.

Two egos on the sidewalk

Coming at each other

From opposite directions

They walked the same line

One would have to move

But when they came together

Neither would budge

For to an ego

Holding his line is what is most important

Even if it means harming another

Words exchanged

Challenges were thrown

Fists were flying

One ego walked on

With a broken hand

Strengthened by the fracture

The other was knocked out

Relinquishing his stance

Only with unconsciousness

—–

One ego on the sidewalk

One non-ego

Coming at each other

From opposite directions

They walked the same line

One would have to move

The non-ego did

He had no place to hang

Anger or arrogance

Self-righteousness or indignation

He stepped off the line

Not because he was afraid

But because hard lines could not contain him

And maintaining this one held no importance

And while the ego felt stronger

For winning the battle

The non-ego felt no weaker

To him there was no battle

I look at the scrapbook of my life

A heap of pictures and places and people

Strewn together in a sloppy pile

The storyline obscured

I grab individual memories

Hold them up to the light

Staring at them through aged eyes

Their color is faded

And they slip through my arthritic grasp

I am in an asylum

Because I no longer know which pictures are real

And which are make-believe

Which of these pictures I have taken

And which others have placed in my pile

Be they people or desires

The only picture that I can see crystal clear

Without the assistance of my reading glasses

Or an orderly

Is the one that I see when I look around my room

Even the cataracts that have clouded my vision of the past

Does not affect my view of the present

But I know tomorrow this memory will start to fade as well

That there is no preservative that will keep this photograph

This mind and body

From crumbling into dirt

I start to call the numbers on the yellow notepad

An accumulation of facts and figures

Taken from years of dredging through the darkness of my memory

Some of the phone numbers are disconnected

Others just ring indefinitely

I am not sure whether I copied them down wrong

Or whether they were just faded dreams

of girls who walked with me hand in hand

whose skin was soft against mine

That I awoke from

Staring at my empty palms

No longer able to remember how they felt

.

.

And then I hear it

On the other end of the phone someone says,

“Hello?”

The voice seems modified from what my memory bank,

Whose savings has dwindled to nothing,

Remembers

A little shakier

Slightly lower in tone

Yet exactly same

As the girl I knew decades ago

or maybe just in my mind

She says she remembers

And her memory serves as proof

That I did exist

That I had walked on the beach

And left some footprints in the sand

She reminds me of things said

And people known

Deep in my pile of memories

That I would have never found without her help

I hang up the phone

With a smile on my face

I know that in a short time

I won’t remember the call

Already many of the memories she helped

Colorize like Disney

Have turned back to black and white

But for the moment I know

That I did exist

And this is the only thing that matters.

Soon like my memories

I will fade away too

The tides will come in and wash my footprints away

And the only proof that I existed

Will be in the fading memories of others

Until they too fade away

Wake from the dream

And start a new day

With no memories

.

.

He’s “finding his voice”

Still doesn’t get that silence

is the real power

.

Each night I prayed to God

For some things needed

And some things not

And whether they came or were forgot

Each night I prayed to God

Each night I prayed to God

When she arrived

I prayed no more

She was my answer

The love of lore

To ask for more would be to rob

She arrived one day

Eating foods I ethically couldn’t

Imbibing drinks I socially wouldn’t

But soon I ate a few

And shared a glass of wine or two

Because I loved her more than dogma

She didn’t like my clothes

So soon I wore pants that were a little tighter

And bought shirts with buttons and a bit brighter

Losing my ability to bend with ease

And pull on a shirt simple as a breeze

Because I loved her more than clothes

She didn’t like how I introduced

With bowing hair

And deeply staring

So I moved my hand instead of head

And tried to blink more often then said

I looked away at random times

To show no faults for her to find

Because I loved her more than the opinions of others

I never thought that this would matter

But for her this made me badder

As a social misfit, I did not flatter

A prince, a jester

I was the latter

I didn’t live up to her desire

And soon of this she grew tired

Though few others it seemed to bother

One night I came to surprise

Used the key she gave me

And slipped inside

Sneaked quietly into her room

And saw her on her knees

Her prayer in full bloom

She asked for a little more “normal”

With a partner that didn’t embarrass

She mentioned girlfriends

Whose men had savings and suits not sass

Etiquette and a firm handshake

Who liked drinks and burgers

Who promised their women

More than just love

And an uncertain future

I slipped back out unnoticed

In a bit of a fog

That night was the first time

Since she came into my life

That I once again prayed to God

I prayed that He would grant her what she wished

That she would always be supported and never missed

Not embarrassed but proud

Whether he spoke softly or loud

For her to be finally happy and at peace

That she would own this love

And not lease

Because I loved her more than myself

Suddenly a hand covers my mouth

And a blade slides under my ribs and into my kidney

His murderous embrace releases me

As a burning fire swells my back

And fogginess fills my head

My legs drain of their strength

To carry their cargo

And I involuntarily drop to my knees

I turn to him

And in cloudy confusion

Struggle with a single word

“Why?”

He looks at me in disgust of my oblivion and says,

“I’ve been following you for a long time.

You had to know I was coming”

Struggling to form words

To keep from passing out

My eyes gaze downward

As I witness tomorrow

Pouring out of me

Watering the earth

A crimson red

I look up at my executioner

His form framed in a halo of sunlight

“I…didn’t…hear you”

And he just stared at me incredulously

As my dreams

the book I was going to write when I finally got around to it

the girl I was going to marry when the timing was right

Drain from me like the color from my face

I thought I would squeeze out all my juice

When it was time to drop

be nothing but rind

ready to compost

But in a single moment

All items on my “To Do” list were crossed out

Left untapped

Ripeness turns rancid

Under the heat of a scalding sun

…which is now turning cold

Never heard him coming

Santa squeezed down the chimney and when he turned around he was surprised by two little children standing below him, 5-year old Sarah and her little brother James.  “You scared the shit out of me!” said Santa.

“Santa, my mother says you shouldn’t use those kind of words,” said Sarah.

“Maybe your mother should stop fucking her co-worker Bob before she starts doling out ethical advice,” snapped Santa.

“What does ‘doling’ mean?” asked little James.

“It means your mother’s a whore,” said Santa.

“We have these cookies and milk for you, Santa,” said Sarah excitedly. James immediately joined into her excitement.

“Are these homemade?” asked Santa.

“No, they’re Chips Ahoy,” said Sarah.

“If you think you’re going on the ‘Nice’ list giving Santa store-bought cookies you have another thing coming,” said Santa, dropping the plate of cookies, which shattered into a dozen pieces. “Hope I don’t wake up your mother,” he added almost to himself.

“She’s passed out drunk, saying that she was mad at my father not being able to take us kids this weekend. She did that before dinner and we haven’t eaten since lunch,” said Sarah.

“Oh really?” said Santa. “James, take those cookies and take them to your bedroom and eat them. Sarah and I are going to have a little talk.” James excitedly gathered the cookies up from the floor and couldn’t wait and took a bite out of one on the way to his room. Santa now alone with Sarah knelt down to get to her level. “So you’re mother’s a drunk, huh?”

“I don’t know about that but she definitely drinks more than I like. She says it’s to settle her nerves from taking care of us kids,” answered Sarah.

“How would you like it if I made it so your mother no longer drank?” asked Santa.

“I would really like that!” exclaimed Sarah. “That would be the best present you could give me!”

“Where’s her bedroom?” asked Santa. “I have to spread some magic fairy dust on her to stop her drinking problem.”

“It’s up the stairs, second door on the left,” instructed Sarah and Santa went on his way.

It was about 15-minutes and Santa still hadn’t returned. Sarah figured that maybe he had gotten lost on the way and so she ventured up the stairs. The door to her parent’s room was slightly ajar and Sarah pushed her way into it. What she saw was her mother lying on the bed with her nightgown pulled up to her waist and Santa with his red trousers around his ankles pushing himself against her repeatedly in a bumping sort of motion.

“Santa, what are you doing?” asked Sarah. “Is my mother alright?”

Without stopping his bump and grind Santa said,“She has crossed into Heaven, my dear, and Santa was stuffing fairy dust in her so that she would come back to you and your brother. Just give Santa another—oh yeah here it comes—another few seconds and he should be finished with his work. Magic fairy dust I summon you to heal this woman—OH YEAH! OOOOHHH, JESUS CHRIST!”

“Are you alright, Santa?” asked Sarah concerned.

“I’m fine. It’s just that this resuscitation work takes a lot out of Santa.”

“Is my mommy going to be okay?” asked Sarah, now starting to well up with tears.

“She’s gonna be fine, kid. She’s alive. Santa saved her. But I’m afraid Santa couldn’t work on her drinking issue this time as more pressing issues were at hand.”

“Thanks, Santa! This is the best Christmas ever!” said Sarah.

“Now why don’t you go to your brother’s room and see if he’s left any of Santa’s cookies for you,” said Santa. “Santa’s got a lot of other children’s houses to go to and your mother needs some alone time to recover. After a good night’s sleep she will be just fine.”

“I will Santa.” Sarah, unable to control her emotions, went to Santa and gave one of his bare legs a hug.

“You go now, honey. You have to be at least 18 to get any of Santa’s fairy dust—16 in Nebraska—and I’m sure it’s way past your bedtime,” said Santa pulling Sarah off of his legs and then his pants up.

Sarah ran through the door and just as Santa was cleaning himself off with the bed sheet she popped her head back inside the room. “Merry Christmas, Santa!”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ—I mean, Merry Christmas, dear.”

It was a Christmas night that Sarah would never forget…and her mother would never recall.

© November 29, 2011

I try to sing my heart’s song

But I have forgotten the tune

And I only seem to remember some of the words

.

I listen to the music of others

Seeing if they can inspire me

To find the musician

In the chamber of my heart

Playing his “chamber” music

Most of what I hear is just cheap imitation

Samplings of masters dead

But because these maestros are rotting in the ground

The music forever bound to them sounds rotten to my ears

.

Hours on end

Days pass into weeks

I flip the stations

From country to rock n roll to metal

Searching for the one song that is mine

That sings my body

Makes it whistle down a nature trail like a flute

Overwhelming me with its musical fragrance

.

But all I hear is a dull echo

Of a tune that is too faint to pump my blood

And put a skip in my step

And a smile on my face

.

And life without music is a violin without a violinist—

Endless potential to fill the air with butterfly notes

But no wind song to carry them skyward

.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcxYwwIL5zQ

(Zip-A-Dee-Doo Dah song)

.

.

.

They want to take me

To a place where I am gone

Rather kill myself

.