Once


The script was written long ago

And the cast chosen well before the play

The lead, a charmer , glib and comely

Delighted in the role and played to the house.

“Packed to the the rafters’ , the agents would remark,

And adoration poured cross the boards.

For many years this blockbuster ran

It seemed the audience would never  bore

Of watching the magic that flowed, or hearing

the words that flowed so well with the score.

Till one gray afternoon while playing the matinee

One grizzled old actor realized with dismay

That the picture presented had grown so large

That his part had grown less than the life

surrounding.

And realized that all the energy imparted had taken its toll

So he stepped back and relished

And tried to embellish

What once was all about him

But now merely reflected that once was all he knew.

 

Please,be Careful


Far below where the common-folks go
Are basements and caverns and holes
Barred and chained at the top
Meant to keep prying eyes out
For the safety
of the wives and children

But curiosity kills the cat
So crafty minds pick and pry
Try to loosen chains
and unlock locks
And attempt to peek
behind the walls
That forbid the seeing.

When the maelstrom rises
And dismay abounds
When the dust has settled
And order resounds
The clear eyed sleuth
Can then clearly tell
The abyss was secured
From below, from hell.

Aint that Special


I know that I am special because there are hundreds of thousands of stars in the skies and a few of them are mine. Now do not get me wrong I did not “make” them and hang them in their respective spaces and I certainly did not purchase them in either a big box store or on the ‘net. They simply appeared to me on deep dark nights when the emotions of life overcame me and I called out for someone to hear. They appeared in the evening as the sun settled down as if to look in on me before I drifted off into slumber. They announced themselves by finding cracks and shined their light around the curtains of my mind and brought with them a sense of warmth and concern and peace. I know that I am special because somewhere along the line, I was gifted the ability to see them and recognize them for what they were! Mine, especially mine. Heartfelt thanks for all my Stars.

Start Over


Ahh, the stroke of the keypad feels rusty. The rhythym of the letters does not exist as a beat, a count, but rather as a rush and a rest, a starting and stopping.

My point of view has shifted so imperceptively but so very definitely, I suppose there should not be any wonder at the confusion that exists in my mind. I mean it IS still from behind the same eyes and from within the same mind I compose but with the emergence of a new facet built into wall of logic from whence the ideas flow it seems that the pull of the current steers the flow of the words onto and over the banks of the old stream of thought and begins cutting new channels that guide the impetus of expressed ideas and mores.

It really seems odd to me that the realization of what physical health means to the thinking being should change so much how that being expresses itself. Having come to that point I cannot deny what is so obviously true….I am not the same man I was two weeks ago. And that being said, even though my main thoughts and outlooks remain the same, enough variance exists that expressing those feelings is equal to revealing the thoughts of a comparative stranger.

When one declares from a platform familiar and steady the power of the words reflects the stability of the platform and when the platform exists in a state of flux the resolve of the words seems unsteady even to the hand that wields them.

Enough of self-revelation, for now it is enough to have restarted the engine and having goosed the throttle a little it is enough to have committed these few words to paper, it is enough to have acknowledged a new beginning.