The Beginnings of How We Believe

A young boy looks out to sea from the shores of the Greek islan

I suppose there has to be a little peace,

the mind in a restful state,

oh and music offers a solace,

an avenue to draw the heart

along a wonderful path of sweetness.

 

I remember as a child

there was this hilltop,

can’t call it a mountain,

but the anyway was the reach,

a gravel path to the cityscape.

 

I would sit there for morning,

often afternoons,

the evenings find me again,

it was a place where I would sit

in wonder about all the things I did.

 

I reflect today on that patch of gravel,

the rocks and stumps I chose

to sit upon, or perhaps a lean to

on a tree nearby, and I wonder

if I knew now what I worried then.

 

There is a certain beauty in finding peace,

when we can believe,

we know in our hearts the right thing,

the world of humanity,

is designed around the concept of love.


Photo found on savethechildren.org

 

 

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When Yesterday

When we start to think about

our yesterdays,

we get scared, well some, me, suppose

the words need only be self-directed,

if validity

is the goal of my game.

 

I contemplate my day before notions,

those of consequence and reward,

I try to recall the best, when especially drawn

into the abyss of the mess.

 

A hundred years ago, my embellishment

landed me in places I couldn’t defend,

only wished I had found a way to mend

the indifference,

self-righteous patterns of wanting everything,

my way, my game, my gamble, my favorite

addiction.

 

I lost at every step, remembering when leaving

fearing skid row might be my home address

in six weeks or less,

less the confidence, less the support,

lest I drag my ass out of the gutter and realize

there is a life ahead.

 

However, there is always the readiness,

not choice by personal desire,

but the savior whomever that might be in our lives,

the one and only,

Grace,

the epitome of letting go,

realizing we cannot, and will never need to do this on our own,

alone.

 

Yet today, I do think about my yesterdays,

and wonder if I might ever step away,

to enjoy the beauty of this,

namaste.

 

Lost Generation

Dad

How close do we come

to understanding

where it is that we belong,

when

alone

we sudden realize

we remember a song, a laugh,

a sort of posture always held true.

If I could see you in the manner I feel you,

would that be all I need.

There’s so much more

beyond the memory of your kindly heart.

So often can I recall your beauty,

when

just in the Grace of your being,

I see so many faces

they exist around me,

I always have you nearby.

If I ask, you’ll go away,

so I find myself

using peripheral vision,

my ideal is to not frighten you away,

with some mortal insecurity.

Did you know I am working on bringing you back,

well it’s a facade,

a sort of well put together imagination,

brings you to mind,

every time I hear the word

Dad.

Later On

it’s always a later

moment

seems we want to cry

rivers flow to an eventual rise

where all of our dreams lie.

We haven’t figured out

solution

how some words might be callous

ignorance

while others have a natural heal.

Timing seems a phenomena,

for if right now,

we cannot imagine an outcome,

then later,

the tears, the rivers, the natural process,

seems ready to cleanse.

We wind ourselves around legacy,

trying to build,

asking to frame,

when then we suddenly realize

our dreams are shadowed in fantasy.

When crossing the white lines,

I often wished

to be taken away, without freedom

I became edgy,

just able to make it back to the curb.

I would dance for you

at this moment,

if what I come to realize later in life,

could offer sweet immediacy.

Walks – Carpe Diem Special #194 A Trip Along Memory Lane

would we walk

in open fields in May

while wondering

~

love a mystery

sweet underbrush of thyme

always asking

~

sudden were your moves

me, naive in love, yet

able to forget

~

sunlight surreal

the fields, the open breeze

you, miles away, gone

~

Carpe Diem special #194

We Were Younger Then

When did we become, our father’s instincts,

when our mother suddenly appeared in our gestures.

How far did we travel before eagarly coming to terms

with reality’s tease …

Remember when ‘just kidding’ offered hope

instead today,

we reason with our legacy,

suddenly twisting in the wind,

feeling the result of a gale force

slap in the face

while Father Time decidedly dance.

~

While society laid down the foundation

how to speak, how to laugh,

what to eat, when to realize

when we have made a gaffe.

When then the world became interlaced

with your way of doing things,

how might we rule the underlings,

why did that gesture seem to create some

noble frenzy of sacred morality.

Who speaks the loudest while determinant

outcomes caress the curious conformity of time.

~

Outcomes are a constant search, a quest, a dream

we all seem to interpret with a difficult strain

asks only we decide – we stop vacillating

around the ‘simple things’ and garner support

toward a challenge, toward the next level,

beyond that scope of who we are tomorrow,

versus how we became today.

While climates shout our name and ask with feverish

pitch the accommodation of new comfort levels,

we wish to still, we want, certainly need to flip a switch.

~

We have a certainty of moral standard we share in words

when suddenly, a hurt, a laughter, a visual reminder

tells us the search remains …

 

Hiding From My Tormentor

I won’t allow you inside tonight,

keep you just at bay,

stay away from me you’re a fright

always getting in my way.

~

I remember the first time you spoke,

the words spilled out in chaos

a defensive burden, a speechless choke

the alarm of knowing my loss.

~

You took away everything I loved so far

in a life short yet incomplete

I didn’t understand you were my czar

to help me define my defeat.

~

I want this, I need this, I screamed inside,

with an external facade of grief,

To those I loved I continued, I would deride

for their inane illogical idyllic belief.

~

I was especially unhappy when defined

my world was wrapped deep within

a lifestyle I’d discovered far less refined

than certain peace you’d suggest a given.

~

I became dependent upon your own scrutiny,

that habitual creation of shattered will

my life wallowed slow toward certain insanity

while artificial stimulants would be my fill.

~

The crash and burn of a societal taboo

wandered into my livelihood.

Soon there began a surge of hiss and boo,

a spiritual gift is hope that I could

~

achieve new levels of sanity that remained

nearby if I chose, I had to believe

every aspect of relief and peace now gained

became a fuel to your loss; I still grieve

~

only in fantasy, only in the reality of dreams

can you ever master addiction, return it seems.