June 26, 2012 - 0445

It's taken just over two weeks since I could read what I've written here and not break down and cry my guts out. On 06-09-2012, we had to say good bye to the best dog I will ever know. There isn't much more to say than that.

Good-Bye, My Friend

It’s not fair that you won’t live as long as me
When there are so many things we’ve yet to see
It makes me so sad, knowing you have to go
But the both of us are smart enough to know

That your once bright eyes are now so dim
So much so that you’ve lost your vim
And the legs that carried you strong and fast
Are shaky and weak, your muscle long past

We no longer run, and jump and play
I watch you now as you sleep all day
You’re tired I know, it’s been a good life
Never gone hungry, never felt strife

I’ll miss you my girl, now no longer in pain
You don’t have to worry about cold or the rain
Rest easy now Pepper, but I still don’t know why
Our friends have to leave us, our dogs have to die

June 1, 2012 - 0530

Sporadic, yes. Inconsistent, yes. But now and then the words just seem to come to me and I share them with you.

I've had these snippets of lines in my notes for a while now. And after listening to some of the performances from "Louder Than A Bomb" once again, I went back and looked at them. And from them I wrote the following. Neither of these things has ever happened to me in my career, and hopefully I can go my entire career without them happening.

The Anti-Hero

What do you say to the mother

Who's child has died in your hands?

After giving the "kiss of life"

They feel the sting of death

No matter how, you were supposed

To be the savior. The saver

of lives. Keeping the child alive

But you. Could. Not.

The little breath stopped

The little eyes closed

The little hands went slack

The little body went limp

...

What do you say to the mother

Who's child has died at your hands?

After ordering, begging, pleading to stop

They feel the sting of death

You were supposed to be the savior

A saver of lost souls in their world

Bringing their child home, berated

Belittled, bruised and cold but breathing

But you. Did. Not.

The finger tightened on cold

Rolled steel. Mechanicals took their action

And with a roar...there was silence

There are no words to say

To a mother, who's child

You could not save

April 17, 2012 - 0500

This is another poetry prompt from the My Word Wizard site. As a Marine, it made me feel a little bit more pride to read a few months ago that the term "Former Marine" is considered obsolete. There are no "Former Marines", only Marines. In my mind however, there are "ex-Marines", and they are the ones who have disgraced the Marine Corps in some way. The ones who don't deserve the title that they once earned.

Disgraced


The term was an ugly one
To one that had been once so highly regarded
From a long line of heroes
He was to be stricken

Jason was an ex-Marine
He no longer could claim the title
That he'd sung about in boot camp
That had been bestowed upon him on Parris Island

He carefully folded the blue coat
Neatly placed in a case with glimmering buttons
Shiny badges
Rows of ribbons and medals

All earned in service to his country
But now, only a short time later
He could not bring himself to look
At his past glory

He closed the case
He turned away, and towards his new life
One that he didn't want to return to
The life of an ex-Marine

April 10, 2012 - 0500

Our good poetry friends at My Word Wizard have been posting poetry prompts and I see them in my Twitter feed. I think to myself, "I should do some of those. They would be creative ways to get the word flow up." So, I took a look at one or three of them, and here's what the results are.

The Junk Hunger

Marlon was addicted to it

The junk consumed him every time he

Jabbed the needle into his thin arms

Into his collapsing veins

Marlon was addicted to it

The plunger pressed sent him

Over the edge. Further away

The plunger plunged him into the abyss

Marlon was addicted to it

He'd rob you for it

He'd steal things for it

There was nothing he wouldn't do

For it. Marlon was addicted to it

It was his first thought with the sunrise

It was his last though with the moon rise

It was, frankly, his only thought

Marlon was addicted to it

The way it made his hands swell

The way it made his head droop

The way it made him feel...alive

Marlon was addicted to it

There was no turning away from it

It was to late for that

Oh yes, much too late for that

Marlon was addicted to it

He knew that one day

It would kill him. But he was fine with that

As long as It was what killed him

April 3, 2012 - 0500

This one is about our dog, Fiona. Fiona is a fawn colored greyhound that we rescued from a nearby dog track. She's 5 years old, and still plays with the carefree abandon of a puppy. She occasionally growls and barks, while throwing her toys in the air. She will follow me or my wife around the house, always wondering what we are up to and if there is a possible treat in the making. She's goofy and rambunctious and we love her dearly.

Puppy Love

I love you because you're crazy

I love you because you're calm

I love you because you comfort me

When I wake up scared from a storm

I love you when you snuggle next to me

I love you when you lay quietly by yourself

I love you when you're head is on my lap

And your tongue leaves its mark on my pants

I love you when you're ears are standing up

I love you when your tail wags in circles

I love you when you smile with your doggie teeth

Looking mean to those who don't know any better

I love your furry little head

I love your fuzzy little feet

I love to scratch your little tum

And feel the fur under my fingertips

There's nothing like your small, warm head

Resting gently on my knee

Reminding me that all is fine

No matter what the world has done

March 27, 2012 - 0500

A goal that I have tried to attain ever since middle school was to learn something every day. Mr Roberts, my 7th and 8th grade social studies teacher said this to his classes and it stuck with me. Whether it's reading something new, seeing something in a different light, or going someplace unknown I have tried. And when I am gone, I hope that someone that I have had contact with, will take that lesson and carry it on to the next generations.

Lessons Learned

In 38 years what have I learned?

When I am on my death bed what can I pass on 

Before I pass on

What are the lessons I can impart before I depart?

In 38 years I have learned

That growing up isn't always done

Where you grow up

That maturity is done when you are gone from home

In 38 years I have learned

That training, knowledge and experience

Are sometimes no match for cunning, deceit and lies

From those who practice this every day

In 38 years I have learned

That your friends will be there for you when it's easy for them

But that best friends never go away

Even when they are far away

In 38 years I have learned

That children can be cruel

Adults can be evil

And that both are learned behaviors

In 38 years I have learned

To ignore the jeers, embrace the laughter,

To remember the tears and to learn from the mistakes

Because none of these come often or last forever

In 38 years I have learned

That I have learned a lot in 38 years

And that there is a lot more to learn

In the next 38 years

March 20, 2012 - 0520

I watched the documentary "Louder Than A Bomb", about the poetry slam contest that takes place in Chicago, and I wrote this after seeing Adam Gottlieb give a jaw-dropping performance. If you haven't seen this movie, and consider yourself any kind of poet, you are doing yourself a disservice. See it now. Twice. It is inspiring.

Who Do I Think I Am?

Can I be as good as this man

This child who lives in the City

This half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to tears with his words?

I see the open mike calls

The contests and competitions

I see the friendly messages for poems

And I think I can do it

Then I hear this man

This child who lives in the City

This half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to tears with his words

I say to myself "I can do this"

"I can go to this open call"

"I can write something that they will like"

I think I can...

And then I hear this man

This child who lives in the City

This half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to tears with his words

I put my words on "paper"

The virtual page where I collect my thoughts

With the thought that I can go to the mike

And share with the polite applause

But then I think of the man

The child who lives in the City

The half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to to tears with his words

And I close the "book" and walk away