourselves, but I colour mine now.
Oh yes. Like a vain woman rushing to her
makeover session, I plop
The gunk on my head and
wait for it to pretend for me.
I'm crabby in the mornings. Irritated in the afternoons. Pissed off
by the coming of the night. Adulthood.
Isn't it grand?!
Do you still listen to the same music we used to love?
Pop on a Beatles song and sing along, planning on how
to change the planet?
Me. I don't give a **** about the planet anymore. Let it rot
into stinking piles of dung.
I'm involved in my own existing now.
We're in the final stages of living. Neither sad nor morbid.
Simply a fact.
Good twenty, thirty years left.
Let's promise each other to meet again
a few more times before our funerals.