Chasing a moment
An arc of an instant
The fading light a fiery pyre
The day’s ending brilliant in its parting
Day 30. At last. An unplanned evening excursion through town gave us this gift. Taken behind my church where many of our town’s ancestors sleep.
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Standing at the window she looked out at his car backing out of the drive
and wondered what she was saving her feelings for
She nearly said “I love you” the night before
He was clearly waiting for her confession
She couldn’t keep up
Her heart had been closed off for so long
She had forgotten the rules
Of course she loved him
But the words dried up in her mouth before they could escape into the air
This affair was no practice session for the next one
She knew it in her gut and he did too
The angst and agony and the suffering
that comes with the human condition
pulled her away from the edge
of the one great leap into the blissful abyss
Would her fear of making him feel better
somehow be a loss that would make her feel worse?
Day 29. In the process of digging through an old trunk, I came across a yellowed piece of paper in my twenty-something handwriting. Some anonymous long quote about the risks of loving another. I held onto it and this is the result.
You were seen downtown one Sunday morning hanging out at the local cafe’
Pretending to be part of the beautiful people in a tony town
Hung over from a Saturday night of shallow dinner party dialogue
Getting wasted on wine and secretly lusting after the host’s wife
to alleviate the ennui of suburban existence
Your companion is a farce masquerading as a woman “Who knows Who”
When in reality she is merely a vapid vamp mirroring a myriad of other MLFs
You fit well with the air kissing crowd, capable of crumbs for conversation
You feed each other tidbits and then fuck each other into oblivion
Drown your demons if you dare
But heaven and earth will not be moved by your denial
No shifts will occur in the course of your creation
You’ll just descend further towards a self-created hell
Day 28. A trip to the dark side of suburbia. No apologies for the epithet. It seemed to fit the message..
Credit: oldfriends.gettalk.net
I found a picture from long ago
A black and white snapshot
Halcyon days, golden school days
Half a dozen young men on the campus wall
Teetering towards the real world
in the days before we were scattered apart
and away from one another
The memories come back in snippets
My college brothers
The ones who stood by me through my first big heartache
Winter break nights sleeping on your couch
in a room with cold heat
We worked all day and broke bread at night
I made you keep the toilet seat down and the bathroom clean
We were unapologetic about being young
Wild and willing to touch the edge of our limits
Living in the moment
Creating our own world and sharpening our minds
Kamikaze nights and pitchers of beer
Thursday nights at the Stein
Random times singing
“Run Around Sue” and Bruce’s “Hungry Heart” with the jukebox
Knowing these were our own glory days
Years that were foolish and fleeting but oh so much fun!
We moved on and forward
We grew up and maybe a little old
But those bold and beautiful days are still in my heart
Day 27. You come to realize how much of a life you’ve lived when digging through old items. Yesterday I opened a trunk and found some photos from my college days. A black and white one from 1982 struck me and brought back many happy times with the guys who were a big part of my experience.
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Some good-byes are unexpected
Seeming to come out of thin air
A sudden, tragic death with no chance for a proper farewell
Still others we wait for in agony and tortuous anticipation
A diagnosis with a termination date
Time to prepare, yes
But is there really enough time?
Each minute is precious
Each day a gift
Time for truths to be told
At last- the final moment- permission to leave and be released from pain
And there’s the relationship existing long past its expiration date
You take a step towards tossing it out
But the grip of fear holds you back
Starting over, being alone are the vises that lock you in
Then the hammer comes down and you are at once relieved and reveling
A warped dance of grieving a false love
and the idealized version created for appearances
Mourning the idea and plowing the depths of sadness
Tending to it and then letting it go
Then they are the Someday good-byes
Ones you know will happen in life’s ebbs and flows
Children leaving the nest
Ready to tend their own gardens
You’ve given them the seeds and the soil and the rakes and the hoes
Their minds and hearts will continue to be sown
They are seedlings with strong roots
Each farewell challenging on its own
Each wrought with the messiness of change
Each allowing for transformation
And the the beginnings of a new day
Day 26. Can you sense a theme this week? Preparing to leave this place is an exercise in quiet intensity and healthy sentimentality. The corners of the house have been poked and prodded. Old items-keepsakes from way back-have been rediscovered. The attic-though sparse- had its own treasure trove. The kitchen table has old photos scattered about. They haven’t moved for days. I’ll revisit them before I reorganize them and put them away. Others are well-packed in albums and stored in a bin. Thanks for staying tuned in!
Credit: www.artlimited.net
Turning courses
Letting you loose and letting you go
in an effort for you to experience the errors of your ways
Still, you remain hell-bent
Blind to the consequences of your actions
You pursue destruction, not reconciliation
Unshakable in your pursuit
Committed only to yourself
When you should be heeding the call
of the beggars at your gate
Your house is full of riches
but your heart remains poor
Hardened by unending greed
You seek to punish others for your own misdeeds
Destined to live in long lasting exile
Day 25. This post was inspired by a chapter in a book I’m reading, “Love Wins”, by Rob Bell. I want to express my gratitude to him for giving me the words for this poem today. He’s a dynamic writer about faith, and as I understand it, an even more dynamic speaker. Looking forward to seeing him in May!
Credit: imgkid.com
We’re taking a journey to the past
Deliberately digging
Rediscovering ourselves
Who we were back then
The cache of moments revealing treasures hidden away
Tiny Instances and minor flashpoints of lives in one place
School times
Christmas times
Easter tides
Carnival rides
and Halloween’s candy treats
Snow days bundled up- oh those rosy cheeks!
Summer days, freedom days, no shirts and bare running feet
The world looked greener then, full of promise
The present is a place of demarcation
The time when the bond of bygone times bears fruit for the future
We stand together at the precipice, hearts pulsing
All systems go for the epic Act III
Day 24. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so conscious of time as I have this week. Shortly, this house will be a part of our past. The boys will go together to their own place and I with my beloved. Honestly, it is very exciting, despite the work of packing up and getting rid of things.
Credit: patrickeades.com
Where once was my children’s childhood
Interlopers arrived, knocking down forests
Cutting up well-worn dirt paths
and paper roads
Replacing them with asphalt for new houses
Knocking down solid dwellings
Constructing cookie cutter outsized McMansions
that clog up the curve in the narrow road
Their children have no yards
Only swamps and useless driveways
for their many cars and perfect perennial plantings
This old house sticks out
An eyesore to others, maybe
A tired elder who shakes her head at the soaring towers the new neighbors call “home”
She will miss her inhabitants
The rowdy boys sledding down her hill in the big winters when they were little
Those 2 man baseball games in her drive
where second base was the bed of flowers by the bulk head
There’s still a worn patch of green that was the pitcher’s mound
One man catch and the throws that missed the net breaking windows in the garage
Shattered glass happily dancing to pieces on the ground
The swing set and fort
A place to hide
Games of “lion and zebra”
zooming and zigzagging on endless grass
The homemade sand pit on the side of the garage
Tonka trucks and shovels and pails
A little boy’s excavation site that never did grow grass
The back forty a favorite spot for the first garden
and those pesky woodchucks!
Summers spent swimming in the kiddie pools
After you were too big, you made the bonfire pit
A grown boy’s excavation dug with man-sized metal shovels and lots of muscle
Cold nights keeping warm by its roaring heat
Old enough now for hops and barley and other spirits that moved you
Summer nights of fireflies’ halos and cricket sounds and skunk smells
and deer at dusk and coyote howls
They will visit you in your dreams
Day 23. Happy memories amidst the changes all around us.
Credit: davidkanigan.com
Leafing through old photographs
Images of times before the times before
Young ones captured and captivated
in moments of absolute innocence
Times before the times before
Blond curls and waves crown wide open smile
Big brown eyes and chubby cheeks bursting with laughter
Times before the times before
Pure and unconditional love between father and sons
in the Times before the times before
the times before you lost them both
Day 22. My oldest and I set about organizing old family albums for the move. It’s astounding how many photos of the boys I took. Mostly simple moments in the big back yard. This one came easily for some reason
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A rare rumbling rolled in during the darkest of darks
Throat sounds
The mumbling of a monster
Tossing and turning
too tired to open my eyes
Wondering when the flash and flicker of lightning
will illuminate slumbering shadows
Tossing and turning
Anticipating the next racket and ruckus
Awaiting the squall that is bound to follow
I lie still
A stone attempting to hide in an open field
The rampage hovers over me
arriving in an unusual rage
I pull myself in tighter
knowing there’s nowhere to hide
Electric daylight remaining at bay
But wait!
Mother Nature’s search and rescue
Singing a soothing song
The serenade that subdues the monster into submission
Day 21. A tempestuous thunderstorm arrived some time in the wee hours of the morning unaccompanied by lightning. It was incredibly loud. Yet somewhere in the midst of the cacophony I heard a chorus of birds.
Building A Life Of Hope 