Summer Daze Alone

A familiar air,

cloudless sky,

Listen to the sounds of a backyard,

tree trimmers, grass cutters, BBQ-ing neighbors,

listen to the children with innocent screams nearby.

 

He would understand,

their natural allegiance to the land

around them being an open playground,

his own did the same,

decades earlier,

on similar days,

a cloudless sky,

the sounds of summer daze.

 

Yet there is a familiar air,

perhaps we call it the resistance,

we felt it when twelve years old looking out the picture window,

a light rain, yet friends gathering,

and him,

staying inside,

pretending to not exist,

though experiencing all of the psychological trauma,

that associates our lives with the living.

 

He would find himself in that place again,

today,

while the world outside embraced the summer skies,

his mind in a fog,

wondering about time, wondering where,

curious just why he falls into this mental cavern of

indecision,

it is the time he remembers as a boy,

wondering in the moment,

not knowing beyond the day,

yet now, in the quiet midnight,

the same question remains.

 

 

I Wandered Home

I’ve come here often,

when I could remember fear,

often,

when time seemed to stand still

I would look over the horizon,

picture running through fields as a child,

suddenly thrown into my teens,

those places I would weary my return.

I wonder about people

those I knew,

those I wished I might never know again,

I remember why it is I sometimes don’t really like people,

not everyone of course – I do love you.

I just

just when I might begin the next year,

I wonder sometimes why it is we continue to return to that place

we began to fear

when time allowed us to question ourselves,

when we had far too much energy to worry about who we

might have been, had become, wanted to seem,

where it was we all remember this might begin,

little flashbacks,

idioms of pain,

little moments of reckoning,

stir the anxiety in our mind,

while returning home,

where there is love, where we unwind.

home

love

time

we all do return after all,

it is sort of ironic really,

how quickly we begin to wonder again.

Dive Inside

A rare moment,

when able to slide in over the edge,

to risk the familiar

find waiting in the depths,

a quiet reality.

I once stood amidst the gravel and leaves,

by myself,

a solo moment without regard

from any nearby influence,

and it was there I should have remained.

When I Was A Child

I remember I could believe in magical things,

the diamonds we cherished in wedding rings

On a sunny day, I could imagine I’d see forever

when rainbows appeared, I would run until never.

~

When I was a child I recall all of my scary dreams

were mysterious inventions of my fears it seems.

While happiness, security, confusion followed me,

hope, passion, optimism, confidence eluded me.

~

I remember I could look in a person’s eyes at will

without ever wondering if I might be today’s pill.

I could climb a mile of stairs in a half a minute,

turn around, run downstairs and forget I was in it.

~

When I was a child I would smile in every instance

I found if I didn’t my world became horrific intense.

I wish I’d decided as a child to let go of my notions

instead no longer might I pretend away commotions.

~

When I was a child I remember life seemed lovely mild.

A tearful demeanor didn’t determine when I was a child.

Sigh, Autumn

A heavy weight streams beyond a worried eye

skin tease a glint of aftershock in sky,

summer wind reveals the loss, Her hot ardor

romantic wisp, now memories adore

~

When as a lad out the doors I could run

passion a reminder of setting sun

hours ahead an arctic ground would near

then frozen ice and cool air’s freeze so dear.

~

Today the sensuous beauty of mind

play a melody for we are in kind

a humanity compelled beyond land

without innocence simple reprimand.

~

Would that the open sky begin to cry

I’m left in comfort, still wondering why.

Home, Then, Perspective

When I glance today, I can bask in a vague

recall of those times, young love, innocence

weren’t we all some time wanting the drag

of hours, minutes, years to give chance …

~

the streets are the same, rows of maple

I do have to try hard to remember just how

exacting my life had become in the pull

of finding myself, my world. When I think now

~

this place is where everything began then,

first loves, first loss, first reminders always

of just why our lives matter, our roots again

tell a novel ending to what began one day.

~

When we were children, then, we imagined a sunrise

we didn’t think, then, about ever a need to be wise.

Tuesday Afternoon Lives

I was with the Moody Blues the other evening,

my apartment, a place I could create my own dreams,

I listened to their soul speaking to my fear,

they could soothe my mind, allow me so near

the places I really wanted to be,

where we could all be together,

with our idiosyncratic notions,

without feeling as if,

as if we might somehow need to,

find a different way to cry,

instead of seeking an outlet,

a reason why.

I was once a young man, walking through the forest,

when certain things could scare me, the snap of sound

off in the distance, always playful, always silly,

miles away from my own sense of balance,

trying to find my way,

again.

I’m an older man today,

and I do indeed think life is strange,

when in the constancy of trying to understand,

we do lose ourselves in the mechanical wares

of understanding the energy within,

that human condition

that …

reality.