poet – Dog-eared Stories

Tick

tick

time stands still and I feel sick

tick

tock

will this waiting ever stop

tears

months of realizing fears

so much

on my

own

never felt so all alone

minutes

hours

days

in an unaccustomed place

words

ways

when

can my life begin again

high

low

lone

toughest time I’ve ever known

green

yellow

blue

trying hard to learn things new

thought this all would be a breeze

but it’s brought me to my knees

there’s a lesson to be found

but for now it’s not around

just this feeling of confinement

set adrift with no alignment

it’s just me here when I wake

dogs don’t count ‘cause they can’t speak

I know the end

is in my sight

it’s days away

so hold on tight

take a walk

release self-pity

parla italiano

explore the city

know the clock

continues to click

just be patient

tick

Voices

Such strange, new sounds

that play upon my ears

replacing feral voices

I’d listened to for years

the barking of Coyotes

as they finally made their kill

Horned Owls hoot-hoot-hooting

from a tree just down the hill

Gambel’s Quails whose numbers

cheeped and chittered from the scrub

a conspiracy of Ravens

as they swooped from up above

now it’s mostly voices

of my fellow human beings

such an odd array of noises

and emotions that they bring

voices raised in anger

voices raised in song

cracking voices of the aged

lilting voices of the young

mothers calling children home

neighbors spreading tattle

cafe crowds who raise a cheer

when the local team does battle

men with big loudspeakers

on the roofs of their old cars

pitching their promotions

which I find a bit bizarre

church bells which routinely chime

but never seem to tell the time

motor bikes and beeping horns

barking dogs of every form

those that whistle, those who cry

new voices heard from far and nigh

I often sit and contemplate

this sound-filled world I hear

I find in it some comfort

yet I find it in my fears

of days ahead with noises

most of the peopled kind

when my solace in the past

was saught in nature’s hushed divine

where when I walked I often heard

just footsteps and the wind

now when I walk down ancient streets

I’m forced out from within

adding to the daily noise

that fills the town with sound

greeting my new neighbors

and adapting all around

praying for my writer’s voice

amidst the village chatter

hoping that the noise without

will spur the words that matter

In the Shadows

In the shadows is where you’ll find me

bind me

remind me

of who I am

in the darkness is where you’ll hear me

fear me

wear me

like a heavy cloak of black

all connected

never protected

from the errors I have made

alone and quiet

tears won’t hide it

but I’ll cry them anyway

in a life of always trying

always judging my own ways

I see the shadows lengthen

while my strength they take away

but in between the darkness

I seek light and silhouettes

of what I’ve been

and where to go

outlined by past regrets

ever changing

ever raging

ever set within my mind

always seeking

always dreaming

always trying to be kind

the shadows cast a figure

I don’t like to recognize

when the figure

dim and brooding

casts its dark upon my eyes

I try to keep them moving

toward the light found up ahead

stretching forward

looking awkward

hoping truth lies there instead

and when the light begins to fade

and shadows disappear

I hide within the black of night

I languish in the fear

of one day looking out

to watch my shadow disappear

The Forgotten Man

rusty and neglected

among the thorns

and tall, wild grass

stands the marker of a man

long since passed

a sorrowful reminder

of all life that comes and goes

of the life some might remember

and soon no one will know

no one to tend the marker

none to remember the man

no one to even notice

the monument at hand

I pass it nearly everyday

and wonder who he was

to warrant such an epitaph

to earn such a tribute of love

and then to be forgotten

at a corner where no one stops

in front of an ugly chain link fence

midst trash and weeds and rocks

decomposing a little more each day

like a body in a grave

none to recall the forgotten man

was he good

was he loving

was he brave

what would he think

of his sad, unkempt shrine

and what would I say

if this pillar was mine

such things are for the living

such things not meant to stand

such tokens of such fleeting days

won’t remember the forgotten man

Alone

I always saw myself as an independent soul

always things to do

always somewhere to go

always geared to discover

new people and new places

always eager to see the world

and all its different faces

now once again I find myself

somewhere new and strange

but this time I’m without my love

without my very best friend

and it’s hard

a challenge to be on my own

a problematic time

to have to be alone with me

and the fragility of my mind

but difficult paths are meant to be

are meant to help us grow

so somewhere I must find my strength

and seek what I must know

and know that soon I’ll have my love

back here where he belongs

back in the arms that long for him

back in this home of ours

back to being one of two

but stronger for the time

when being alone meant being with me

and loving the me that is mine

The Whistler

Well before the sun appears

in the dark

in the dew

in the quiet of pre-dawn

I hear a man whistling

a happy tune

as it echoes off the ancient walls.

Who whistles,

I think as I lay in bed,

at such a time of day?

But the happy song

he whistles that morn

blows my question away.

I smile and listen as he makes his way

from bin to bin to bin,

marvelling at his utter joy

for the simple job he’s in.

If only all of us could feel

the happy this fellow seems

each morning that he puckers his lips

and starts his day with a tune.

The Girl in the Red Velvet Hat

I saw a girl in a red velvet hat with feathers to one side.
Meeting her eyes, I smiled.
She grinned, but shyly turned her gaze.
So I studied her young silhouette
and thought of long past days.
Of ladies in fabulous hats and fitted suits,
with cigarettes and smart comebacks
for men in Fedoras, white shirts and ties
who secretly longed for the sassy, young ladies
in red, velvet hats with feathers to one side.

the anne show

Welcome to the anne show

Welcome one and all

come and watch her rise,

or come to watch her fall?

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

She spins just like a moving top

round and round and round

but never does this spinning mass

seem to leave the ground.

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

The other tops beneath the tent

try hard to follow her spin

never quite understanding

the spin that Anne is in.

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

Watch her twist and bounce about

within the center ring

ricocheting off the foot high walls

again and again and again.

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

The thrills and chills aren’t present

but she’ll take you on a ride

dizzy from all that spinning in place

you’ll laugh until she’s cried.

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

The tickets are cheap but not easy

the seats are always front row

but know that when Anne starts spinning

there’ll be no place to go.

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

Building up momentum

for nearly sixty years

this spinning top wants no more hands

to keep it spinning here.

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

But folks just keep her turning

even though the act is done

‘cause that’s the show they paid to see

until it’s time to move on.

No matter what your reason

come see the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.

So get your tickets while you can

all eyes on Anne at center ring

the greatest show’s about to start

don’t mind the state you see her in.

Have a seat!

Sit right down!

Anne’s about to spin right round

here she comes and there she goes

spotlight racing to and fro

almost breaching the wall ahead

stopped by the Circus Ringleader instead.

Toppled and tired Anne sits in the dark

refusing to spin one more spin

this stage is far too small she cries

I feel so trapped within.

She begs to the leader open the ring

and let this old top go

together she vows as she takes his hand

we’ll put on the greatest of shows.

No matter what your reason

come join the greatest show

that anyone who knows our Anne

will ever surely know.