Posts for June 9, 2025 (page 4)

“Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”

So I had this, like
awakening
or whatever.
And now I’m principled.

And I want you to know, I saw you.
I saw you and did nothing.

It was around 2 p.m. on a Saturday in June.
Not an outrageous time for a drink, not in times like these,
plus the sun was out and the breeze was nice.
You were on a sidewalk — not brunching on Limestone
traffic blowing by — you were hunched in the dark doorway of a shuttered business.
You were staring. 

I saw you and did nothing.
You were staring at two bottles, a 20 ounce of Mountain Dew and
a fifth of vodka. Peggy Olson says vodka and Mountain Dew isn’t a cocktail, it’s an emergency. I saw the look in your eyes and recognized it, remembered it, felt it.

I saw what would happen next. 

I saw what you saw, and the emergency is everywhere.
And from this particular vantage–
chasing Dark Eyes Vodka with Mountain Dew makes as much sense as anything else.

I saw you and did nothing. Next time,
if you’re still around for a next time,
I’ll see you and 

i’ve never
been much of
a fighter.
never been the champion
of the world,
with a lightning quick jab,
and a counter right
to knock them all out.
i’ve never
been a killer.
with nerves
made of steel,
unfeeling
and unflinching,
in the bloodshed
and horrors I could cause.
i’ve never
been a Don Juan.
a suave libertine,
with a million lovers,
and a billion ex lovers.
for whom the thought
or memory of me
is enough to leave their bodies
quaking and trembling.
instead all i’ve been
is myself,
and i guess
to you,
that is more than enough. 

Two weeks in Italy
should not be therapy,
but it is. 

Vacation cannot be
substitute for true remedy,
but it is. 

Two weeks free
of this phone, chaining me
to stress, to worry, to trouble,
should not be the solution
to my soul’s dissolution,
but I’ll happily stay in this bubble. 

Upon journey’s end,
my true work will begin.
This is not real life; I know this.
but now there’s the scent of heaven from the breeze
through groves of fragrant lemon trees.
This is not real life, but it IS.

clover honey sticks tongue to teeth
a metaphorical promised land
pouring from mind to mouth
never emerging

shorelines crash over emptiness
seas drained of their contents
splitting from dawn to dusk
endlessly deserting

You graze freely, with your ears always perked
Ready for something to make movement
The flowers engulfing your hooves
White as your tail
You look so magical, so free
So peaceful in the little backyard
Of the woman which whom lost her partner recently,
She’s in her nineties
She moved back in with her kid
I wonder if you were friends
If she sat and watched on her porch
Like I am next door
If she left a few things behind in the garden,
So you had a full belly,
Now I don’t know much about you
But you looked to be carrying precious cargo,
And how fearful you looked when you first saw me
But I took quiet steps
And spoke softly
I’m not sure how you knew where to look
But I swear you looked me in the eyes
Knowing you were safe, 
Until you turned slowly
And walked quietly through the bushes
Back into your safety among the trees

As a teenager
I was molested in the seminary,
a few weeks after I left that place
my older brother who was helping
me adjust to the real world
was killed by the careless driving
of someone else, when i dream
of that time it’s always dark
i could go on 
about my father dying in my arms
or my beloved younger brother
losing his fight with aids or my
wife running off with the fire chief
after twenty years of marriage
or my nephew, the writer Jude Lally,
with a degenerative muscle disease
that’s robbing him of his mobility,
but you have your own story
and there’s a 99% chance 
it’s worse than mine
There’s never been a shortage
of suffering in the world
but we are the lucky ones
having time to write a poem 
everyday and the means 
to put it out into the world

“The real war will never get in the books.”

— Walt Whitman

It was not a war we read about—

but the one we lived inside.

It began in the quiet:

when secrets slipped through the seams

of our life—

spilling into

our home,

our children,

our truths.

D-Day was the slow drip of revelation,

betrayal

leaking out

in hesitant confessions

and fragmented memories

replayed like ghosted film.

Later,

It arrived again—

when I said no,

and you forced your yes.

Then again, and again, and again—

when effort grew quiet,

intentionality died,

and love was left

unspoken,

untouched,

unfelt.

But the final  battle

was not loud.

It came after years and years

of trying to win

what could not be won.

It came

as I raised

a white flag

with trembling hands,

and finally named

what you would not:

defeat.

As a Visual Artist
I will say
I love lines…I can
Easily perceive the contours
of what I see — the seams
Bețween things, like
highlighted cheeks sloping
over to long,
straight strings
or looping circles for hair…
Or I picture
The individual leaves
   in a landscape
   having some trees with
Diamonds
Drawn as leaves
   along branches
to give some representation
   of the reality I’m composing,
Adding lines
For the angles and borders between
Lights and darks, hues and tones to
Delineate
The mass of pictured
surrounding things,
Or of those shapes
   the imagination brings,
   seeing that even blotches
   have boundaries,
in a defined space.
I often play with drawing
Letters, enjoying their shapes —
Straight lines, arcs,curves, and circles
   (especially so for calligraphers) lines
Joined to make the words we read
and with some delight,
like lately, I may note for
   a split second’s pause as
I make the sweeps of the ‘S’
— that appear to me like a
S w a n
with her elegant neck ~and
To which I’ll sometimes add a
wee dot at the peak for her head.

—————————————————————————————–
My deep apologies for missing 3 days due to severe illness.  i’m back now……

Rainy 
Contemplative 
Hectic
Frustrating 
Then the rain pours down
and cleanses the earth and
eases my soul as the soothing
sound is a balm to my tense body
You can almost hear the earth sigh
after the refreshing shower
I think my attitude was cleansed as well
Rainy Mondays may be the best Mondays

you gotta lose a lot
before you can win

you gotta do a job
only you believe in

aint gotta prove em wrong
if they can’t see your vision

just gotta move along
with what youre meant

to do