Future Hope

peek-a-boo echoes across a yard
laughter is heard everywhere
children in their private world
life without a care
5^th grade and 6^th grade
so young, so innocent
a part of the next generation
on which our future depends
today a dark cloud is forming over their heads
it seems life is no longer safe
there are killers roaming our neighborhoods
knocking on random doors
they don’t care about age or sex
they don’t seem to notice color
they just kill for the thrill of it
leaving behind grieving mother’s
parents always taught each child
never trust a stranger
stay away from unknown cars
protect yourself from danger
today that advice seems to have failed
the killers are no longer dirty old men
they are the children living right next door
who have yet to learn about sin
their parents working all day
they lock the kids in darkened rooms
soon their minds slip away
planting seeds of future doom
some kill for attention
some kill to show their tough
some kill for the thrill
some because they can’t get enough

how can we protect our future
the future of our children
if we cannot save them
earth will fade into oblivion

Sanity Lost

Empty room
Echoed silence
Momentary peace
Open defiance
Passing seconds
Slip away
Broken alliance
Forgot to pray
Worlds created
Faith untrue
Skies of gray
People blue
Another planet
Ignore the signs
Another dimension
Lost in time
Stop the conductor
Empty symphonies
Music misplaced
Somewhere in Tiffanies
A silver spoon
No bone china
In the backwoods
Of Carolina
But one remnant
A blue ring finger
Twitching slowly
Pain that lingers
One minor souvenir
Found beneath your bed
Of a journey once taken
Deep within your head

microcosm

so much to see
in a square foot of earth
take a seat, observe for a while
and a mysterious world appears

watch the grass
catch a breeze
some blades dance
others are wallflowers
like a snowflake
no blade
is Xeroxed
different colors
different shapes
blend into a lawn

spot the earthworms
peeking
from their tunnels
two ended prairie dogs
testing the wind
avoiding birds
twisting and turning
burrowing in again
networking
beneath the lawn

there, a platoon of ants
scouts ahead
foragers searching
food for the colony
a carcass
of a beetle
bisected
several workers
to each section
presenting dinner to the queen

above, a solitary bee
buzzes about
the grass
and the dandelions
sampling nectar
from flower to flower
collecting
the pollen
needed by the hive
for the honey factory

so much to see
in a square foot of earth
so often missed
by the human animal

One Minute

One minute
Newspaper in hand
Starbuck’s fogging his lenses
Lost in thought
Bitter words
Arguing with his wife
Reaches for the cell
Never makes the call

One minute
Applying mascara and eyeliner
Always running late
On the move
Dark Circles
Beneath her eyes
Need more sleep tonight
Only, tonight never comes

One minute
Back pack in hand
He doses
Algebraic equations
Dominate his dreams
One more test
To pass the class
He never takes the test

One minute
The track was clear
Than in the distance
An SUV
Brakes applied
Explosive crash
Screams and cries
His world went black

One minute
Girlfriend gone
Lost in drugs
Nothing to do but die
Parked on the track
Watches the train
Filled with fear
Not quite insane

One minute
To change his mind
Move off the track
Prevent the sorrow
Lacking courage to live
He was to scared to die
Too late for I’m sorry
His one-minute
Ruined uncountable lives

Red

A winter evening not long ago
Air crisp, ground covered in snow
A mob gathered in the square
Murmured anger filled the air
Many watched with hate filled eyes
Building mountains from their lies
Within the circle an innocent man
Trapped, condemned by the damned
He never fled, just stood his ground
Grabbed, jostled and thrown down
Leather boots broke fragile bones
A lucky kick fractured nose
Until, in great pain, he let out a cry
An anguished man, not ready to die
I forgive you brothers for what you’ve done
I have prayed for to the Son
Not amused, the crowd laughed and jeered
This will teach you stranger to come here
His face now was torn, bruised and bloody
He was cold, wet and muddy
They bruised a kidney tore out his hair
He laid still, hands clasped in their final prayer
Anger spent the mob went home
His body left cold and alone
No guilt was felt, only relief
His one sin was his own beliefs
He came to town to spread the word
No one cared for what they heard
So he died for their sins
A missed chance to begin again

And the snow turned red

Time Wave

Strategically inclined to love her
Impossible to forget her
Wanting always to hold her
Dreaming always
Of her, about her
Until a wave
Of time and distance
Washes her memory away

Believe in Love

I was lost in some dream world
Where I met an old man
In an old wrinkled suit with silver hair
And gnarled trembling hands
He looked at me and with a weakened voice
Wove a tale about a love that grew
I stare at him with cynical eyes
That’s a myth it can’t be true
The world knows love is blind
A shallow empty promise
A broken shattered dream
Cupid’s arrow destined to miss
I shook my finger in his face
Don’t you know loves for fools
A mirage for the gullible
A maze of broken rules
Only those without a heart
Know how to play this game
While the naïve on an endless quest
Find only a life filled with pain

I looked up and was taken aback
Before my eyes he seemed to age
He looked at me with bitterness
His hands clenched in fists of rage
With weakened voice he spoke again
How did you become such a sorry fool
Wasting your life on self pity
Worrying about some silly rules
Trust me, love is not what you have said
Some empty foolish game
Love is not about winners and losers
The outcome is never the same
I could see he was filled with sorrow
As he began to shake and cry
He fell to his bony knees
Shouting why, why, oh why
Is it so hard for you to understand
I have walked the path your on
And now I’m just another crazy old man
I once walked this world
Standing tall, young and proud
I took the gift of love
And wrapped it in a funeral shroud
I found humor in watching those
Who found joy in playing the game
I believed myself to be happy
Walking alone just the same
I called myself superior
As I stood above the rest
I was sure that love was foolish
That my way was the best
But as I watched the years flow by
My pride began to grow thin
So many nights spent alone
The fear was creeping in
I began to question my beliefs
Could it be I was wrong
That love was more than silliness
Empty words in some country song
Knowledge though is a tricky thing
A learned to late
Now my destiny was loneliness
Cold dinners on paper plates
Please, please believe
Believe in what I say
Find yourself the perfect girl
Do what you can to make love stay
Then, slowly before my eyes
His image began to fade
Thought it was but a whisper
One more time I heard him say
Believe in love
It is the only answer
Believe in love
Follow the path forever

I woke with the sun in my eyes
Still groggy from the dream
I gave some thought to what I heard
Reviewed the images I had seen
I had never really planned
To find old age alone
I was more sure than ever
I did not want to die alone
Time was short in middle age
To set the course and find a heart
One filled with honesty
Willing to give me a new part
Today will be the beginning
Of a life filled with hope
Whatever tomorrow brings
With love I can cope

My Quest

My life has been spent in a search
For the pieces missing from my puzzle
A half empty box mismatched and ragged
The picture remains incomplete
Failure to believe brought me to this moment
Standing alone on top a mountain
Having settled for less once again
Once again I gave my heart
To a woman who never wanted the key
Her obsession was with possessions
And my heart was just a token on her shelf
She never offered comfort when she found the heart trembling
Loneliness meant nothing to her
She never loved
Despite the unconditional love I offered
Blame is not the issue though
My plate already overflows with regret
Bitter crusts of relationships past
Crumbling memories returning to the dust from which they came
No once again the blame belonged to me
A hopeless romantic settling for a less than perfect love
My fear of loneliness compromising common sense
I continue to accept and excuse
Collecting a boxful of scars along the way
On my endless quest for a soul mate

The King is Dead, Long Live the King

The king is dead long live the king.

Johnny Carson was, is and always will be the rightful king of late night television. Since his retirement on May 22, 1992 there have been many pretenders to the throne. There is no comparison you can throw out the name of every successor but not one a will ever enjoy the love affair with the American public that Johnny did.

I discovered Johnny Carson and the Tonight Show when I was eleven years old. I have never been a heavy sleeper and from a young age I suffered from chronic insomnia. It was sometime in 1970 that I began sneaking out of bed, I would wait until my parents were asleep before creeping out of my room. I would sit in the dark as close to the screen as possible. I would keep the sound low and would randomly flip through the seven channels we had at the time until something would catch my attention.

Until one night, when I happened to land on NBC just as the words “Heeeeeeeere’s Johnny” came across the airwaves. From that moment on my late night attention was captured by Johnny Carson’s presence. I was mesmerized not just by the host but also by the parade of stars that would come out to visit with him and with us the viewing audience.

I was fortunate enough to grow up in the Los Angeles area. When my best friend and I discovered a mutual appreciation for the king of late night we began making biannual pilgrimage’s to beautiful downtown Burbank to watch tapings of the show. Over the years we probably attended more than twenty tapings and we never left the studio disappointed.

If I had to choose one Tonight Show moment it from 1981 when Jimmy Stewart read Johnny a poem he had written about his dog Beau. It was not necessarily the best poem ever written but the sentiment was clear. When Mr. Stewart came to the end of the poem where he discussed Beau’s death and how much he missed that dog Johnny had tears streaming down his face.

When Johnny announced in 1992 that he was going to retire has the host of the Tonight Show we knew we had to be in the audience for the last public taping which was to take place on May 21, 1992. NBC kept their long-standing policy for that taping first come, first served. No reservations and no cost to the public.

We were fortunate enough to be the second and third people in line. Of course we were there early and we spent the night on the cold sidewalk but it was more than worth it. In the morning news agencies from around the world descended on the line to find out why we were there and what Johnny Carson meant to the world.

If anyone has tapes of any of the morning shows like Today or Good Morning America from that morning you can see my friend and I eating cold cereal and telling the world why we were there.

His final public taping lived up to all of the hype. His monologue and his timing were just as perfect as always. However, that final show for me will be defined by Bette Midler sitting on Johnny’s desk and singing “One For My Baby” directly to him. It was as if for a few moments the audience was not even there. The tears in his eyes spoke volumes about the man. When the taping finished and Johnny took his final public curtain call the ovation lasted for quite a while. Johnny appeared humbled and attempted to leave the stage but we were not able to let him go. With misty eyes he gave us one final wave and exited the stage.

Thank you Johnny for all the memories, the laughter, and the tears and for giving us thirty unbelievable years out of your life. You will be missed.

Afraid to Believe

I am not sure how I found this path
I am not sure how the choice was made
But I have been roaming for so many years
And yet I am still afraid
Afraid of what tomorrow will bring
Afraid of all my yesterdays
Afraid of every shadow in the hall
Afraid to run, too afraid to stay
I want to change the course I’m on
Plan a journey see the world
I just cannot do it alone
I need a the support of a good hearted girl
But I’m afraid of failing again
Afraid of a broken heart
Afraid of removing these walls
Afraid of chance, afraid of another start
I believe in a future filled with hope
I believe the rainbow will follow the rain
But deep down in my soul
There’s a pothole filled with pain
And I’m afraid of feeling love
I’m afraid of the scars it will leave
I’m afraid of being used
I’m afraid, to afraid to believe

Hearts of Darkness

Beware
They are here
Walking amongst us
Even as you read this

They look like us
Outward appearances though
Can be deceiving
When they speak
Their words appear to come
From a human tongue
They eat the same food
They buy the same shampoo
They cheer for the Red Sox
They boo the Yankees
Yet they are not like us
Not like us at all

Where their heart should be
Is a void
A void as dark and as cold
As deepest space
There are no feelings
There are no emotions
No heartache
No tears
At birth
A tiny black hole
Was placed in their chest

We have all met
Someone with a
Heart of darkness
Why this happens
No one can say
Maybe Einstein knew

We are drawn to them
By gravity
By charisma
We become
Their friends
Their lovers
Their husbands
Their wives
By all appearances
The evolution
Of a normal relationship
Is what we experience
Never noticing
When bits and pieces
Of our souls
Gradually fade away
Our orbit becomes
Limited
By the pull
Of the black hole

Those around us
Can read the signs
Like trackers
After a rabid wolf
They can see
The changes
We begin to manifest
The glazed over stare
The hours spent
Waiting for the phone
To bring whispers
Of hope to our door
Before long
We accept excuses
We forgive without question

Deep inside though
A piece of us
Remains, still fighting
The good fight
Avoiding the gravity
Clinging to a bit of hope
A ray of star shine
Wanting to scream
Into deaf ears
What are we doing
Why are we allowing ourselves
To be used this way
We have become
A beautiful book
Whose pages are never read
Placed on display
For the world to see
A trophy
Awarded to the selfish
The insincere
The ones who talk a good talk
Get what they want
And return to
The pit
From which they crawled
Leaving the shattered
Broken heart
Of one who dared to love
Scattered upon the ground
Amidst the autumn leaves

Waiting for one
Who understands the pain
To gently gather the pieces
Wrap them in gauze
And plant a tiny
Seed of hope
That tomorrow
Will bring the warmth
Of an honest heart

Momdate January 20th

Mom has finished her 9th day of radiation treatment. The focus has been on her right hip and lower back locations where the pain has been most dominant.

Improvement has been minimal at best. She has noticed a slight reduction in her back pain but no change in the hip. Her right thigh, some ribs and a spot on her skull are beginning to contribute to the overall pain level.

The medication she is taking has been able to fight the pain to a draw. Enough reduction to be functional but not enough for her to enjoy any pain free moments.

Her radiation treatment will continue for 6 more days. At that time they will evaluate her case and provide her with a progress report.

The main obstacle she faces is that there is more cancer in her bones than can be safely treated. Long-term radiation will damage more than it will help. As it is she has been having stomach problems for 2 days that can be attributed to the treatment.

The good news if any is that the other treatment has kept her counts low which is a possible sign that the cancer has not spread beyond the bone.

The bone scan, which was used to diagnose her cancer, was the third one she had received. The previous two showed anomalies but the malignancies remained diagnosed.

Because her cancer had remained undiagnosed she had a consultation with a lawyer who also had a medical degree. Her concern was more for the system than any monetary amount she might have received.

However, in California they have malpractice numbers down to a science; the cancer type and the projected life span of the patient are the deciding factors when considering a lawsuit. My mother’s cancer is a type 4 with a projected life span of 5 years or less. Under state law she cannot sue for malpractice despite the possibly botched diagnosis.

I am not sure of how the law works in other states but in California the HMO’s are protected from malpractice suits only the doctor could have been held liable.

Confusion

I am
What I am
A mere illusion
I am here
And not here
I speak
And I am unheard
I see
And I am unseen
My imagination
Is the world
The world
Is my imagination
People are
A figment of
My imagination
And I am
A figment of
Their imagination
My mind
Created the universe
The Stars
The Planets
Myself
All are one
One together
Within themselves
With their selves
All in one
Grand illusion
Created in my dreams
For my entertainment

Searching

Alone in the dark
Lost in a fog
Searching for answers
To questions unknown
Mind all a jumble
Of half hearted hopes
Left behind in a closet
Mothballed for posterity

Stranded Emotion

A deserted road
Rising toward a darkened sky
Hands grasp wearily
For a friend
Any kind of friend
Return empty once more

Tear filled valleys
Break the monotony of
The empty plains
Flooded streams of emotion
Block any forward progress
Take your time
When a heart is empty
Promises lie

Going home
A cold and lonely place
No one there
But a broken light
And an angry barking dog
Disturbing the silent night
A car pulls up
Disappears
A rum filled bottle
Empty once again
Face down in the gutter
Clutching your dearest friend

Echoed voices
Belonging to forlorn souls
Gathered together
Yet still they’re alone
No quick escape
For an empty heart
Doorsteps cluttered
Demons from a drug filled mind

Call for help
Not nearly in time
Scream to the stars
Another life alone again
Give it up
A waste of time
Loves warm feeling
Never lasts for long
An empty park
An old wino
Laughing to himself
As you twist in the wind

For....

For every peak you conquer
A valley must be traversed
For every bridge you cross
A connection must be made
For every notable accomplishment
A soul must endure trials and tribulations
For every memorable moment
One must live with the mundane
Without a negative
Positive has no meaning
Without depression
Euphoria would have no meaning
To truly walk as one with light
You must experience darkness
To once again
Soar with the angels
One must trod
The dusty roads of earth

A Single Mom's Quest for Love

I was five years old when my mother reached the end of her rope and came to the conclusion that my father’s dance with alcoholism was beginning to consume him. He packed his bags and my mother began the long, lonely journey of a single mom.

This was in 1965 when divorce had yet to become an everyday occurrence. Especially if one had been indoctrinated by the priests and nuns at your local parish. Alcoholism, abuse, neglect none of these were acceptable reasons for divorce. Even when the couple concerned signed the final civil resolution ending their marriage the church did not recognize the event. In the eyes of mother church you were still married and God forbid if you chose to remarry. Such a choice was a mortal sin in the eyes of the church and could lead to your excommunication.

Life for a single mother of three is never easy but it was especially difficult in those days. My mom had to go from part time employment to full time employment in order to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomach.

My father was putting the money he earned into his alcohol habit and never seemed to get around to paying his child support. Nor did he make regular appearances to visit us kids. I was older and lucky enough to spend time with him at least once in a blue moon. However, he never did anything with my brother and sister.

So mom was a parent-of-all-trades. Den mother, tutor, costume maker, chef, breadwinner, tear drier, tucker inner, and full time employee. How she managed I will never understand. I never saw them but I was sure that she must have had fifty arms and eyes in the back of her head to accomplish all that she did.

On top of everything else she was a twenty-five year old woman still in search of Mr. Right.

Being good looking with a great personality made it fairly easy to meet men. Having three children ages 6, 2 and 1 at home made it even easier to scare them away.

First dates were a dime a dozen where as second dates were few and far between. It seems that having kids was a liability no matter how many other assets you have to offer. My mom’s standards were high though and she refused to just settle. She wanted someone who would not only love her but also treat us better than carry on luggage.

After a few years of dating she began seeing R. He was a bit older than her and he seemed to have a lot to offer. He made good money. He owned his own house. He had his private pilot license and would fly her to places like Santa Barbara for dinner. He was perfect in every area except one. He treated us kids like we were shadows in the corner. The less he saw of us and the quieter we were the happier he was.

With everything else going so well my mom kept hoping that R would change his ways and accept us as a bonus to the package he was most interested in. Of course as time passed and nothing changed he continued to ignore us and only reluctantly invite us on any of the trips he took with mom.

R and my mom were regulars at the local BPOE (Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks). Friday nights they served dinners and there was usually dancing after with the music either provided by a live band or by quarters fed into the jukebox.

One night my mom happened to notice a flyer announcing a family trip to Palm Springs that included a ride to the top of the mountain on the Aerial Tramway. My mom overly optimistic as usual turned to R and said something about how much fun a trip like that would be. R being his usual dense self offered to make a weekend of it, if she could find a babysitter for us. Disappointed she muttered something about how it would be fun to take us.

Surrendering to the inevitable she returned her attention to her drink when she heard a southern accented voice to her left.

“I would be happy to take you and your kids.”

Turning my mom looked into the eyes of her future and liked what she saw. Without hesitation she told J yes and turned her back on R forever.

We went that weekend to Palm Springs and had a wonderful time. My mom and J began spending all of their free time together and before long they ran off to Vegas to get married.

The happiest years of my mom’s life were spent with J. From the moment they met until the day in 1987 that he passed away she had by her estimation at least the perfect man.

doctor rabbitfoot

broken bottles of vintage wine
that orson wells never drank
shattered sunsets, distorted rainbows
all fading before their time
in a distant past
when dreams were real
and violence
was a fantasy
a man appeared
in long black tails
a magician’s hat
with flowers in his sleeve
the look he gave
froze your soul
leaving you
nowhere to run
nowhere to hide
he grabbed you
with broken fingers
and twisted nails
you were his
without a fight
he ravaged your mind
he destroyed your soul
in his search
for your darkest fears
upon discovery
he exploits them
driving you to your knees
rendering you helpless
beyond self control
without thought
willing to
pledge your soul
to him…

doctor rabbitfoot picks up his bag
wandering along a forgotten trail
leaving you a wasted shell
attempting to explain
the unexplainable

What Price?

Midnight winds
Echoed sorrow
In a silent forest
Branches fall
Through empty holes
In repressed anger
A ladder breaks
A rope undone
Wails and moans
When no ones home
To see him die
From neglect
Just a boy
Who knew no love
Who struggled, fought
Who was never bought
Who cashed in his chips
When he knew
The ones who care
Are far and few
The ones who love
Do not exist
Except in
Fairytales, nightmares
And unrequited dreams

god & dice

master time
increments of seven
wisely used
a mind expands
escaping body
exploring the multiverse
multiplicity of lives
unfettered by grace
DNA cocktails
assimilated dark matter
microcosmic lotteries
vying for evolutions prize
survive creation
through generational chaos
genetic alliances
amidst big bangs
particle accelerators
recreate first time
answers unfounded
still hide within
gaseous clouds of cosmic debris
awaiting enterprise
politically correct crews
silent creation
multicelluar fraternities
pranks on an infinite scale
experiments trapped
beneath microscope slides
exposing reality
long hidden truth
Einstein was wrong
god does play dice with the universe
and he has been known to lose

Salvation

Wild-eyed prophets encircle an abyss
Engorged on the blood of a thousand martyrs
Who died without full comprehension
Empty vessels neglected souls
Traveling along desperation road
Crying to heaven
Why were we forsaken
We sacrificed all in the name of the cause
Our homes, our children
Our land, our existence
Laid before the alter of expedience
We never questioned
The books we were sold
We wore blinders
Hiding from sorrow
Mere words could not explain
Our eyes turned to god
We stumbled through darkness
Ignoring the plight of the homeless
The abused, the neglected
Though when catastrophe struck
We cried tears of gold
How can it be that so many must die
Rallies were held
Songs were sung
What happens next week
Next month
Next year
Another disaster
Worse than before
We spent our time
Saving the forest
While the trees
Were are all but forgotten

Infinity

Sand between toes
Tracing symbols of infinity
Never lasting
Washed away by a full moon
Dancing with the virgin tide
Time passes
Dampness coats the flesh
Lightening flashes
Sending her mind
On a flight of fancy
Plotting a course by starlight
Floating on surreal currents
Above the plodding masses
Dreaming of another time
When future thoughts
Sailed upon a sea of promise
Before the X-Ray
Before the prognosis
Before tomorrow
Became all that remained
Of yesterday
Chances
Are few, when hope
Is cast by a roll of the die
Chemical A burns the hair
Chemical B removes the hunger
Chemical soups offering but a respite
Injections for the family
Providing hope where none remains
Acceptance of the script
Rehearsing the famous final scene
One take
No dress rehearsal
Standing room only
For her greatest performance
Death without a director
Embracing the unknowable
Dressed by the genetics
That clothed her at birth
Like Venus
She sinks beneath the waves
Leaving only
Infinity
Behind in the morning sand

Faded Photograph (revisited)

A homemade frame protects the faded photograph; residing on a bookshelf along side his computer. Weeks may go by without him giving it a second thought. Than out of the blue the image will catch his eye and he will find himself wandering down some long forgotten road.

He does not possess any actual memories of the picture being taken. After all he was only three months old. From what he has been told the image was captured on Christmas morning. He is wearing little blue pants and a white shirt. He has a blue knit cap covering the top of his head. Two things stand out when he observes his younger self, he had piercing blue eyes and quite a head of hair for a three month old.

On his lap he clutches his very first Christmas present. A sock monkey that he received from his mother, it is brown with a red and white striped vest and matching hat. He has clear memories of the monkey because it was his favorite toy well into his sixth year.

Holding him in the photograph is his father. Sadly this is the only holiday picture he owns of the two of them together. The image of his father always leaves him with a lump in his throat. His dad appears so young, vibrant and full of life. His hair is black and his eyes are clear. His entire face appears to have been swallowed by his pride filled smile. Christmas morning and he was holding his first-born son. Life for the moment was perfect.

If only it could have remained so.

first posted 3-17-04

On the Rocks (revisited)

There was nothing left to say. No roads less traveled. He left his ring in her favorite martini glass sitting on the dusty bar. The one place they both knew she would find it.

She had always been a social drinker. Friday nights, sometimes Saturday brunch with the girls, a martini, a bloody mary, maybe a margarita or two. While he the son of dysfunctional alcoholics rarely if ever found himself with a drink in his hand. He had done a spot of reading on the subject finding out that alcoholism was statistically higher in the second generation of an alcoholic family. While he accepted that not all statistics were factual he was not willing to risk his family or his liver on them being wrong.

Hindsight found that there was not one particular event or moment that pushed her over the edge from social drinker to alcoholic. Loneliness, a miscarriage, her mothers' cancer fight any or all of the above could have been the straw that stirred the drink. In her eyes she was fine. She handled the booze, he was jealous because she knew how to have a good time and he didn't.

Counseling was tried but it was a spectacular failure. She was open-minded until her drinking became the topic on the table. When the subject was broached, the damn broke, and she ran from the room tears streaming down her face.

He did not hear from her until three that morning when she called from jail. Her car had wrapped itself around a telephone pole on the way home from the pub. Fortunately no one was hurt. He bailed her out and she refused to discuss the issue with him. As far as she was concerned the one with the drinking problem was him, because he had a problem with her drinking.

The marriage disintegrated from there. He began sleeping on the couch, not so much to avoid her, but to avoid being woken up by her when she stumbled into bed. They rarely spoke. They became islands occupying the same current, sharing sand but little else. He knew it was over. Nothing would change until she put down the bottle and he knew from experience that she was unable and unwilling.

He remembered the clear-eyed beauty he had married. How his love for her had seared his soul. Now his soul was choking on the damp embers of those forgotten flames. There were no tears left to cry. No words left to say. So he removed his ring and placed it in the empty glass. The symbolism of his actions saying more than words ever would. He picked up his suitcase and walked out the door without a backward look.

Leaving her on the rocks.

First published 3/9/04

Grandma Spelta (revisted)

I never knew her younger hands. Hands unscarred by life. At my birth her hands had already seen eighty-two years.

All the same her hands were beautiful. Representing all she had seen and done in her life. Each line, each wrinkle told a tale of a place visited, a road traveled or a home built.

Her nails were always neat, clean and trimmed. She never wore nail polish. For, as she was fond of saying things were not done in that way in the old country.

Some of my earliest memories are of observing her hands at work. Sitting in front of the fireplace her glasses perched upon the end of her nose. On her lap rested a skein or two of colorful yarn. In the vivid imagination of my youth she appeared to be a sorceress at work, her knitting needles magic wands. What began, as a skein of yarn would before my eyes transform into a pair of socks, a scarf or a sweater.

My love of cooking, especially Italian dishes, came from watching her work in the kitchen. Everything was made from scratch and the meals she prepared were seasoned with love. I can still see her with her sleeves rolled up flour coating her arms to the elbow, while the dough that she would bake into a savory loaf of bread was gently kneaded.

But my most treasured memories come from watching as she prepared for bed. Her hands, those instruments of creation, would remove golden pins from her white hair. When loose her hair was in my mind as long as Rapunzel's. She sat in front of her mirrored vanity and brushed her hair with an antique silver brush. Every night one hundred strokes no more no less. When she finished her hair reflected the lamplight like the moon reflects the sun. Next she opened a bottle of her favorite hand cream, a gift from one of her son's, she would rub it into the crack and wrinkles covering her wizened hands.

Finally, kneeling at the end of the bed, her hands would come together, fingers intertwined; she would close her eyes and begin her evening prayers, in Latin. My sleep filled eyes would close and I would float away lost in the murmur of ancient words falling from her lips as she recited the Lord's Prayer.

Grandma Spelta first appeared 2/23/04.

Left Behind (revisited)

He found her heart sitting upon a bench in Golden Gate Park.
Where the one before him had left it.
When he first saw it sitting there
it was hardly recognizable.
Somewhat tattered,
its edges caught up in the breeze coming off San Francisco Bay
for a moment it seemed her heart would soar away,
a kite with nothing left to celebrate.
As he drew closer he saw through the dust and neglect,
he saw the beauty hidden beneath the pain.
Within his chest he could feel his own heart
crying out with primeval sorrow
at the damage done to this unique and fragile flower.
Upon reaching the bench
he discovered that her heart was trembling,
crying tears of what might have been.
He longed to reach out
but he was afraid that her heart in this state
would turn to ash
that the ashes would dance with the wind
only to be scattered upon the rocks of Alcatraz.
So, removing the bandages protecting his own damaged heart
he offered them to her.
Gently he with tender loving care
wrapped her heart and placed it in her weary hands.
Smiling, she softly kissed his, own still fragile heart.
And as she disappeared into the fog
she left but one word behind,
"maybe".

January 10th is the one year anniversery of Murmur's birth. A big thank you to everyone who has ever left behind their footprints or peaked through the window for a moment to see what was going on. Every visit long or short is appreciated.

Today through Monday I decided to revisit my four personal favorites from the past year. Todays repeat Left Behind oringinally appeared 2/29/04. It first appeared as an essay of sorts but I chose to repost it as a poem.

Inside

As he reviewed the passing years
He found his labor had built a wall
Designed by him to hide the pain
Protect his heart from the fall
He believed love was an illusion
Eroded by a million tears
A hideous monster under his bed
The legend behind all his fears
Love on the horizon caused him to run
Hide in the darkness nowhere to go
Embrace the emptiness
Of the seeds he sowed
Even his marriage was a fallacy
A barren, tainted loveless thing
Built upon empty sex
And a tarnished silver ring
With no foundation it could not last
Without faith there was no chance
His love was built upon rocks of sorrow
Hers upon fantasy and romance
He through himself off the bridge
Into a sea of empty affairs
Cold ones, bitter ones
Empty hearts nothing shared…

Until the morning something changed
His heart was thawing he was scared
Somewhere hidden deep inside
He found himself beginning to care
About a woman
About her life
What made her laugh
What made her cry
Along with the feelings
Came bottomless fear
Of losing her
His soul drowning in tears
Of not knowing what tomorrow will bring
Rainbows of happiness
Or sorrows sting…

XIII Murmur's

I: If time travel was possible and you were presented the opportunity to witness one historical event which moment in time would you choose (changing history not allowed)?

Observing the building of the pyramids.

II: Again, if time travel was possible and you were presented the opportunity to witness one historical event for pure entertainment which event would you choose?

Being in the audience during the performance of one of Shakespeare’s plays with the bard himself.

III: What moment in human history was most likely influenced by beings from another planet if in fact they existed?

Visitors most likely would have influenced the evolution of man from lone scavengers to living in small communities.

IV: If you were provided the opportunity to ask one and only one question of an historical figure what would your question be?

I would ask Homer what influenced him during the writing of the Iliad and the Odyssey.

V: If you had the ability to give life to one fictional character whom would it be and why?

Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird, I believe he is the example of a simple man with honor and integrity that stood for what was right not what was convenient regardless of the personal cost.

VI: If you had the opportunity to share one toe curling, goose bump creating, soul burning kiss with one famous person whom would you choose?

Myrna Loy.

VII: You are about to lose one of your five senses, however you may choose which one to sacrifice. Which sense would you choose?

For me of the five senses I would choose taste.

VIII: If you were provided the opportunity to prune a branch or event from your family tree what would you choose?

I would prune the alcoholism that has damaged at least three generations of my father’s family.

IX: If you could wish one human invention out of existence what would you choose.
Cell phones.

X: If you could resurrect one product that is no longer being manufactured or reopen one store or restaurant that no longer exists what would you choose?

I would bring back Bob’s Beef Burgers, which used to be located on the corner of Second Avenue and Huntington Drive in Arcadia. The burgers there were so good that In & Out would have never stood a chance.

XI: Which of the following four great events of exploration would you have chosen to accompany? Magellan’s circumnavigating of the globe. Crossing the Atlantic with Christopher Columbus. Crossing the United States with Lewis and Clark. Joining Neil Armstrong on the moon.

I would have chosen to accompany Lewis and Clark. It would be amazing to see the US in an unblemished state.

XII: If you were stranded on a desert island for the rest of your life and you only had the ingredients for preparing the same meal everyday what would you choose?

Boysenberry jam and margarine sandwiches would be my food of choice.

XIII: When ever people debate reincarnation believers always claim to have been someone famous in a past life. Eliminating the famous who would you have liked to have been in a past life?

An Irish monk whose job it was to transcribe the great works of Europe during the dark ages.


I felt like for at least a day I needed a change of pace so I came up with the above questions. If you would like to answer any or all of them in the comment section please do. If you would like to borrow them for your own blog just remember to credit where you got them.

But Then You

I never quite understood my fear
Of being someplace, someplace like here
My heart stood tall, always proud
No tears, I never cried aloud

But then you
You found the key to my atrophied heart
Where confusion had all but torn it apart
My mind thought cut your losses and run
My soul felt romance might be fun
So there I sat on a cold, damp night
Struggling and remaining true to the fight
Then I remembered how I used to be
Standing proud my spirit flying free
There was some pain a bit of sorrow
I hated today and I feared tomorrow
My heart though was cold, bitter and empty
With emotions I believed it was smart to be thrifty
I laughed at fools who believed in love
I was better I always rose above

But then you
You showed my a warmer life
Where love was not a synonym for strife
With you I learned to laugh and cry
With you I knew life’s reasons why
Why I should believe in love
You dusted my dreams, my visions of
Of a love filled with chance
Of warm hearted romance
I thought someday it would be you and me
That the whole world would come to see
They would see the girl I saw in you
They would see the heart I knew was true

But then you
You walked away
I fought back tears I prayed you’d stay
Though you walked, I have to say
Thank you for the lessons gave
Thank you for the heart you saved
The gift of love, the gift of tears
The gift of laughter, forgotten fears
Most of all thank you for the memories shared
And the bittersweet joy of once having cared

Momdate January 3, 2005

For those who have only recently discovered and/or dropped by Murmur's I have been doing periodic updates concerning my mother who was diagnosed with cancer for the third time in September of '04. Her first two battles with the big C involved breast cancer. Her most recent diagnosis was one of bone cancer. In short the cancer has spread through out a large percentage of her bone structure but fortunately at this time does not appear to have spread beyond. With the large influx of cancer cells there was no specific chemo that would help her. Her treatment so far has involved injections of hormones and a drug designed to halt the spread of the disease.

Beginning this week she will be undergoing roughly twenty days of radiation treatment. The primary goal of the radiologist is to reduce the amount of pain she is in due to the bone decay in her lower back. The doctor's are hoping for up a 70% reduction of pain within the lower back.

Less pain would be a godsend for her. My mom has always been a very active woman and she has reluctantly begun to curtail her activities due to the pain and the high level of pain medication she is on. Any reduction in the level of her pain will greatly increase the quality of her life, which at this time is the most important goal.

Plea

Long sleepless nights
Endless days
Another lost moment
No more left to say
Hollow empty feelings
Deeply troubled souls
Falling through the cosmos
Unable to pay the tolls
Psychedelic colors
Blinded to the light
Grasping for a missing moon
Snatched in bitter twilight
Nothing left to be done
Missing the solution
Buckets of alien solvent
Erase the mind pollution
No more friends of earth
No one left to talk to
Forgotten now the guiding voice
No angels left to run to
Demons know the answer
To what were going through
Crucifixion of the saviors
Martyrdom of the saints
Prophesies in graffiti
Left in blood and paint

River

Across Riverside Road
The Colorado River flows
Its blue water's
No longer reaching the sea
From the multipaned window
Observing is no longer possible
Water untamed
Blocked by the arrival
of another house
People roam
The gritty asphalt
Chasing mad dogs and tumbleweeds
Enraptured by the power plant
Smoke stacks and man made clouds
Never considering
What once was
Before progress conquered the river