The flyer on the door
Of the psychological therapist’s office
At the VA Hospital said,
“Thank you for your service.
It’s okay now –
You can just let it all fly out.”
Based on my assessment of the damage
That would occur
Were I to actually do so,
I could only conclude
That his urgings
Were not genuine
Five of my poems will be published in the first issue a new poetry magazine called MILK.
These poems will appear alongside others from some genuine literary heavyweights – Dan Fante, Charles Plymell, Lyn Lifshin, A.D. Winans, Gerald Locklin and many more.
You can visit their website at www.milkpoetrymagazine.com to find poet bios and purchasing information.
Laying in bed
I can hear the waves crashing
Outside my window
She is asleep next to me
My loyal dog is at my feet
There is a glass of cold Irish whiskey
On the nightstand and a
Book of poetry resting on my chest
There are still times I feel the urge
To paint the wall red
But I haven’t done it
Yet
And on a night like this
I really hope
I never will
Across the street
They’re building a new school
Where one day the children
Will learn and
Laugh and
Play and
Fight,
Make friends,
Bully one another
Or maybe
Be bullied
But those kids will
Never know what happened
Here yesterday
(I hope)
Because yesterday morning
A construction worker
21 years old
Slipped and
Fell head-first into a hole
The hole was only six feet deep
But it was surrounded by sand
And the sand slid down
Caved in
On top of the man
Leaving only his feet exposed
And the rest of him
Buried
No one noticed
Until it was nearly too late
And then
The firemen came
But they wouldn’t dig
Into the sand
Because of some technicality
That violated
Standard operating procedure
So
The people gathered around
They all saw his boots moving
Until the boots didn’t move anymore
Is there a worse way to go
Than
Alone with your thoughts
Under 6 feet of sand?
All those people gathered around
Looking
Talking
Horrified
You and your thoughts
Dying
Surrounded by
All those people,
Dying
So desperately
Alone
Three children
Dressed in white
And carrying daffodils
Climb in through
The old woman’s window,
Make their way
To the corner
Of her bedroom,
Climb into
The rocking chair
And softly hum
The tune of
An old Count Basie song
Then they sit there silently
With smiling eyes
And keep the old lady
Company until she
Slips into sleep
It’s the most beautiful thing
She’s seen
In all of her
Ninety-three years
But
She doesn’t tell anyone
About it
Because she knows
They already think
She’s crazy
I heard you’re back in the hospital
After 6 weeks in rehab
You hit the bottle again
Smashed yourself up
They found you in your bed
With broken ribs
A broken nose
A cracked skull
A broken soul
You need pain
To distract from pain
But I’m tired of pain
And you’ve given enough
The clock is ticking
The leaves are falling
And I know
This can’t last long
And since you seem
So determined to go
I’m not going to mourn
For you
When you’re gone
He traded comfort for college
And five years for a future
He made more friends than he lost
But the ones he lost
Consume his thoughts sometimes
If he had done it differently
He probably couldn’t have saved them
Anyway
But there’s always a part of him
That replays the past
To look for an answer
But the answers don’t come
And the memories won’t fade
Now he dreams mostly about violence
And he finds no peace in sleep
So he wakes up tired
Takes his daily medicine
Feeds his old black dog
And marches head-on
Into the burning sunrise
Of another Los Angeles day
Too pissed off
To ever be defeated
On a foggy night
I took a walk in the dark
Along the edge of California
Across a tectonic tightrope
Spanning the northern hemisphere
I calculated the median of infinity
And found the balance in instability
I knew the distance to the moon
I saw the origins of space
I felt the pointlessness of hate
I read the meaning of it all
In the silence of the night
I heard the truth
And
In the deepest deep depths of the fog
I found clarity
At last
One of my poems was selected for the first issue of a new poetry e-zine, The Park Bench Massacre. Check it out at:
a black BMW convertible
wrong side up
in the carpool lane
3 paramedics
2 police officers
1 man on the ground
not moving
unconscious
on his way to work
blood stains on his necktie
the pressed white shirt
with extra starch
untucked
torn
covered in shattered glass
he had just woken up
45 minutes ago
showered
ate breakfast
shaved
kissed his wife
checked his e-mail
and his
to-do list,
never once
considering
the present circumstance
happens every day
to someone
and the best we can do
is hope
it’s not us
think about it…
but
not too much
