Lone Soldier
thank you
your ultimate sacrifice never forgotten
thank you
Tag Archives: thoughts
heaven or hell
it’s probably a big mistake to be pressing these keys right now
there are so many things pressing inside my chest
is it possible to come out of this
as one person with one dream
when everything leading up to the dream is fantasy
the impressionists began as an anonymous group
maybe I could be unknown
a founding member of the “what the hell” group
we could laugh and never care
about anything until we have to
and at that point we’d only need worry about two options
no more than that
heaven or hell
I’d simply select
which ever one has the best wine list
and maybe a tattoo parlor
of something more
this has to be something more than the dish
serving the meat my mother so tenderly cooked for us
after being on her feet all day
something more than my dad telling us his ice truck story
and how he began work at seven when he believed Staten Island was Italy
this has to be something more than my daughter
not yet realizing just how beautiful she is
or my son who embodies the compassion of a soul lived
much older than his fifteen years
or a husband who supports my artistic demons
this has to be something more than collecting these memories
like paperclips in a box and storing them
this has to be something more than an appreciation
of life
this has to be love and living each moment
of that expression
Max and Caroline
I hope you all had a wondrous weekend
tomorrow…
I ache for something
what could it possibly be
I have so much
but I ache
still
there in my soul
a pinch
reaches out for my heart
straight up to the brain
then
out it spills
landing
here
the ache
it’s still there
in here
these words didn’t do it either
guess I’ll have to try again
tomorrow…
party on, Nina
those eyes still haunt me
huge echoing eyes
and that small painful smile
you had so many other smiles
why is it the small one I remember
and the effort you took to make it
just for me
if I focus, I can see the bright smiles
your black shining eyes, icing on the cake
back when you were healthy
before life decided what it wanted to do with you
as it will all of us
God, I miss you still
Glenn Miller helps
singing and swinging up there on a cloud of pasta
and chicken soup with tiny meatballs
party on, Nina
party on
My Charlie
Charlie was a great pink stuffed dog that Nina gave me many Christmases ago…
Thanksgiving is a fowl day for some…
Today I saw a turkey with bribe money crossing the road to hide behind some chickens
Turkey art first published last Thanksgiving
never been accused
fashion
I’ve never been accused of having it
there, out there
those ladies and gentlemen
you know who they are
they know who they are
who lived their first lives as display mannequins
clothes on their forms look right
and perfect
me
I stopped looking in mirrors that dip below eye-level
long ago
fashion
I’ll never be accused of having it
still
I’ll always appreciate those who do
it is, after all, an art form
inspired by ‘subbing’ a fashion class – this – my homage to iconic fashion maestro, Erté, circa 1915-1932
created yesterday
she followed me home
the version tonight
I do not like her
the woman who came home
that one
she followed me
had the nerve to walk in my shoes
into the house
in soles not made for stomping
yelling in a voice that should be singing
she’d said
the other version, the one I like
warned me awhile ago
things might get a little ugly
like a volcano
festering stuff below the tonsils
when that one gets angry
she’s not pleasant
not even to the cute little dog
no one is safe
the only thing two extra legs buys you
when she’s in that mood
is a fast walk into a little crate
I hope when she finishes firing off all her rockets
she flattens into an autumn shadow
I want the person who entertains me
yea, the one who mostly laughs
even when it gives her smile lines
Pumpkin Sweet
it’s never perfect
out of body
experienced
feet in the clouds
head below the rest
not moving forward
but losing no ground
heart and soul
right now
a keyboard duet
for an invisible piano
will be studious again
at rock bottom
where the colored paper plays
the pencils swirl
and the brushes sweep into dance
the melody heard
by intruments
not requiring perfect circumstances
they know life
is never perfect
even at its most musical
it was just a room
it’s just a room
isn’t it
wasn’t it
what has been lost
it was just a room
if one is passionate
about their work
walls shouldn’t matter
or doors
only the spirit
only the heart
the room might be empty
but the mind is full
always full
if one is passionate
it was just a room
after all
Curl/charcoal
anntogether 