The road whispers go forward and fast, like light

there were no directions no hints of point or perspective

I followed

into the clouds that kept the sun quiet

the daylight rich and hollow 

skies laid out on my shoulders

its autumn

and I feel winters earnest rush

the season of loss, the silence

stares through both of us

Backroads, the quiet morning, before you wake

but I am gone

and the sun barely touches the earth

and the stone speaks little of histories, only names

backroads, the weight of heaven on the branches and limbs

but I am gone

your door does not recognize the ghost

nor offer any words of excuses or renewal

friendship and love; these words we throw like stones 

mean nothing in a vacuum

mean nothing in their absence

a ghost that sees itself with little purpose

in this realm

backroads, riding silent, alone,

I am happy and yet sad

that you have found your own.....

I am home,

haunted in this field is the feeling that left me

but I am open 

to feel

and the ghosts we love and ache for

are real

I am home,

walked to the lake to be closer to the trees

a ghost  brushed my shoulder

I remember Rusk

I remember sleeping in the comfort

of being whole

even while the apnea

left me oxygen starved and cold

I remember

the empty space that never filled

I spoke with God and its empty still

you were the home that kept me

you were the home that promised time

and I am left with a beautiful ghost

and a home that isn't mine....

I remember snow

last Christmas

but they've cleared the trees and sterilized the road

you rise out of the beautiful field

an eye sore

but you give more than you take

though there's nothing left in your wake

my son saw a bobcat with cubs the other day

even while all the trees and deeper forests were whisked away

In disgust I watch as you give more than you take

while I was only hoping that the back roads

the landscape might keep

another day....

Rememberance

I watched the clouds swirling

I watched the light in rich ambers and greys

She smiled

I heard the sound of guitar chords

And voices somber

I was not part of the group

An outsider

But I could feel the pangs of sadness

A rich atmosphere

As thick as the clouds

That parted ways

Watched the final embers of light fade

And the balloons

Blue and red rose weightless and beautiful

I saw your picture

You were an angel,

So much hope in eyes

So hopeless

The balloons rose into the clouds

The warm golden light

Touched everything

And I would almost hazard a guess

You were forgiven

I felt your presence

As the cool breeze gave way

To a golden sky

I watched the candles light

I watched the warmth spread

People hugged each other

They reflected across the lake

Your absence was felt

Even by those who never were lucky enough

To know you

I felt peace across the water

I felt silence like a whisper

And above me as the light dispersed

That quiet air lingered

I talked to my son

He felt it too

Said the words we all should say

Sadly watched that last balloon

Rise and fade away…..

Candles

Flickering lights

In warm shadows

Fragrance of vanilla, cinnamon

And every night she comes

And we dance in shadows

Walls of flame they flicker

She in all her colors like night

Perfume whispers to senses quiet

We dance all night

In shadows like ghosts

Cryptic forms like souls

Without form

And every night

She comes and we dance in shadow

Wakes me in the AM

French vanilla, sticky sweet

And every morning

The light extinguished

She and I

In twisting forms like flames

Extinguished

Their dancing embers

To the night sky

Leaving me cold alone

In darkness

And every night she comes

And we dance

In shadows.

Poem 4-12-13- a poem a day first in the series

2AM

2AM

words like whispers, God awake,

the empty night

the forest quiet

all the creatures poised,

we would trade all security

all of our confidence

for just one noise

but the silence is unrelenting

as all the good ones lie asleep

and only words through

early morning slumber keep

quiet as if God

awake

teaches me a song to sing

quiet in the aftermath

of weeks passing

2AM

and sleep has crossed my mind

but words thrown like stars

in an evening sky

shine and shooting by

quiet as if God’s awake

and all his creatures

wait for just one taste of divinity

a slice

in white, pale like the moon in evening

when all the good ones sleep

God in whispers

Speaks in riddles

And all his secrets

Keep.

Finding America II (My freedom trumps yours)

Okay, this is not going to be always about Sunday Morning, it's going to be more about seeing the small things among us everyday and describing them right or wrong with the perspective of America, past, present and future. Please bare with me one more time in relating a story I heard on the news show.

It was about an Egyptian comedian and talk show host, a previous heart surgeon that is creating quite a stir in his land. His satire has landed him in jail, they compared him to John Stewart and while the show is based off of John Stewart's show, the comedy and basic idea can be compared there is a difference. In America, you can say what is not popular with the government or the people and you don't go to jail. We have freedoms here that we don't seem to realize or appreciate. I have always said that today, freedom is an old vintage car that is in our grandfathers' garage-it was cool once, it's interesting but we don't really get it or drive it anymore.

Our soldiers get it, they fight for it, they watch their brothers and sisters die for it, they go to countries that don't have freedoms and see the hardship and tyranny firsthand-instead in America we fight against people that would wear a sign or shirt we don't agree with, we find so many ways that our freedoms are trampled on and yet I feel we don't have any perspective about what freedom is nor the lack of it. Unfortunately, we become the victim that we are portrayed as, we are like the reality shows that fight with another while they are in a great, free high rise and someone else just disrespected them, we need some perspective.

Freedom is something we have all taken for granted and the idea of freedom is something we have lost all perspective of. My freedom shouldn't trump others-If I don't like your opinion I don't have to like it but I shouldn't want you not to have the freedom to express it. These days, we have enough laws on the books but somewhere along the line the idea of needing to have a law to protect funerals from protests and personal attacks on the deceased was never something we ever thought we'd need. If we as people treated others with the respect and understanding we should as basic civilized people we wouldn't need the government to keep interceding on our behalf.

We need to realize the freedoms that are inherent in living in a free country, although there are points that are lacking in America as in any country we need to enjoy and embrace what we have. We shouldn't take for granted what we have, improvement is always necessary as we grow but we need to embrace the core values of America and realize John Stewart doesn't go to prison for satirizing the government-we should be happy to live with the freedoms and not take them for granted.

Looking for America I

This is a post dealing with America, not the America we hear about by our media and the government instead the real America that seems lost in translation. I watch Sunday Morning as often as I can get up early enough on a Sunday to watch. I enjoy the fact that they don't tell us what to think about the story, don't try to sway us politically or religiously about the issues and just simply tell a story about Americans, interesting people from around the world, pretty much what is happening around our world in small vignettes about people and places of interest.

This morning there was piece about the new World Trade Center and what struck me is the hope that is instilled in the America that I love. We face hardships and we rise to the occasion. Too much we are bombarded with how we are victims and are dependent on a government that knows what's best for us and we are helpless, I believe this is agenda driven. In real life-Americans face the hard times and we rebuild, we join together and raise money for our victims of natural tragedies, we reach out to our homeless, to other countries like Haiti and Indonesia that go through their natural disasters. I'm not saying we have it all under control, there is more suffering than there needs to be and there are more people isolated and rejected but that goes with an increased unraveling of a community based society which has taken on the media and government as its support system. We have seen over the years that the government doesn't do this as well as we do.

The concern the family and friends have for each other can not be replaced by a government that seems more intent on dividing us than supporting our needs. We can rebuild, we can rise again as America, the great nation I know we are capable of being but it's going to take a rebuilding of a community, a disconnect of the constant connection to our electronic devices and state of mind where we look to each other for support and stop letting the media and the government keep us divided and distracted form our core principles,

Where does your passion come from and where does it go?

This post is about creativity-where does the initial spark begin? Did you have a specific artist or painting that inspired you to start painting? For me, I've been creative in some form or another for as long as I can remember and not being creative would be like not being myself. To me it's how you approach problems and how you see life.

I remember not being able to draw well at all-my brother at a very young age was able to draw dinosaurs so much better and I aspired to draw as well. So as I got older and nature became a major inspiration and a constant impetus for my creative process. As I got older I was always either photographing or painting, for years I would go for six months of doing each until the eye changed from photographic to painting oriented and back. During this time the writing was always a staple, whether it was short stories or poetry.

During certain periods in my life I have lost all contact with painting and creativity and it was isolated to just the writing which never stops its seems, I say that thankfully. I believe these points of valleys in the creative process were just learning points where I was gathering all the things I had learned in the previous creative sessions. So this answers the question of where does the passion go. We get lost in our lives and often as much as we'd like it to be, creativity can not be a priority as our family and duties in life pull too strong for us to maintain this secondary life of the creative.

We must remain in essence young, retaining a portion of our inner child to maintain the process that is creativity. I believe getting older often is a weight that crushes the inner child, between rejection, self doubt and the loss of time to stop and notice things the eyes of the creative can easily become jaded and the act of being creative turns into a pointless endeavor. The logical side of the adult is more aware and concerned about daily duties and staying busy-the creative must maintain the view of a child and protect the fact that it is not a option to be creative but an integral part of one's being.

Turn off the radio, TV, read about things that inspire you, collect things that are interesting and never stop trying to see things from the innocents and open eyes of a child. We may, as artists, be able to submerge our integral creative spirit beneath the logic and chaos of our lives but believe me there are consequences. The day you look at a sunset and realize it does nothing for you, or listen to an amazing bit of music and it is just sound-you know you've strayed too long. So be creative, realize it is almost important as the job you keep or the daily duties you perform.

Do you agree with my premise? How do you keep your creative spark alive and have you ever lost it for any amount of time? Comments welcome-thanks for reading.