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a poem for the ear.
so many faces to light up
as yours, many times i’ve seen.

first,
rehearsal.

read each verse aloud
tinker to-and-fro with the words
stumble here and there through the syllables
twist around on the turns
rearrange phrasing
reminisce my way
through the way you listened, no
lived with my thoughts
your facial expressions
embracing each ink-stained inflection
following the dog-eared trail through my mind.

i’ve realized, over time
i’ve become quite adept
at reading blank faces
interpreting various exaggerated proclamations
such as wow! oh, my! oh, my, that’s nice
and . . . what the hell was that?

never realized
it was you i couldn’t fully appreciate
you the pioneer
you and your gift of light to the words.

oh, to have fully grasped
the weight and weightlessness of those moments
appreciated the pride glimmering in your eyes
that satisfied smile of faith that says, “smile answered.”

i guess i miss reading for you
still hope these words would make you smile
want to give you something
for each bounce on your aching knees
for each breath of poetry —
for singing while tugging pinkies

— smile to smile —

just two little piggies
squealing, “wee, wee, wee!”
’til our favorite poem found a home
in this poem.

you snuck up on me — it seems
with nursery rhymes and lullabies
from Kipling to Poe — light and shade
you watered me in any soil, patiently
consistently, and most importantly
(though you never preached), religiously.

we were in it deeper than laughter
but really, what’s deeper than laughter?

you loosed me on humanity
with all those thoughts stewing, brewing
rippling through the shockwaves of the years
the trickle near forgotten, but the lost — never lost
when i was most thirsty, you a mountain stream.

what does one do in a world
where tectonic plates collide
when the prodigal son sets his sights
on the road to the other side?

your answer was to see me off
with all the love love could provide.
wrapped it in a prayer —

“I pray I see you soon!”

we said goodbye with our eyes,
gates to our hearts, shutters, and doors swung wide.
i carried your prayer through Hell,
a prayer to dust off the ash.
you can bet my boots — tryin’ it on —
it fits like a glove.

won’t finish this poem in a lifetime — still rehearsing.
perhaps if i read it loud enough, you’ll hear.
all i know for certain
shaped from the bedrock of your life,
it’s about us here in the here and now.

yes, ’twas many poems ago,
so much verse beneath the bridge.
yes, water flows,
and when i look upstream
I see you still flowing,
a mighty river
flowing easy
into this ocean. . .
ever rolling
with dreams.

First Published in Lit Up on Medium

step right up, folks; take a ride
on the living, breathing, seething, screaming
roller coaster

spend your dimes
fly high
but don’t be late
for the indoctrination

pass the milk, please, Kat
and have a tin plate
for your mother’s sake
i can spell it out — given room
if not, candles must do

don’t stop the soup —
refer to the end and translate
for Pete’s sake!

i want to tell you
about little lost puppies
and charred nightmares
but the President stepped in
to break me into
scraps of porcelain
painted, painted, painted barnacles
on my rose-tinted glasses
a slice of pie was all was left
the coop open
chickens fled

guile and flattery
stole my diapers before i was ready
but to see the end
oil and vinegar
better than a beachfront war

tickled bearings
in an aluminum drum
lost my bearings
then, caught your eye
as i fell from the crest
to plunge into hell and high waters

bother!

frontal assault
on the only real feelings
i could muster
left it all to the barber
for a dollar
sorry, the staff said in blue tenderness
meant to achieve serenity

loose-fitting temples
leave me cloudy
but that’s what rainbows are for
after the tempest — you know —
i can’t define it any better than this
without a paperclip or a hairpin dream
to guide me

do you feel the razor
playing in my fears?
and do you see bowling on the freeway
as something for amateurs?
is it not mud that slows the game?
you know, we can zoom
with ice on our toes

. . . what a sham
it had to come out like this
the problem?
fingers aren’t fast enough
to transcribe your demands
that’s where a good kick
in the adrenal gland comes in . . .
coffee, my dear?

so much circus food in the corner box
leaves us in ecstasy
but drops into Hell
where the angels lie
in tight little rows
and the Devil takes inventory

what a laugh when i realized
all that crying was in vain
the bucket was already full —

time for a drink . . .

girl, if i ever get out of this mess
you can sit on my knee
and tell me about all the curiosities
i’ve been missing for years now
on this ride on the water trap
up into space

“Hallelujah!”
spelled the quaking nun
with her last remnant of willpower
“‘Remember the Alamo’ and, for that matter, scatter the Word”
reading the runes
is like following snails
down the gangplank

have at it for old time’s sake
don’t bury your heart
in an empty bottle
powers that be will always have their say
in the realm of broken typewriter keys to sanity
often lost on the ring . . .
so hard to slip under the door . . .
cracks in the ceiling let the rain in
you’re roaming ‘round inside my mind

splashing!

you know
swimming is so cold this season
but the water is crystal clear
we’re faces in the mirrors of our past
smiling steady down the track
with tickets wide as a lifetime

it’s easy to move lead when riding the rails
and you don’t have to stop at the crossroads
still, trespassing on your thoughts left me slightly confused
and ticks on the clock exacted their toll
but i’m so happy you decided to stay
and help me make the payments.

Sunshine

Hey you!

How have you been these long years?
Where are you now?
Did you find love and embrace it hard?
Just wondering, do you ever think of me?
For 40 years you have inhabited my mind.
Hiding in the shadows only to burst into sunshine when I least expect it.
What an apropos name, Sunshine.
You certainly lit up my days.
Every time I conjure your memory, I’m right back in your glow.

It’s a late Colorado afternoon.
I’m driving home from the store.
There by the side of the road with a smile on your face.
I recognize what your thumb is asking.
So, I pull over and let you in, ask you where you’re headed.

“Nowhere in particular,” you answer.

So, down the street we go.

“Would you like to join me for a beer?”

“Sure.”

So, off we drive to my roughneck duplex, you chatting up a storm.
Yes, you’re a talker; your laughter is infectious.
You look so serene sitting there, finding ways to make me laugh.

We’ve made it halfway through the beer; now we’re flat on the floor.
I don’t know how this happened, but it sure feels good.

In the afterglow, we discuss your situation. You’re a girl with no home.

“You can stay here if you like,” I mention; I’ve never seen eyes so bright.
You don’t have to say a word. I can see it in your smile.
I put some steaks on the grill as we settle into our first day together.

Comes the whirlwind of fresh love.
Every new day, a panoply of adventures to explore.
Our day trips into the Rockies in search of the ideal skinny-dipping hole.
Concert dates and dinner dates, lazy days, all in pursuit of one another.
Oh, that this will never end!

As I sit and muse on those spirited days, I cringe at how we ended.
Not some explosion, but an unexplainable disappearance.
I think, though, I now know the answer.

Your mother said you were alright, so I’m sure that no one kidnapped you.
No, just as ugly, though.
The moment you told me “He r*ped me;” that was the straw.

“Who?” I asked, her head on my shoulder.

“The next-door neighbor,” you sobbed.

I phone the police.
The sheriff arrives about twenty minutes later.
And so, the farce begins.

After taking your statement, the horror unfolds.
He escorts you to the neighbor’s house and questions him.
I curse that man for putting you through that ordeal.
He comes back with a cock-and-bull story.
About how the sex was consensual.

You become withdrawn as if the light has drained from your soul.
I know the story’s bullshit. And I can tell you are hurting.
Your unwillingness to press charges perplexes me.

I now know this is ‌common with victims traumatized by sexual violence.
I know the shame attached to your soul; I understand your mistrust of the law.
I know my support was insufficient; I should have confronted the sheriff.
I should have told you, “It’s not your fault.”

When a victim must confront their abuser, the odds are against the victim.
I don’t blame you for disappearing; you always were a free spirit.
But I blame myself for not protecting you and standing up in your hour of need.
Of all the souls that have crossed my path, you were the one worth saving.

Thank you for the memories, tainted as they are.
They’re alive just for you.
I hope you’ve found a home.
But if you’re still a wanderer, I hope you see our moon.
That you’ve found your sunshine again.

I bear with you the scars.
Let these words mend the holes in our hearts.
I’ve tried to let your memory go.
But you’re always standing on the side of the road waiting for me.
I’m always ready to drive with you; our destination, the stars.

First published in Lit Up on Medium

Spring 2016 — Winter 2017
what was it we said to each other
before parting ways
in that Madison hotel room?
me, chained motionless to my shadow
the walls caving in out of the darkness
’til, like a cannonball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . it hit me

i’m alone with my madness, again

we never said goodbye
that piece is still missing
back then, it was simply a jackhammer in my head
a broody foreboding i couldn’t interpret
the stage a battleground of words
nothing you’d dare bring home to mother
echoes in the room
louder than a grenade
remnants of me, strewn
on the shag

*

i travel through time to that day
follow myself through the fog
let loose the thread — settle into the maze
a trap where 3-dimensions fail
where up and down have lost their way
right and wrong on scales without balance
insanity the only name in tune
i’m in charge of it all
but can’t find the keys

drive all night to nowhere
wake up somewhere else
the quagmire of the moment
not tethered to space or time
lost my glasses
now, i need a phone
sittin’ here on the side of the highway
officer shines his light
directly into my reverie

if i could walk a straight line
i’d walk it
from here to Timbuktu
if birds could talk . . .
well, actually, they do
but they’re not here
to tell this purveyor of peace
that i haven’t had a drop
chalk that up to miscommunication
with the flock

handcuffs, tow job, touch my nose, snow job
come on, let’s get serious!
give me a blood test!
great! satisfied?

if he only knew how near the brink
i didn’t know i was

“Here are your keys. Drive safe.”

i escape
into the wilderness
of my mind

*

the never-ending row of dots
weave me into the journey of the road
a plan forms in the haze
credit card’s a bust
800-miles from home
got to get to somewhere before i get to lost

set my GPS
for Nashville, Tennessee
folks in blue are everywhere
got to make the border
before dawn
got to get some gas
got to get the hell back on the road

turns out
you can’t get from Illinois to Tennessee
but there’s plenty of time for a psychiatric
examination along the way

before you get to where you’re headed
they’ll pick you up
at 1am
in a 24-hour Walgreens pharmacy parking lot
you’ll spend some time in the hospital
for walking a crooked line

and acting kooky, loopy, droopy, or even snoopy

*

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”

and progressing downhill from there . . .

all the foulness i can scream!
in any language i can scream it!

and that was kooky and loopy
and perhaps a bit spooky enough
for them

*

6 am, strapped down on the stretcher
squinting
dulled by a night of needle pricks
one says “wake!”
another “breakfast!”
they certainly aren’t nuns
breakfast is Lorna Doone cookies
and OJ

a 24-day eclipse of the sun
schizoaffective disorder bipolar type
depressed
manic
psychotic
panicked
paranoid
frantic
delusions of grandeur — move over, Donald Trump

that’s right, i’m running for President
and you don’t stand a chance
i’ve got the national debt resolved
along with global peace and cooperation
my platform is planet Earth
and, as soon as i get out of this predicament
i’m filin’ papers
where’s the chicken clicker?
gotta to let Hillary know
she’s gotta get out too

“it’s time for your meds.”

i’d rather stay in bed
23-hours just ain’t enough shut-eye for me
yesterday you said, “go to bed.
72-hours is way too long to be up”

make up your mind!

picture riding a seesaw
on a roller coaster ride

where the hell are my keys?

*

Ah . . . Angel Joyce . . . yes
disguised as a social worker
you appeared to me in the nursing home
notebook and pen in hand
your suggestion, clearly angelic

“Richard, you look bored.
Here, go do something creative
with these.”

little did you know
you pried open my shell that day
and deep in the visceral mass
found a pearl
as weekend slipped into the ocean
out flowed words
my weekend — a sea of words

pages of poems
’til i ran out of room
was instantly one of those gushing fools
who writes because his chemistry tells him he must
joke’s on me
my body’s the smart one

we hug goodbye

didn’t realize
you were passing me off
to another angel
not that the transition was easy, no

*

six months in, i’m barely coherent
poetry’s all that’s keeping me alive
my schizophrenic roommate’s driving me somewhere
just can’t detect radiation in the walls
not a clear vision
of what i’m supposed to be
spend my nights
wearin’ holes in my socks
pacing grooves in the corridor

so, free me from this firetrap
before it burns with all this poetry inside!
i don’t feel safe
with a plastic spoon!
writing poems
to get ahead of the blues
escape the walls of this decrepit room!

*

what’s this?

lit like a lark in the summer sky
she’s reading news to the residents
someone to talk to, i feel it

hello; i’m Richard
you must be new

“I am; how are you?”

okay, better or less
been writing like i mean it
got a stack of poems
an inch thick

“Oh, I love poetry; would you be so kind as to read for me?”

sure

scurry to my room
roommate’s talking to the wall
grab my pile; slip back out the door
my new friend, Shara, listens
as we dive deep into the pages of my psyche
day after day through the growing pile
deeper and wider we expose the core
my audience of one and me
not only does she listen
she’s asking questions
i make more words
fueling our exploration.

now, out of the blue, she hands to me
a tablet computer to record my thoughts
it’s almost Christmas
just took a walk in the snow
if you tell me there’s no such thing as angels
i’ll tell you to take a hike
in my shoes

*

14 hours a day
glued to this keyboard and screen
releasing floodgates
pruning dead branches
finding keys
unlocking doors

light filters through my prism
furrowed brow now clear
the prison of my room now shelter
the clock ticking to a new horizon
you can lock up a man
but not his spirit

it’s interesting
as i’m joined on this path
by a heavenly chorus of friendly faces
words simply sing themselves
into song.

First published in Lit Up on Medium