At The Window Seat

At The Window Seat

I was able to spend a few days
with my Mom and while knowing the
window seat was there, never really
gave it a thought. That is until I saw
my Mom sit upon it.

It rests there by design, as though
even the forgotten builders
understood a young shrill voice
would one day cry mine;

It was the honorees place who
established first dibs upon the
precious space; doling areas for
fellow siblings and friends toys
like a feudal lord divides his lands
one to each who best develops his
or her place.

Not without responsibility did such a
lofty tile decree, in the winter
boots and shoes left by the back
door, coats fell nearby as all must
be done by unwritten mandate,
if breached, the serfs as one would
rise up and oust thee.

Summer was a time when as the
days grew from warm to hot,
sometimes a visiting relative might in
a non-violent coup, by her beauty or
his handsome new features, manage
to all win all of said title without
lifting a finger.

How they succeeded at this at times
was seemingly beyond my grasp,
I begin to notice his little furrow of the
brow and her slight pout of lips that
weakened the seats value and
dissolved any order and as violations
mounted quiet negotiations were
taking place in enclaves where
genders were not allowed to breach.

I got a summer job.

The coups and such were still being
counted as my responsibilities grew,
silly things like the window seat no
longer mattered.

When the cushions appeared, Mom
just brushed it off as a flight of fancy;
something to do with silly
old pillows no one barely sits there
any more, she smiled and offered
me a seat.

Having made us coffee, a habit I
picked up while in the fifth grade,
we lived not together so Mom
could not know till I told her about
boiling my Dads used coffee grounds
after he and my Step-Mother left for
work. I felt guilty about this but
continued until I began to pilfer
fresh ground coffee; when found out
and warned on the dangers of stained
teeth I was given an alternative
named Postum.


It tastes great at the first cup,
then good at the second, okay
at the third if you can make it
that far, because it loses flavor
and then–bland.

Enough of that.

I handed a cup to Mom, she
thanked me. She mused about
the seat and how it seemed
abandoned now. I knew that
she missed the buzz, but
understood the bedlam of
children at play.

I told her that running and
playing about the house
seemed not that long ago.
She chuckled I always loved
how she laughed. Seems as
though when the responsibilities
mount, the humor is first to suffer.

Life offers and demands much,
the more threads, the harder the
weave. Daily demands often trump
fun, any moment of laughter is to
be relished.

As a child I never realized the fun
interaction could bring, isolation
was my solitary friend or having a
book to read. I did not grow up
around sisters and brothers, for
the most of the summers unity
was by chance not often by design.

I did not mind.

How grateful to my Mom, I guess
she may never realize. Thank you
and gifts seem not enough. I wish
I had the means to take care of her
needs, so she might not want.
This is not realistic because I know
myself and it would not be fair to
her as a reminder of who I am.

Gratitude is enough and with her
family surrounding her, I need not
worry. I pray that life and GODS
mercy will make her future peaceful
and filled with wonders.

The window seat is still there, waiting
for the next bunch of combatants,
to add to its mystique.


Towards Slumber

Towards Slumber

Ah, to gather ones self towards the
welcome relief of slumber, matters
not if the day is still present or
one hears the approaching dusk by
the softening of days activity.

Even the birds commence with
sometimes a furious din, as though
arguing for spaces owned before
night becomes inn; thus spaced and
balanced by families do preen before
bed and cry “nini” to new found

What of the creatures that walk up
on the ground, is nightly peace of
any be found. Where may a gentle place
act as safe haven, while enemies
search and scour the night to devour
even friend Raven.

Ah, fear not for them for clustering
in numbers when alarmed sends
lurkers scurrying for safer plunders
as through the inn; pecks and
buffeting upon them rain from
stranger and friend.

Safely away our lurker is safe to
contend with a drink of milk from a
doorway tin.

Then what of the people who work
the night, no rest for them as they
slumbered by day; many by choice
per se would likely choose nights
stabilized din than daytime’s bray.

Rush rush hustle bustle not a
moment to share, time is money
money the seduction is there
breath to spare.

Dizzy delirium added drama, what
say you on the wheel as you run,
employment is sluggish, sequester is
booming, summer used to be about

Look at the young humans living in
their beautiful worlds, while all about
life tumbles headlong as the endless
cycle continues of boys chasing

When tired both sexes stop and rest
as they feel the riptide of summer;
lay upon the grass lose not the
sweet lass who lay beside you for
this would be a bummer.

Don’t forget the chores whether
outside or indoors – so much in
so short a time; Pop then Mom
would scream (at least in my mind
they did) which was not a positive
thing for day passed to night and
look still not finished, you’re
grounded – sure fine.

The Dream

The dream is to be treasured,
more than gold, of secrets
and places where anything goes.

Valuable more than diamonds,
guarded more than pearls,
Sheiks would sell their Kingdoms
to live forever within those worlds.

They come to us unbidden by idea
or by chance, within their hidden
beauty lies terror or romance.

We can fly from planet to planet
or scale the most dangerous of
peaks; we can become all things
beautiful no matter our physique.

We can be light as feathers, as
we barely touch the ground, within
the dream our name can be Odin or
What Ever, perhaps Even A. Round.

With some terror, upon the ledge
we stand as suddenly and without
warning. Under bright skies toward
dark dreams rapid fire on mark as
time flashes by from night to

Dare say we stand by our own
graves as we grieve alone in
mourning; or make joyous
gurgling when we see ourselves

Having graduated at the top of
our class, so esteemed and of
noble parentage be. We after
Oxford, Cambridge or MIT;
a hermit decide to be.

Dreams carry us beyond the stars
past Nebula’s and honorable
little Pluto’s gravitational
pull. I should know, I have
stood upon its small face so
elegant and tiny a place where
starlight is the only light and
night is the only companion.

Dreams launch me into the vast
depths of sea and ocean blues.
I have traversed the great depths
where the pressures are frightening
while learning to converse with a
Mermaid who speaks only Greek or
Latin. She showed me her greatest
treasure which was a pair of
women’s waterlogged shoes.

She spoke of dreams as a dry
lander being when her legs were
instantly revealed; tried on
the shoes a perfect fit as I
smiled and wedding bells pealed.

Immediately, I stood in the
desert where I searched for
lost treasure, where life and
death were granted freely
each with equal measure.

She was there again my
Mermaid beauty as though her
place must near sand;
gains not withstanding, a
space craft came to land.

We hastily boarded as a fire
breathing Dragon dove, hissing
as it missed. We hit the boosters
and swoosh were quick lifters
seeking a safe view from orbit.

She was so close I stole a
small kiss from her cheek,
she turned and kissed my lips
in Ernest who magically appeared
a former friend I held dear;
though I don’t recall ever having
a friend named Ernest.

His lips were soft too and of
a sensuous blue hue, that I
kissed him sincerely in return
which prompted us to land back
in the desert and I yelled we
best run, as a dragon was due
any moment.

Fabulous Mystique

Fabulous Mystique

Eyes capture all events, treasured
beauties that aroused my heart to
amorous intents;
needless platitudes rain upon me
from the very start, I taste loves
mysterious flavor from its very
I stand at the topmost landing and
I have a choice, turn away and
ignore my hearts pull; or close my
eyes and fall forward down the
stairs and into loves wondrous
What comes with my descent:
sometimes the way of love is
beset with:

uncertainty tempered with joy – we
embraced for the first time; we needed
each others physical comfort
for emotional reasons, my face pressed
against hers; why does she allow me to stay
pressed face to face (I wondered on this, her
face was soft, her warmth was intoxicating)
I reflected all in my mind, just as I sank into
the depths of her beauty – I did not want to
let go of her in my heart, though, the status quo
and prudence said let her go – we broke
from our embrace.

pain countered with wisdom – our
relationship grew, outside factors
influenced how I felt about what I
determined to be love; forces I could
not realize would shape daily the
balance of love and hurt.


My silly heart would not let go, I’m
being bruised and bounced about
by events as they unfold like a
beautiful silken scarf, so beautiful
are they when they pass close by,
or toss me a smile; I’m bobbing like
a tube upon a wide flowing river.

Events seem to make everything
fall into place – they are there, my
love is inside me bubbling up and
about to make the lid pop off, when
our friend reality awakens and
puts a stop to our minds playful
meandering. Silly heart I cry, just
beat and leave me alone; that is
not to be because loves tumble
can be horrifically agonizing.

Sleepless nights, painful days, and
all the same you do what you must
to survive, to keep busy, to try and
hold back the pangs of love as it
sears into your soul and threatens
your very existence.
“Heart, just beat please. No not pause,
I’m sorry heart
we need each other, this we
both are aware. Why when I see them
do I turn into jello inside, why do I
go mute, not wishing to spoil the
moment by saying some thing, come
heart I’m talking to you.”
Thump, thump. “Hiding are we;

peace balanced by war – I did not
understand the extent of the
emotional bond that love would
allow to manifest itself, that such
a tender shoot that can force its
way thru a newly paved street, can
become devastated from the first
hailstone that might chance to
strike it.

chaos calmed by logic – some times
the turmoil from outside can shake
the very foundation, that two
people strive to make work, little
occurrences can become avalanche
threatening to engulf loved and lover
in a maelstrom of pain and

tears overcome by mirth – suffering
sometimes silently, must be brought
to a standstill; love is an amazing
endearment, and a testament to
our humanity; keeping each other
happy can not realistically be
accomplished every day, if there
is a moment to smile; enjoy sharing
it; know of a goofy joke try to
share – you are at least giving of

and remember;

loneliness can be held at bay by friendship.

As I descend, I tumble head over
heels, painful as it is, I am totally
aware that there are enjoyable
periods and for some, these can
carry over for years.

Given, I am painfully aware that not
all things are meant to be – so here
we all stand; perhaps longing for her
or him. Possibly imagining with him or
joyfully embracing her – we all at
some time will stand upon the landing
deciding whether we turn away or
as we peer into the darkness as the
stairs fall away, do we notice the
light in the depths?

Love is beautiful, and we, are only human.

Poetry “heartache” Thursday ❤


the exsistentialist sea

the first thought that entered into my mind was the strange sensation in my stomach, ugh! i’m going to be sick. what was this rocking and the smell of fish. it was everywhere. stop the blasted rocking, and the creaking, i gotta heave. so i did. right into my own lap. that woke me up and put a very positive spin on my current where bouts.

where do i get off pulling this crap. this boat is a major pain. it is creaking and rocking so as to make me want to puke. how did i get suckered into this bet in the first place. i had to have been drunk. come to think of it. i was drunk cause in no way would i climb upon this floating pile of timbers and cast myself upon the seas.

Whoa, whoa I was just joking…hey who turned off the gravity…
Gosh we are certainly up high-what the…hang on to something

Crash…mumbling. Where am I in the womb. Gently rocking. Rocking

Wake up wake up wake uupppp


Bail if you want to stay on this lifeboat…come to think of it neither would the other poor souls laboring like dogs bailing for all its worth like me to help keep ourselves afloat.

how, did this happen – what’s with the Mayan calendar any way. end of the world – anything to make a profit, Hollywood, Hollywood, you nummies.
ya pushed this upon us all, mock the Creator, mock the powers in this world – Bam, where’s the gravity, then a flipping thousands by thousands of tons of freighter, or battleship, floats off the water only to come crashing back to earth.

Now here we are bail laggards bail.

Gawd, I hate Hollywood.

When Sweet Desserts Land At Your Feet

oh, what manner of life is this that we scurry from place to place in our very efforts to survive.

what passion do we hold dear within ourselves waiting to be released for that special someone.

when might we meet as if in a dream,
two secret lovers with the fires of passion smoldering,

as banked embers in the smithys forge that waits for the first blast of cold air that will renew the passion.

unifying two hearts in the ages old quest of desire sought,
then enticement.
simple and gentle exploration of ones self by the chosen love is encouraged,
for tender thoughts privately to be enjoyed at another time.

finally the gentle comfort of each others natural beauty.
how wondrous is the miracle of love – a gift from life.