Category: Prose

The day after…

TimLeave a comment

No, not the day after the apocalypse.

Rather, the day after posting a couple of times here on my blog, after a long time.

I even had someone from long ago say hello, whom I knew from the days that I was posting about the Netflix show, “Sense 8” twelve years ago…which was amazing because it stirred within me something way down deep, about human nature, about what it means to be human and alive, and emotional, empathetic, even empathic.

As for me today…well, this is why I’m writing now, right? This is what blog’s and WordPress and writing is all about, I guess.

I wish…I wish I could wave a magic wand and just make peace and love all over the world. Now I’m sounding like John Lennon (of the Beatles) who wrote the most beautiful song, “Imagine“.

Peace, love, like a dove…flies round the world, not knowing where, or if, or dare, to land.

Not knowing where, to alight, without fright, and to call it “home”.

Home, where the heart is, is a start. That’s our place to start, while we’re apart, most of us fluttering here and there not knowing where….to land, to take our stand…

And yet, hope lives! That’s the one thing that no one or no thing can take from us!

Hope lives, hope gives.

We ARE all one.

Politics, politicking…

Tim2 Comments

All, a sham.

Just you against me. My belief better than yours!

And therein the division is created. Where there is division, love and peace and hope is absolutely absent.

I will KILL YOU for disagreeing, with challenging my deepest, most heartfelt beliefs!!!

And so it goes, like history, over and over and over again.

Is there any end to this madness???

No. We are who we are.

What it would take is a complete revolution of our minds, to be able to SEE all of this.

Only the sages know. To SEE is a gift, which too few have.

And we kill them too, one way or another.

Old soul’s…this Father’s Day.

TimLeave a comment

There are those soul’s, born old — like I was, according to someone who knew me when I was younger.

And there are those soul’s, born older than I.

I envy them, I suppose that I do, or should, I think.

Was it a curse, I’ve often asked myself, being “Born Old”? Most of the time, I think not, but occasionally, yes, I do…think about that.

That curse, or is it, “That Blessing”?

Will I ever know? Probably not…

But right now, I think that it was, more of a curse, to see so much at such a young age.

Ah, the enigma of life! Born old, living long enough to be old, but I don’t feel it.

So, maybe I wasn’t born old. Maybe…I was just born with my eye’s wide open.

Yes, that could be it — just as my daughter was on the day that she was born!

On this Father’s Day, I still do mourn. It’s been too many hard years apart from them, my daughter and my son.

But that’s what divorce does…to my little one’s, more than myself, by a long-shot.

Sadness….and yet, still hope.

One DNA strand away…

TimLeave a comment

We all like to think, we’re rather distinct, but in fact we’re not, at least not as much as we like to think.

You see, DNA is a thing that distinguishes this from that. One stand, or even less in fact, makes you as different from this or that.

It’s not that we’re not unique. That’s it, in fact, that makes it such a feat, that little strand.

And so we stand, all proudly so! But this much we all should know — that a little strand of a thing so small, can make the difference between us all.

In the meantime, perhaps, look around you now – see, we’re each unique, and in that wisdom I beg you seek…

If we see all that we’ll have no fear, you see, or future tear, because we’ll see the good within us all and live our lives, I pray, with peace, or dare I say – love? For all.

Oh, so dear…

TimLeave a comment

I once was a desperate man. A desperate man, yes, I was.

Until I realized that desperate was as desperate does and that it would only bring me more because.

Because my situation, you see, was such that — a man suddenly without a home. A man suddenly without his children. A man suddenly without most everything then, made me useless and unable to do what I wished I could have done, to do what was left so desperately left undone, but I couldn’t because of she.

She held the rope tied tight around my neck.

She wrote the narrative of my days back then.

She decided everything to my dismay.

She is not a projection of my own dark mind. Not upon which a therapist would make their dime, not on me, oh no, oh no.

Yet, she. Still she. Sadly so, and upon this wretched earth I go with barely a day’s reprieve from the worst of her!

I’m done with SHE, I call her IT! I rid her gleely with my spit!

Yet she was IT, one time — a time very long gone I scarcely know. A sliver of the memory remains yet still, remains upon this hill of memories lost and barely gained, brings back, I must admit not just a little pain…

My heart does yearn for those better years. The time I tenderly held it, she, or her — my sweet, oh so dear.

Oh, so dear….

As it is…

Tim2 Comments

Why does my heart ache, so much just now? It’s a thing, I wonder how

Often, because it’s because I see too much?

Or is it because I want a crutch — a thing to hopelessly caress and clutch?

Or is it because I do see, perhaps some, or a little, or a wee bit even…beyond…just me?

Of a land where others roam beyond my home, beyond this place, beyond just my only face?

I’d like to think it is. If not, then take me now dear Lord because I’m past this biz…

No vainglory hopes for more than this…I love all this, just as it is.

Dross…

TimLeave a comment

This day is dross, it grows like moss and yet it goes a pitter-patter.

Why should I care, why should I dare, since it really doesn’t matter.

And yet, some say, I should care before I cast it all into the air, for the wind to take it where it will, this way or that without being still, for a moments grasp in desperation until it lands upon the station, of life lived, lost and left behind. Too much thought for this frail mind.

I am what I am, or I is what I is, as Popeye said, before he died upon his bed.

There really isn’t this or that or whatever else we think is this or that.

There is only what is, accept or not, not a damn thing upon which to hang our hat

Other than who we are and know down deep. And with that fact, I’ll rest in sleep.

This I see…

TimLeave a comment

Today I saw into my past. Today I saw that it doesn’t last. Well, we do, but the memory doesn’t. It’s up to us to make it present. It is our choice you see, it really is up to you and me, to make of it what we will or won’t.

Today I saw into that past. I’m glad that it didn’t last. Well, I know that our memories wax and wane and can follow us willy-nilly upon the plane. But it is our choice you will see, it really is up to you and me, to make it what we will or what we don’t, and most won’t.

Today I saw into today. I’m glad for it, it’s here to stay. Well, I know it’s short and about to end, but that won’t stop me from hitting send, on that text to my closest friend, my love and dearest confidant, the one no one will know until the end. I’m good with that and so are they, and that’s all I have to say about stuff that’s personal, that tucks down deep into this arsenal, that lives this life that’s separate as the flowers be, that shows and gives us all their goodness and beauty.

This I see. Amen, this I see.

What is a poet?

TimLeave a comment

What is a poet?

A rhymer of words?

Or a mincer of the same?

Expressing what is? What was? What should be?

Perhaps, although I prefer the raw version.

Yes, the raw version, which is, of course, the freshest.

Whatever else follows after isn’t the freshest, although it should be, logically.

I prefer this!