Timber

The tree that fell wasn't really the problem.
No one liked that tree much.
Well, some birds maybe. And a squirrel or two. 
Even a woodpecker 
from time to time in time
found it interesting.

Perhaps that was a sign of its destiny,
to be pecked at and used.

The snap was loud, quite disturbing its alarm,
like the crack of lightning.
The fall softly gentle at first then faster.
It shook upon impact
landing roughly bouncing 
against its calm neighbor.

I imagine that tree sharply exclaiming, 
"Hey! What the? Get off me!"
Luckily to no avail as the tree rests 
there precariously
perched like a twisted dao
enormous and deadly.

Had it fallen without brace; oh, the damage.
It would roll and smash hard.
Slamming down upon the patio then house,
only stopped once the price
had been reached to make
insurance claim match physics.

The Creed of Go

Some never travel 
staying close to where they start.
Others move along
yet they too never depart.

Journey without uncertainty
is a voyage forgone.
To go but not be ever lost
leaves the traveler yon.

The true explorer a nomad,
he lets wandering make wonder.
Letting go all the familiar,
sights he seeks, limits asunder.

Destinations are unknown until
retrospective insight.
Setting forth despite trepidation 
into a foreign night.

A Hero's Journey
[for Father's Day]

The role of hero is heavy. 
Much easier to have than to be.
He seems always at the ready
While you struggle feeling lost at sea. 

He gives comfort, a sure guide;
His wisdom always there sought out.
Yours fights an internal tide,
The constant haunt of inner doubt.

His humor is captivating
Bringing joy and deep laughter.
What source this assured creating
That endures ever after?

For you he is strong.
Giving love always gratis.
He can do no wrong.
You seek for such high status.

Your journey emulation,
Realized task lies beyond reach.
Pray with true adulation.
Earn the real gift he does teach.

Tattoos and Scars

Traveling through life, 
we collect the wounds.
These shape us, change us. 
These color our sight.

Make us who we are 
Define who we've been.
As the barnacles build, 
we choose their effect. 

At times a hindrance,
their drag causing grief,
but too an armor 
giving us a shield. 

For those who dare look, 
wisdom on offer.

We soon realize 
despite the burden
they stand to protect.

Hide not the marking.
Bear it all with pride.
Respect the offer.
Make peace embracing. 

Moving . . . On

In life we travel, amble just along
singing out of key a common and familiar song.
Together we trek 'til one of us falls, moves on,
then empty pockets and all collections gone.

Where once walked a reality now just a cloud.
The image fading as it's now enshroud.
Hints and memories softly come in and out.
The pain that's left lingers long though love is about.

Facing forward first reluctance then defiance.
We find some grace upon which to build reliance.
Once again with each other traveling along.
Picking up to carry on with the hopeful song.

Disturbing 

He smelled of a greasy lunch.
Three o'clock that afternoon
          sweat hovered in the stale air. 
Traffic squeaked and sputtered 
          nearby under rough tension. 
Close eyes only dared brief glances
          averting stare as much from 
          repulsion as courtesy.
Aid was not offered; no help
          because no one thought to help.
Desirables sought exit 
          equally hoping that this
          might soon exit their pure minds.
Yet it lingered there; image
          burned into their memories.
Chasing it out thus required
          action; earlier shirked.
Guilt propagated as judgement.
Revulsion overwhelmed 
          their compassionate mercy.

Illusions

Gazing up we see stillness in the night sky.
Distracted a moment, then up again, after the by
It seems indeed motion for each star.
While true, this was more our movement than those afar.
Yet we both traverse space-time at the speed of light.
Incomprehensible for our slight intuitive might.
What was there our yesterday is there again our today.
For them it was many eons ago, though they stay.
Our lives each a fleeting moment, a faint mere glimpse
At what in its grandeur is all moments hence.
Through struggle and conquest and boredom and routine 
We get but few chances to make our esteem.
Striving for ends more invented than planned and designed
All that is and was but illusions upon finding the divine.

Before The Next Day's Light

They gather, two by two, some alone, others by the swarm.
The assembly is building as the parts come to form.
The plan was loose, but the purpose to them quite clear.
Celebration at completion cracking open cheap beer.
Insecurities and inhibitions drift away; the term has ended.
The planners and anxieties, the learning and stresses are suspended.
What could have been has passed; what should have been is done.
Just remains this time of indulgent fun.
Revelry is the order; the last doubts melt tonight.
Police be dammed; it's their time to cast happy light.
What is next, lonely tomorrows or summer adventures . . . Who is to say?
For this moment, one last together, they will through night play.

Doer of Impossible Things 
[for Mother's Day]

Staring deeply at one's creation
The feeling is both awe and terror
So beautiful and yet so fragile
In need of tender care, then tough love
Guidance, maintenance, direction, aid
Once free, mostly staring back blankly
Without full appreciation 
Motherhood first demands constant
Need, then support, though rejected
Mere moments of adoration 
Never again a thought, an 
Action, without second guess
Carrying their burdens
Always the safe refuge
The source, the resource 
Tirelessly giving
Looked upon as perfect 
With expectation to match
Bearing guilt undeserved, borrowed
Fearing failure untrue
Taking pride in brief flashes
Worry in waves
Love beyond words

Frictional Non-Fiction

It seemed real at first.
From the pain to the relief,
All reactions must have been from cause.
The sensations were genuine.
Even the parts in blur felt real,
Seem real in their memory.
None could have been fully imagined.
It's not real now, just a memory,
A story told, a creation.
Recollection is real but only the act of recall.
The rest is a new fiction.
You cannot revisit the past.
Rather you can only invent it from premises.
You build upon that which you believe you knew, 
Believe you can believe.
It was never like this, never quite this.
No matter, bygones are gone
Even if still held.
Regret is an unattainable quest
Quixotic at the core.
Moving on they say is healthy,
But forgetting is its own fiction
And its own unachievable quest.

Conflicting Visions

What use your wondering mind?
Can you not focus?
Is there purpose in your life?
In your design?

    I beg not for your patience
    Nor your approval.
    Just accept me and move on.
    Drop obeisance.

My observation deserves consideration.

    Your judgement lacks for any substantiation.

You dismiss without care?

    You attack without spare.

It is from a place of mere love.
Why must you go to the extreme?

    It is delivered from above.
    Yet you are not in such esteem.

Help Wanted

Patiently she listened, her turn coming.
He asked another standard query.
"What would you say
     is your greatest flaw?"

Her mind exploded with mischief.
That I cannot answer 
     stupid questions.
She suppressed the desire.

A gapping blind spot for 
     personal shortcomings.
She demurred from the denial.

My bench press; these breasts
     get in the way.
She refrained from the inappropriate.

Desperately she sought a sane response. 

It came: "Self sabotage."

She let it hang in the room.

His eyes narrowed.
"And what would you say is
     your strongest attribute?"
"The same," she confidently announced. 

"How so?" he puzzled.

"Somehow I know when things should end
     even if I don't want them to."

She got the job.

Drag Greater Than Pull

Once you get going, it is easier.
The getting going the hard part.

It's not so much the distractions.
Though they matter, it's just brutal physics.

Even rolling along drag sets in.
You're not winded, but rather clouded.

Frustrating how asymmetric inertia is.
No matter momentum,

Drag eventually beats pull.
One moment rhythm, progress, then suddenly

Inexplicably, you're stopped.
Work, play, relationships, they all will succumb.

Fighting it tragically gives in as
The fight's itself distraction, drag.

Don't yield, don't despair. Drop regret and doubt.
Keep moving. Push, push! Push makes pull.

The Friend Who Breaks Glass

It's eleven in the Friday evening
and the calm whisper of a long week is
broken by his reality's sharp call.

Perhaps with some reluctance or perhaps
all too easily the glass is broken.

In the former case reaching sooner for 
that lifeline would have been better for all
--more convenient with better expected 
outcomes. Hopefully it is not too late.

In the latter case it is yet again 
this panicked alarm is being sounded. 

It makes no difference. The need's real
even if the timing isn't opportune
or the actual danger that acute.

He isn't the best option nor the only.
He cannot entirely fix the problem 
--just a means to hoped-for solutions.

Whether he supplies a bandage or yields
a true fix is not really the point.
His role in this act of a many-act play 
has been cast, and he's not just another 
available actor. He's THE performer.

For him there is nothing of this that is 
obligatory. This is not duty 
as much as it is simply who he is.

He won't even cuss you as he slowly
tamps out his cigar, throws out his whiskey's 
last swallow, grabs his coat, and starts his car.

On his way, and he'd have it no other.

Of Gods And Dogs

To never want for more than a nap
Tormented by squirrels and doorbells

Meals faithfully served - sometimes a little cheese on top
Never knowing nor ever controlling what comes next

Excitement seeing a revealed leash
Frustration from persistent restraint

Pride and praise plus a treat for a small trick performed well
Shame and pain for an accidental bodily fail

Constancy your realm day in, day out
Aging much faster than those you love

The thrill of a car ride
Agony at the vet

So many new favorite things
So little time in each and all

Extremes

The interesting stuff is always at the extremes
When limits are reached, then exceeded
Cold water is just water until it freezes
Hot water silently sits and then the boil
The thrill of the hunt arrives with the chase
Actualization drives the excitement of anticipation
Anticlimax is never because of too much but too little
Moderation is boring, dull, and faint
The remarkable is created by either indulgence or deprivation 
A heart set on cruise control is not healthy
Nor a life trapped by routine worth living

Mischievous Grins

Beware those who delight in the others' downfall.
They boast when they should share sorrow.
In the face of despair, they smirk rather than wince.

Careful scholars have struggled throughout the ages 
to find grounding for a just war.
None of us should expect an easier excuse.

One need not take leave of dignity
in achieving a good success.
Nor should one adopt indifference
for the sake of one's pride.

The souls one’s actions reach deserve our care.
Conquest is not equivalent to victory.
Nor love antithetical to glory.

Whiskey Drinkin' 'n Ass Kickin'

Drownin' this bottle of boo-hoos
Wonderin' why always lose you
Thinkin' back to the start again
It's the same that's it's always been

She left 'fore we even had a chance
She took my heart from the ver' first dance
Those boots could move feelin's to my core
Never thought they move her out the door

Now I struggle the strength to just abide
Sunset to sunrise I just drift and slide
Maybe someday she'll see way back to me
Till then I'll just wish angels hear my plea

My heartbreak now broke I pray to God I send
Fearin' and supposin' that it'll never end

Casey Kasem

Late empty night--I drift across the vast Texas landscape.
Straight the road leads toward twilight town--distant, calling.
Starry ceiling, black horizon--car pulls forward.
FM station harkens my past--teleports me.
Mind roams finding history not lost but
alive within. Memories close as
I hum then sing as I connect
childhood. Not just in song but 
rhythm, feel--showing I am,
indeed, still back there.
Hopes, perspective
all the small
things that 
were . . .
so big in my naive world.
To go back there, to be there . . . 
still hoping the road extends.
Wishing the top 40 could just
last for longer, forever.

Obstinacy in Protest

They tell us it is impractical, 
unrealistic, 
unworkable. 
They tell us this because simply 
the others can’t be trusted. 
Can’t be expected. 
Can’t be allowed.
They never tell us, though, 
that what we want is actually wrong. 
They doubt our sincerity, 
our ability, 
but they do not dispute 
our integrity.