Dad

June 30, 1936 to Sept. 5, 2026 

Ambitious, hard working, fiercely competitive, 

Friendly, taking charge, life of the party, 

Not afraid to rub people the wrong way. 

This is how his friends remember him. 

They come from all over the world to fondly laugh about his quirks. 

Unaware of all the pain and distrust he leaves behind. 

But, none of this matters anymore, 

Because we remember his love and all the happy moments 

With nauseating knots in our stomachs. 

Wishing we could’ve had more of those times.

Wishes

My first attempt to create a song with AI using my lyrics. I made this using Suno.   Here's another version. Which do you like better?

The Announcement

My memories have taken on a life of their own

With wants, needs, and desires

They live in an alternate time line

With only glimpses into my world

Their distorted view keeps them clinging

To their own personal nightmares

And to my every emotion

Riding them like waves in a storm

Hijacking life boats

In a deluded attempt to avert disaster

Colors of Brown and Black

 Colors of Brown and Black

Repressed emotions form

Illogical chatter.

In colors of brown and black

They grimly scatter.

Like rabbits in gun fire

They vanish in dust.

Coherent expression

Is desperately lost.

Tracing through random tracks

And fleeting flashbacks

Finds hues of fractured masks

For storing the past.

Stuck

 

Stuck

Lost in the years waited

Lost in tears that were hated

Lost when I should feel free

Free from scorn and guilt

Free from the maze hope built

   Where I’ve long wandered aimlessly

Patience has taken a toll

Searching around an empty hole

Only to find prickly regret

So I finally ended it

Thought I finally let go of it

But stuck instead in a cyclic mindset 

Trauma

 Trauma

Stuck and stagnant Awkward and shaking

But not really rooted Searching for joy

Nothing’s holding me here I strictly follow rules

Trying to shake free from nothing So that no-one sees my sickness

It ended years ago It started years ago

But every flashback adds I diligently changed my life

Another strand to the complex web Wiggled free from every event

Of rewind and replay But never really escaped

Blood and energy congeal Diet, exercise, and therapy

I curl up in a cobweb cocoon I accomplished more than most

Slip into insomnia sleep Reshaped my mind

And wait for nothing To recover nothing

Living a Dream

Alone in a Crowd

Dear Mike,

38 years ago we were living a dream

now you’ve been gone for 23

tears still form when I play your songs

now I’m old and still alone

sometimes I feel life has passed me by

but I’ve lived long enough to know

I’m not missing anything…

except you

remember the time you wanted to leave everything behind?

I made you promise to take me with you

many nights I wish you could have

but that was not your call

I haven’t done much since you left me behind

18 years in the health and fitness industry

and I’m so sick, I’m bad for business

remember how no one knew what was wrong?

well, I have a long list of diagnoses now

seizures, autism, Lupus, PTSD with flashbacks, 

migraines, vertigo, and severe anxiety disorder

only half are true, but I don’t know which half

on a brighter side, my faith finally feels real

yes, I knew it was real when you were alive

yet I never felt like I belonged

things got awfully dark before I could see

you’ll feel it too when you come back

although I might seem a little different

I’ve lived 14 years longer than you so far

but we’ll be living a better dream then

I live in an RV now, which you’d enjoy

although, you’d make the bed bigger

ok, and the bathtub too

remember that night we froze in our tent?

we could be warm cozy glampers instead

traveling wherever, planting gardens along the way

we’ll stay a few years in each place

making friends everywhere we go

that’s what I’ve been doing since you’ve been gone

no real place to call home

even our house felt estranged

a place for roommates to land

the RV makes moving so much easier

I can take my home with me

6 years with a PO Box address

is as close to home as it gets

the latest PO Box is shared with some wonderful friends

I can’t wait for them to meet you!

this dream feels so real now

I just want to share it with you

Love always,

your Happy Camper wife

 

Tangled Zen

 

Tangled behind a trained conscience

That’s holding firm

Good Bye forms cryptic blotches

On a journal page

An intuitive process for what can never

Be read or heard

As I make a conscious effort to deny

My treacherous heart

Zen - a state of calm attentiveness in which one’s actions are guided by intuition rather than by conscious effort

Today

Today

The Radio reminded me of how lonely I am

So, I opted for road noise instead

I Prayed

To fight fervent feelings for only a man

Who paved a highway inside my head

Caught in

A daydream as my car carelessly swerves

Peaceful pastures speed by unseen

Forgotten

Destination on winding, hilly curves

Frivolous burning of gasoline

Today

I'm thankful for a serene swim in the clouds

Cool, clean reflections of past mistakes

I've Prayed

Repeatedly through anxiety shrouds

Emotions exposed in glass lakes

Forgotten

Conversations meant to manipulate

Road noise that's easily dismissed

Caught in

A wave of guilt that only dissipates

When his perception starts to drift

Today

I can see him more clearly than before

But the Radio plays the same

I Pray

For a peaceful new road forevermore

A clean swim to erase the shame

 

Wishes

 

Bird song

Wishes flying high

In between notes

Separate you and I

Flawed thinking

Five years are gone

Wishes that echo

An impossible song

Empty wishes, empty heart

They're voiceless, vain, and trite

Remember when you said

Things would all work out?

Wish you could've been right

Sunset song

Wishes collide

A beautiful friendship

Washed away with the tide

Flawed thinking

Devoid of sound

Lamenting wishes

 Fall to the ground

Empty wishes, empty heart

They're voiceless, vain, and trite

Remember when you said

Things would all work out?

Wish you could've been right

Some More from the Doodle Journal

Twisted Perception

Twisted Perception

This rock turns in on itself
Parched and no pity
For those God condemns

In a dream
The old man is beaten and stoned
But not dead

I think they were wrong
But it’s my job
To clean up the mess

12-15-19

I don't do mornings...

Some more from my doodle therapy.

Dialogue Abstruse

Dialogue Abstruse

Every morning formulates
Dialogue abstruse,
While Logic slumbers.

The to-do list erupts,
Foams chaotically, and
Shouts orders without priority.

The needs-fixing list
Seethes abruptly at
All the defunct remedies.

Then past failures seep in,
Bubbling up random sermons
With no outline or theme.

Reluctant Logic awakens
To the sound of Job’s wife screaming,
“Curse God and die!”

Ulcerated and burnt out,
Logic gathers the toxic spillage
And cries, “Everyone back to bed!”

Intuitive Art Journey

I've been working on creating art intuitively for the last several years, and it's been a struggle. I wanted to get back to that peaceful place that I knew as a child, where I had no expectations or preconceived ideas when drawing. Finger painting seemed like a good place to start. It was magical fun when I was a kid, and I thought it would bring all that back, but it only frustrated me. Adult expectations kept nagging me.

Acrylic on scrap cardboard, 2017 after Hurricane Harvey

Acrylic on scrap cardboard, 2017 after Hurricane Harvey

Acrylic on paper, 2014

Next, I switched to crayons. The Crayon Monsters were a lot more fun. I started with just a squiggly line and let be whatever they wanted to be. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn't, and I would turn them into what I wanted them to be. But, it felt like progress.

I played with melting the colors into the paper with an iron, and then layered more color on top. Hoping to do something more abstract, I created these next two, but again it only frustrated me.

Crayon on construction paper, September 2018

Crayon on construction paper with Haiku poem, December 2018

Then, I watched a Youtube video about Automatic Drawing Technique, and it inspired me to give it a try. You're supposed to doodle without thinking about it, and it's supposed to relax you to help you improve creatively.

Anticipation, crayon on construction paper, December 2018

I caught myself constantly asking, "what does it need now?" And then, trying to go back to not thinking about it. When I was done, the words that came to mind when I looked at it were "tight" and "tense". Not relaxed. "This is going to take a lot of practice", I thought to myself.

I decided to write about it in my journal. I wrote the words "tight" and "tense", and several synonyms that caught my eye in the thesaurus, but nothing came to me, so I started writing about the 2 very close friends that I've lost in death the past month. I found myself writing the words "what's next". Then it hit me. I'm trying to recover before the next storm.

I decided to name it "Anticipation", and wrote this poem about it:


Intrinsic self preservation
Is an undetected strain
Arduously tilling neglected guilt,
Hardened clay from past storms;
Desperately scattering seeds
That bloom magnificently.

What’s next?
Forced recovery
Before another storm hits.

This has been the beginning of what I call Doodle Therapy, and it seems like the more I do it, the easier it gets. Just about every night, I spend 20 or 30 minutes doodling in my journal, and then I write about it. It amazes me every time, that what looks like a bunch of scribbles actually has meaning to my subconscious. The fact that it has meaning seems to be quieting those adult expectations. I think I'm on the right track now.

Photography Haiku

These photos seemed like a poem to me.

winter glass striates

defies lonely evening chill

mute rage radiates

Whiny Drivel

This first poem was done for The Mag, but I didn't get it posted in time to link over there.

Danseuse ajustant sa bretelle by Edgar Degas

Gray

ethereal penumbra

aged gray

cast outside

curtain call

used merely

to incite jealousy

ephemeral ballet

lured backstage

dark maze of

theatrical vanity

he's embarrassed

to be seen with her

This next one was a picture prompt for the Creative Writers of North Houston group.
 

addiction

innocence fuels imagination

guilt draws a blank

one weekend we hold hands though we're “just friends”

the next, you find better things to do

one weekend we live in a fantasy world

the next, I'm pissed at you

forgiveness fuels imagination

anger draws a blank

sugary addiction feeds fantasy

roller coaster ribbons entangle strength

binding creativity in circus tents

round and round we go

as balloons float away

and rose petals drop to the ground

The last one was a picture prompt for the Word Crafters writing group. The picture was e-mailed to me, so I don't know who to credit or where to link to.

couch on road.jpg by ?

 

BFE

you'd like me to be adorned in gold

but you don't want to be the one to pay

what I've got will do for now, so...

you'd figure out the rest along the way

you found me thumbing a ride

and pretended to be going my way

hoping I'd save you from someone's crime

now I'm the one who gets to pay

watching life pass me by

living a lie

in the middle of BFE

were you aware

thatcha dropped me here

Mr. Generosity?

alone again, sitting in a ditch

smiling at asphalt to pass the time

I earned your trust, but lost your interest

still pay you honor, while I've lost mine

I call you friend, though clouds thunder

can't let go, though you were never mine

you're smile drives me with such skill and wonder

smoothly rolling through years of wasted time

watching life pass me by

living a lie

in the middle of BFE

did you realize

your lies would paralyze

Mr. Congeniality?

Where Has The Time Gone?

Special thanks to Carrie for sending me this link to a poetry site called The Mag.

This week's prompt at The Mag

“Wow, everybody's in a hurry.” He observes while basking on a bench in the middle of a park; or is it a meadow? Doesn't matter. The air is light and breezy, and the sky so bright that it bleaches the colors of the day.

They must be on their lunch breaks. He muses as people whisk by and then fade into the shadows of their office buildings; or are they trees? The mystery of his surroundings holds little interest for him at the moment. He's more intrigued by the way the shadows seem to engulf the passersby as they reach the edge of the grassy plot. The glare of sunlight befogs the perception of everything that enters the shadows.

It is out of this sun bathed fog, a gray-haired woman approaches with a weathered smile and tired eyes that reveal a spark of passion as she sits down on the bench beside him. Though she looks much older than him, her strangely familiar warmth makes his pulse race, and awkwardness interrupts the peaceful afternoon, as he struggles to start a conversation with her.

“Hi...” He pauses when he realizes she's trying to tell him something. Her eyes start to water as she softly moves her lips, but makes no sound. Wearily, she glances over her shoulder, and he notices that the shadows appear to be stretching toward her, hushing the glare of day.

“Where has the time gone?” He mumbles.

Turning back toward him, she unfolds a piece of paper and hands it to him. It reads:

Dearest Mike,

I’m so sorry I flinched

When you would get upset

Cowered, though you were never harsh

Transfused childhood-violence-guilt

To your innocent heart…

Though you understood why

Your heart still choked

I’m so sorry you became

My ingrained psychotropic replacement addiction

An impossible role

That you patiently endured

While I convulsed and transformed

A screaming withdrawal

That left you feeling you could do nothing right

I’m so sorry you’re not here to see

The transfiguration

Your seventeen years of faithfulness created

Accepting and supporting me

Forming and growing with me…

Your reward is despoiled prematurely

My evolution is empty without you

All my love,

Your remorseful wife

The paper turns to ash and is carried away by the breeze before he can read the last two lines. Staring at the now vacant spot on the bench beside him, an emptiness deep inside festers, but only momentarily until the peacefulness of the day rolls back in. The shadows recede once more to the edge of the lea, and the sky brightens.

“I wonder if I should be heading home now?” He examines the hand less watch face strapped to his wrist. Guess not. Resting his elbows on the back of the bench and one foot across the other knee, he settles back into life on the other side of a dream.

When Dr. Suess gets lost

Swishingphad

The alluring Swishingphad
wishes and swishes into Xeerynbad
causing an 18 Szirj pile up
with an overturned Wyndstrup

“What the hell are you doing?!”
“Swishingpharism is only for the Flooing!”
cried the mucked up Wyndstrup
“You are not able to keep up!”

Oh fickle Swishingphad
leaving Xeerynbad fuming mad
rejects and abandons me
your fading sparkle is all I see

“Get out, get out you quagmapoo!”
“fluxing and muxing is all you do!”
in a panic, the Szirjes wail
“You are always doomed to fail!”

Silent Poem

I finally wrote a poem to go with this pic, as suggested by my friends here.

Silent


I have been taken down

like an ornament

put away

silent night


I’m going to walk away

like a senile patient

in shame

silent day


I’ll forget what I’ve learned

like keys left behind

at the lake

silent descent


And deposit rusty bones

like leaf covered litter

decorating a

silent trail

Haunted Tour

Haunted Tours

I once saw the Aurora Borealis
Tried to capture it, but it flitted away
Now I search for my faithful camera
Finding only incomplete equipment gifted me
In a misguided attempt to prepare for passage

I offer guided tours for your reading pleasure
Through secret corridors
Behind the walls of my childhood home
Where a colorless version of those Northern Lights
Flickers among apparitions that haunt here

Individuation/Assimilation?

...or the lack of both. This poem seems to demonstrate the lack. The > Language > Place Blog Carnival's theme this month is Individuation/Assimilation. I'm a little late to join the carnival this time, but thought I'd post this anyway. Maybe next month.



rush hour

stepping out of line
from a nameless crowd
and losing my place -
socially extrinsic

waste by-product of a
selfish generation
my speech is drunkenness
my sickness self-inflicted
coughing up anger chunks
intoxicating and toxic
ineffectual smears

driving exhaust-fumed freeways
with backward exit signs
slapping laughing faces
belligerently – just like them

groping for wisdom, but
babbling into empty ears
they see I’m lost
nakedness turned inside out
shame and weakness
bead up like sweat

they’re indifferent, and
I’m too tired
or maybe lazy
damned dyslexia



Loop 610's bridge over the Houston Ship Channel, obviously not during rush hour. To me this bridge reminds me of a giant serpent slithering across the landscape. Rush hour traffic gives it the illusion of movement. This pic was taken on a Sunday morning.


This is Beltway 8's bridge over the same ship channel. It makes me think of an invading Roman army. It's a toll bridge, so the traffic's not usually too heavy. This pic was taken during evening rush hour.


Here's a view of the east side of downtown, from 610's bridge. I live between the two bridges, but closer to 610.