You are Here

Protect from the grogginess the morning will bring,
I feel so alive. You are so vivid. I am hugging you.
I don’t want to ignore my friends, but you are so close.
Am I selfish? I don’t want to share me with anyone but you?
I belong to you
My blind and dumb devotion is so smart
Because of the trust that you are just
In all things immense and minute
Intense but at peace as the music of those who love you float in the air indubitably
Encircling me.
You are here.

Purpose

Thank you for a purpose.
Thank you for a direction.
So I don’t have to walk in a circle
through this desert
Even if I see a mirage before me in the future.
(They think it has something to due with clouds.)
My goal is greater,
I am more powerful
than the nomad wonderer changing ever so constantly.
I reach out for the changelessness
Daily looking for stability,
For the steady hand and heart of a guy
who wants to be my best friend
if only I want him to.
Thank you for a purpose.
Thank you for a direction.

In the Foggy Morning

In the foggy morning, there is a cliff
Somewhere not sure where.
Its edge is blurred like my resolution.
I walk near the edge – always and will -
I walk along the brim of the mountain
Staring at my feet.
On occasion I peer up and trust I will not fall.
Never have, just stumbled.
I am torn at my seams and my skin hurts
Weighing my beliefs on a living scale.
I want to do things I won’t let my children do.
I want to fall asleep in her arms
I want to share answers with my friend
I want to be quiet and keep my beliefs to myself,
But the stones of my foundation cry out!
I want to wade in the water to pull my friend out.
I can’t see any ropes, nor jackets to save them.
I want to lift out, but I don’t want to fall in.
My parents shed their light
My friends stand still:
"It’s your life, man."
I bend the words of a sacred book
And walk a thin line.
How far can I go?
I am alone.
Take two steps back.

Yellow Will Never Be the Same

"!Amarillo!" she had yelped giggling across the room in second block Spanish.
Everyone had stared
like the now faded, parlor wallpaper envies her lemon colored shirt.
Outside on the carpeted porch, T-shirts and ties mingle quietly:
makeup runs and boys wipe sleeves across trickling "facial sweat."
Edgy students stare at the cars slowing, lost inside, asking
"What’s next?"
Adults’ squinted, discussing anything but sadness:
waiting, watching, whispering,
"Was that laughter?"

An orchestra of sniffles accompanies your passing,
moans rising and falling in improvised movements,
impoverished by your absence, here at our funeral.
Andante. Tears slide slowly to rest on a friend’s green blouse,
she holds onto a life because has she lost one.
Piano. Whispers, a moan, a smile, walked past: her sister.
"Grand," I say. "The way it’s supposed to be."
Freon or something cool drifts between my arm and body
waiting in line, shuffling with the may humidity through the parlor door.
This is for us, for we visit a girl who has already left.

A little boy, in Sunday dress, innocently wonders what’s in the box,
around and around he looks, big eyes behind his mother’s legs.
Behind a porch post, I watch (with no mother), not realizing our eyes don’t want this over, because that means she’s over,
and gone for now.

1 Amarillo: yellow
2 Andante: play instrument at walking pace
3 Piano: play softly

Yellow Will Never be the Same Without You

Only may humidity hurries in the door,
Freon or something cold, drifts between my arm and body,
waiting in line, visiting one who has already left.
Tears dampen, absorbed by s friend’s green-beige blouse
holding for dear life because she lost one.
Whispers, a moan. . . a smile walked past: her sister.
"Grand," I say. "The way its suppose to be."
A fountain of flowers gushes forth from the parlor front:
vibrant color, "Amarillo!" she had giggled across the room in my second block Spanish.
the faded paisley wallpaper envies her her yellow–
the golden, canary yellow of her favorite shirt.
She would have loved to looked up the sun,
but friends and family haven’t withdrawn, yet
outside, on the carpeted porch we feel the sun.
Heat pulses glaring on our faces talking of anything but the sad things inside.
Guys wipe sweat from their face with long dress shirt sleeves,
(or that’s what they want us to think).
T-shirts and ties mingle quietly: a melange of people waiting, whispering, watching
others and the cars that slow down on the Main St.
It is no longer silent. Students are edgy as oblivious drivers honk their horns.
I weigh taking a picture from the road to remember the turn out.
"A memory on paper in color lasts longer than on the heart, right?
"Is it appropriate?" I question.
I am confused, but the pen marks on
and so does Jennifer.
An orchestra of sniffles accompanies your passing,
the moans rise and fall in improvised movements.
A little boy in Sunday dress wonders what is going on and looks around innocently with big eyes.
I stand waiting, not realizes they don’t want this over, because that means it’s over
and she’s gone for now.

Handful of Jacks

Someone threw out a handful of jacks out onto the floor
They landed and stayed and will stay in my mind,
But will finally fade over time like cubes of ice.
I walk down the hallway filled with them
I couldn’t choose which jacks with their sharp spikes would gouged my soles
Or which with their spheres of metal would massage my instep.
She died, he sung, she won the TV, he danced, she had fun.
The memories and the sentiments wavering from good to bad
Blurred by the highs and depths, a microcosm of life.

The afternoon after is more awake than I am.
It seems like Saturday, because there were no church bells.
I was asleep this morning re-thinking the previous night.
Things were not like I wanted them to be
Maybe that is what I need to see.
I looked for a lesson and a silver lining all night long
When my mind and beliefs disagreed with the song.
I was told that you and you over there had a good time
That is great, but I want more I guess. Is that wrong?
The girls danced in the dark in shining dresses
They danced with each other. No man had the courage or will.
I thought I did, but I was disconnected, and I don’t know why.
My conscious battles with my want of fitting in and the want to please
I am so out of place. Yes, I am.

Fog in the Breeze

There’s a fog in the breeze
That flows between you and me
I wish I knew what you went through
But I don’t want to commit my mind to the pain
That you’ve survived.
I want to take a dive,
But I don’t wan to sink low
And put my life in danger.
I just don’t know what to say.
I don’t want to just give you sympathy
But I don’t know how to relate
I’m too independent to lay my mind at your feet
For you to fill it up with your sad stories
No, don’t think for a second that you bore me.
I just don’t know what to say.
I thought I knew all the answers
And I kick myself when I don’t
Ask for no empathy on my part,
But I need help. It is hard to admit.
I wish I were like you who knew that
A long long time ago,
Because I just don’t know what to say.

The Little Baby Cries

The little baby cries for her mother at midnight,
She sings a lullaby to her sweet girl.
Where have you gone mother?
Where have you gone father?
Were you ever there?

The child cries for her mother in the morning.
She doesn’t understand what she is going through.
Where have you gone mother?
Where have you gone father?
Were you ever there?

She needs someone to love her.
She just needs someone to hold her
And make all the monsters go away.
Send me out to meet my next store neighbor
To tell her how much she’s worth.

Mars

He said, "No."
"Imagine that," I say.
I say, "It’s for your own good."
But you go your own way.
Get use to disappointment
Even perfect people are disappointed
Try again. Maybe rearrange
Your approach.
Sometimes I wish Mattie, Johnnie, and Luke
Would have said more about the bad times
The ones where people said, "No."
Because down here
I can’t see the big picture
Like one could see from the future or from afar
Standing in a tower on Mars.

Holding Back

How do I hold back these hands
From what my body demands?
Why can’t others? They say,
"I don’t have a girlfriend today"
"So why not?"
I feel the urge, undercurrent,
Of the beast inside, It’s sent
When outward beauty i sense/
The feeling is immense and I tense.
"So why not?"
I have something unique and valuable
Everyone’s in this desert, too, but I’m able
to keep most of my precious H20
I know others spill enough to row.