To Forgive, Divine 4/4/2018

Anger is taking poison and

Expecting the other person to die

Jealousy is the cruel monster

Shakespeare said has a green eye

 

When banging my head against a wall

It feels really good when I quit

Finally ready to forgive myself

And to the bright future I submit

 

Time has certainly told

The past is in the past

Good and bad mere memories

Even the best of times don’t last

 

Head held high, face to the future

As I walk the streets of Cheyenne

Letting go with a forgiving heart

Yet, I mourn what might have been

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Vanishing Point 3/2/2018

I gaze out to the horizon

To where the road disappears

A singularity, oneness

Could I pass through?

Into a new existence, free

Racing toward my destiny!

Or away from my fears?

Becoming a particle of speed

The past on the road. Behind.

Only the future matters

Unknown, hope-filled, chaos

I have found my vanishing point

The Wyoming Wind 2/20/2018

The Wyoming wind is always there

From my past until this very day

The wind helped mold and shape my character

It is why my hair always looks this way

 

The Wyoming wind can chill one’s heart

In winter it is bitter and mean

Though the wind has a good side too

The blowing wind keeps the air clean

 

The Wyoming wind has no cares

Its gusts and drafts go where they please

Some days the wind all but disappears

But there is always at least a breeze

 

I have fond memories of the Wyoming wind

Though it blows my world around

From my youth and as I age

In my head Wyoming wind will sound

Showdown 1/2/2018

Far too many times

He had been here before

Young men making a name

Or trying to even a score

 

Dust filled the air

The man squinted in the sun

He pulled his duster back

Exposing his well-used gun

 

Facing him in the street

Was an unnamed foe

The kid had all the gear

A gunfighter head to toe

 

Rumors and reputation followed

This aging Western cliché

Never a chance to rest or retire

Just a final bullet someday

 

Every bone and muscle ached

When he walked into the street

The years had nearly beat him

He could hear his weak heart beat

 

The man could see the faces

Of every failed adversary

Their ghosts no longer haunted him

He did what was necessary

 

The graves of his victims

Litter countless western towns

The names of both lost in time

As are the consecrated grounds

 

The kid was dressed in black

His boots, holsters, and hat

A pair of silver-plated pistols

His stance like an aristocrat

 

The kid made his challenge

From the door of the saloon

The man sighed heavily

Then spit into the spittoon

 

The angry and brave words

Varied little from all the others

He knew what the words meant

Sobbing ladies, wives, and mothers

 

The townsfolk were excited

Word raced far and near

Boredom and malaise vanished

With other’s lives, so cavalier

 

With an aging tanned hand

The man lifted his glass

He slowly finished his whiskey

Letting the seconds pass

 

Before leaving the saloon

He pulled and checked his gun

Assured every part functioned

The man stepped into the sun

 

A memory gave him pause

The first man he killed

Set him on this path

A better life unfulfilled

 

Born with a gift or curse

Of accuracy and speed

Along with moral flexibility

He was able to succeed

 

His thoughts broken by a taunt

The kid yelled for the man to hurry

Every second precious to the man

He was in no rush or worry

 

The town filled with silence

Except that of a baby crying

The anticipation of the crowd

That a man would soon be dying

 

The kid’s fingers danced

On his pistol’s ivory grips

He grew anxious to use

The fiery death on his hips

 

The man, a pillar of calm

His face a portrait of serenity

He had done this before

It had become his identity

 

Heartbeats marked the time

The man never moved first

He waited for the kid’s move

Then the action would burst

 

The kid’s hands moved quickly

Unholstering silver-plated obliteration

But the man’s reflexes were faster

And one step closer to damnation

 

The kid fell to the dirt

To endure death, painful and slow

He cried out for his mother

As the crowd turned to go

 

Without a further look

At his latest blood sacrifice

The man returned to the saloon

Knowing he’d never see paradise

 

The man returned to drinking

Before finally riding out

He was the best gunfighter

Of this he had no doubt

 

Locking away other memories

Never forgetting the kid’s face

Added to the long gallery

Until the man takes his place

Solicitors Welcome 3/9/2005

The dogs barked like crazy when the Avon Lady came into the house and all she could say was, “Could you please restrain the beasts. I’m quite afraid of dogs.”

I looked at my ferocious Yorkie and Chihuahua and laughed a little.

“Do not mock my fear, I was bitten as a child.”

I looked at her with sympathy, “I’m sorry, they’ll calm down in just a moment.”

The Avon Lady looked angry, “Do you want your skin-so-soft and make up? Then get rid of those awful creatures.”

I thought about it for a moment, then turned to my sweet little bundles of energy and said, “Dinner time, lads.”

The two small dogs went into a frenzy and ate the Avon Lady, bones and all. I went to my front door and adjusted the sign that read: Solicitors Welcome.  I then sat down on my blue couch and cradled my two little dogs in my arms.

“I love you guys.”

Seconds 3/7/2005

       Time seemed to pass slowly. Every heartbeat was a new image of the elderly couple, hand in hand. I could see them when they met at the USO in Hoboken, dancing close. The man dared to sneak a soft kiss and she returned it. I saw her waiting on the pier as he returned a hero from France, medals and a Purple Heart on his chest.

     Another beat and they held their first child, a boy they named for her father. They bought a house for their growing family. I saw them passionately make love and whisper heartfelt endearments to each other. Their son goes off to college as they hold each other, so proud of their boy. Soon their daughter leaves to get an education.

Another beat is witness to their sadness as the flag-draped coffin of their son was lowered into the cold ground. She jumped as the salute fired.

Another beat and my Dodge Durango crushes the couple sending the man flying and the woman under the wheels. There are no witnesses, yet I wish I had never left the bar so drunk.

Imperfection 12/31/2017

I loved you when

You didn’t love yourself

I saw a better person

Than she saw herself

 

At the same time

You did the same for me

Building me up

To the best I could be

 

But I am only human

Imperfection at best

I fell short of you

Of this I confessed

 

I hate myself at times

For poor decisions made

Now I have to move on

The price has been paid

 

Saying is not doing

The hurt remains still

Process just beginning

A question of my will