Blank Page

The page
was left blank
with those
black lines
crossing from
one side
to the other.
Silenced.
Void of words
and little drawings.
Bare existence,
Waiting for contact
with a pen
or a pencil
used by the force
of potential.

Drought

Dry dust formed a dirt
like cobblestone path
leading up the trail
high on a hill
overlooking thirsty bare trees
weathered by the fall
and the unexpected lingering drought.
The leaves have curled up and crumbled
littering below the large tree trunks.
Left to decompose
over the cold and surely stale winter.
The wind carries these
fragments of defeat allowing
dust to swirl in the air.
Meanwhile squirrels scurry
to find easy places to hide
their winter nuts.
Above, clouds slash across the sky
appearing like loose untied ribbons. 
While the sun peers behind with regret.

I am a Writer

Am I a writer?

Yes, I’m a writer of lists.

Of things to do,

things that are done,

wishes and dreams,

good deeds and offenses,

regrets and promises, some kept

some not,

likes and dislikes

and pros and cons.

But mostly a running list

of all the things that bring me shame.

Peek-A-Boo

Light falls out and down

thru a slit in the clouds,

a wall of individual streaks

of sunlight.

While the clouds

move across the horizon.

The beams of light cascade like a waterfall

While the sun plays peek-a-boo.

The Exit

Shared life as a trinity.

Many unspoken words

replaced by knowing glances

And smirks

brushed up against time.

Those years of opened hearts

that revealed deep cut wounds

left to tighten resolve.

One day a solitary exit,

dismissed the bonds.

Left two shaken and unwhole.

Fall

The leaves are falling

slowly harking the

beginning of fall.

In my mind

acceptance comes

with reluctance.

But still the leaves fall

without my consent.

Their rust, brown, orange and

sharp green leaves litter my path.

Such as the will of nature.

I can’t stop it -

time and the seasons.

Sometimes I feel caught

like in the intricate design of a spider’s web.

I am aware of my fate and left paralyzed.

As I stand on a bridge the low hanging sun

Is reflecting - my shadow – below.

It’s like I now exist in two places

at once.

First mistaken for a bird

above us there is a leaf high up in the sky

Caught in the cross winds.

I follow Its slow descent.

It is as if It knows death is past and decay is all that is left.

Just as I know my shadow will disappear at the will of a cloud

or the earth’s journey around my benefactor will cast me aside

if I linger too long.

My Journey Walking the Parklands in One Day

My 19 Mile Journey Through the Parklands
Saturday, October 1st

Instead of photos this day I decided to write notes about the experience.

I started out just as the sun was coming up.  Mine was the first car in the parking lot at Broad Run Park.  At 7:41 a.m. I logged Mile Marker 55.3 in my notebook.  I was on my way.

It was misting, cool and foggy. As I walked birds excitedly flew from one tree to the other as if I woke them with the sound of my feet pressing down one by one on the concrete path.  Their chirping greeted me.  When the birds flew though the air they seemed to stop several times in succession in mid-air for a millisecond.

Later on the path three white tailed deer ran out of the woods into an open field.  I spotted one who stopped to stare at me between some bushes. Trying to gage, I suppose, if I was a threat.  As I approached it ran off to join the others.  I was glad it was afraid of me.  I would never harm that deer, or any other.  But, many of my kind would so it's best they be cautious.  I was glad for their appearance.  It was as if it foretold a magical journey of nature's sites. 

Later I passed a dried up pond where I remembered the Spring Peepers (frogs) that mated back in April.  There were tall leafy plants growing tall in the wet, muddy remains.  I felt I had insider knowledge of this sites hidden, if recent, past. 

All this time I was alone on the path.  About two miles in I heard a bike approaching.  I turned around and said "Hi,  your the first person I saw so far today."  She started to stop and I said "You don't have to stop!".  She turned around and wouldn't you know it...I knew her!  This is what makes Louisville so special.  We are all somehow interconnected. 

I passed the vistas providing a view of the valley below including  the Big Vista Overlook.  I blew a kiss to a deer grazing in the field on my right.  Later, I crossed is a bridge that goes over a major rock formation with water trickling down it's back.  As I continue, there is a bend as I approach Turkey Run Park, where there are wildflowers on the hills next to both sides of the path.  I spot a patch grass on the right where the leaves at the top are so fine it looks like it's covered with wisps of fog. The last vista before entering the next park on the left is truly beautiful.  Lush and green still as fall hasn't yet slumbered it's vibrancy. 

Although I could still hear cars in the distance while walking through parts of Broad Run the only sounds I hear as I enter Turkey Run Park are the birds and the occasional rustling of the trees where the unseen deer pass.  As I entered this new park I began to see people walk past me.  Until now I've been pretty much alone. 

Since it was still misting even at 9:30 a.m. fog was still visible high up in the trees up ahead.  The hills in Turkey Run can be punishing but the views breathtaking.  It's a long walk to get to the entrance of the Strand.  The Strand meanders around Floyd's Fork for several miles.  It's one of my favorite stretches due to it's close proximity to this waterway.  Once I go past the section of the Strand that has been closed for so long I think I felt a tear in my eye.  It could have been the slight mist finding a convenient place to land.  A man riding a bicycle passed me and yelled, "finally we get to the other side!"  I agree it was a great moment.  I've been waited for so long for this section to open.  For so long I've heard about these mudslides and I couldn't imagine why it would take so long to remedy the situation.  It wasn't until I got to the long connected bridges that I began to see what an engineering challenge it must have been!  It's right on the water with these enormous hills.  I'm not sure they are really hills.  What is a word between a mountain and a hill?  If there is such a word insert that here please.  Only here in all these parks I can say that man and nature could both be fully appreciated. 

As I approached the very familiar terrain of Pope Lick Park I felt re-energized and I realized I was now more than half way to my goal.  I stopped in the covered picnic area by the restrooms and ate my lunch.  I'll admit it was really hard after sitting down to eat to get back up and start walking again.  Fatigue definitely started to get me.  But, I kept going.  Before crossing the underground bridge at Taylorsville Road I stopped to talk to several women about the park system. They were looking at a map and I asked if they needed help.  We started talking about our favorite parts of the park and I explained that I was trying to walk the entire 19 mile stretch.  As I walked away they asked my name and then started chanting "Go Pam Go".  I yelled back thanks as I really needed the encouragement!  That's the other thing about these parks.  Everyone is so nice and helpful.  It's a community.

The north Side of Taylorsville Road Pope Lick Park is also very hilly and challenging.  I managed to make it over all the big hills.  Wildflowers reappeared to greet me.  At this point I knew I would make it to the end.  My energy level was still good and I had enough familiarity of where I was going to know the end was in site.  The sun started to come out.  But, it didn't stay out long and soon hastened back behind the clouds.  I walked through the walking bridge under the road and entered the last park - Beckley Creek Park.  As soon as I entered I was greeted by the most beautiful butterflies and bumble bees.  They were my constant companions until I reached the Egg Lawn area.  I thought of stopping under the covered picnic area near the Creekside Center but I was afraid that if I sat down at this point my legs would stiffen and I'd be unable to finish the last two to three miles of my journey.  So, I kept going.  The path seemed to stop here.  The best I could tell is you start walking along the Egg Lawn and then meet up with the Loop again as you approach the I-64 overpass.  Once I passed under the expressway I begin to see Floyd's Fork on my left and the path begins to get hilly again.  After walking so long the hills were a bit oppressive but I kept going.  Finally I made it to the end of the path.  I believe it was Mile Marker 175 and it was about 2:50 p.m.  But, to be honest at this point I was too tired to write it down!

The subtle differences in the parks aren't really noticeable unless you walk it in one day. I feel I have an even greater appreciation of the Parklands having experienced it's contribution of the Louisville Loop.  I'm really looking forward to returning to the new section of the Strand to take pictures.  Every part of the park system is special and cherished as well as all the patrons. 

Dead Tree in the Fog

A dead tree
stands barren
enveloped by
a grey fog
that casts over,
like a mystery.
the landscape
draping the ground.
Lines blurred between
what will be left
and what is transient.
Like that tree
are we just standing
around waiting for life
to finally cut us down?

Words are Imperfect

I'm never going
to write words
in rhyme.
Instead I want my
words to slid off your
tongue to form a song
like the melody
of two song birds singing
in unison.

Bendable words
but not unbreakable
for me the writer
and you
the reader.

Words can leave us feeling
indifferent,
angry,
regretful.
If I'm lucky you recognize
your own hidden truths inside
my words.

Words can forgive.
Words can forget.
Words can live on
and transcend our lives
leaving those left with
remnants of who we
once were.
These written words I am offering up
are like long love letters to my life.
For what is in between these words,
those silent spaces,
are left as words are imperfect.

Harbingers of What is to Come

The fog rests on the trees
blurring the tree tops.
Reminds me of an impressionist painting.

Multi-color traces streak
down from the sky,
leaves starting their last dance.
Harbingers of what is to come.

Dew will soon be replaced with frost
and darkness will slowly envelop
to leave us cold and the ground barren.

Faith will lead us to remember that
one day the sun will rejoin with
more frequency each day until we
are left with life returning.

Quilt of Living

We carry everyone in ourselves
those who came before us
those who created us and
those who have past through our lives.
It's in our being.  In our cells.
Each one building upon the other
until the pieces of our lives gather
together to create a quilt of living.
Stitch by stich
fabric by fabric we are made
whole.

Hi (Ode to a Weed)

It doesn't belong there
but it's managed to
loop its way thru to
wave its leafy arm
at me in the wind
to say Hi.
Curling around like
thread woven in fabric.
Pull it out from the top
but so much of it still remains
so that weeks later it will wave
Hi again to me -
mocking.
To defeat it you have
to pull it out by the root.
But even then part of it
might still take hold in the dirt to
again rise and wave to
speak triumphantly -
Hi.

Kentucky

Jesse Stuart wrote about Kentucky and what Kentucky meant to him and where to thought Kentucky fit in these United States.  He wrote simply and with heart so I'll attempt the same...

I come from south of the river called Ohio
with the Appalachian mountains
a far cry to my east and
the Mississippi River to my west.
But I feel in the wind the echoes of my neighbors.
Here our country melds into something not quite
south, east, west or north.
It's something else entirely.
Jesse Stuart said we were the heart of this country.
I believe he was right.
The blood flows thru the heart.
If you come to visit and take some time out
to meet us you'll find us as welcoming as
a Day Lily's delicate flower is to the sun. 
We embrace what we were, who we are
and what we will become with patience
and a bit of what happens, happens for a reason.
It will all work out.
But just in case let's just stay out of the fray.

The Storm is Over

The storm is over.
The winds remain
and hit my ear drums
making the sound of rolling thunder.
The overflowing water in the creek bubbles
and churns as it rolls down
past rocks and pushes fast debris indiscriminately.
Puddles are left to maneuver
and trees overhead still drip rain.
The sun is cautiously reasserting
itself in the sky.
While the dark clouds fade in the distance.

City Girl Memories

The heat of the pavement

made it hotter than it would be
if there was grass at my feet
instead of this endless concrete.
On my city streets the breeze blew dirt
mixed with smell of asphalt,
stale food and piss.
Held tight my purse.
Kept my money in my sock.
Avoided glances.
Looked confident
and disinterested to
deflect advances.
Felt comfort by the air on the bus
and the familiar faces.
Walked miles when it was 
too late to catch a ride.
Payday I stopped to buy the best steak for dinner.
Leaving me to eat ramen noodles until the next check.
Flushed a mountain of black cockroaches 
that crawled around my 
bathroom one night.
Air off while
verbal punches made their
way through my unopened windows.

A Walk

I can be alone here
in my thoughts
one foot moving in front of the other
in constant motion
while I can hear the rooster
and horses in the distance.
The creek's waters punctuate my path.
Today there are dragon flies dancing
around my feet and butterflies stopping
for a spell on the wildflowers that grace
the peripheral of my walkway.
I am happy here.

The Sun

I like the feel of my skin when I've been outside
on a hot and sunny day
feeling as if I've been kissed by the sun. 
I can almost feel the sun's rays seeping into my pores.
It reminds me of what is real in this world.
What is given to us and what we take.

Our Transient Lives

Our transient lives
moving swiftly
with unexamined ease.
Until years later we reflect
upon those captured images
of our stolen past.
Will we remember how
we felt in that moment
when the camera clicked
freezing our expressions.
Was it of delight? 
Agitation?
Vanity?
Or the impatience
of that moment when you
were eager to move on to
the next?

Imagine

Imagine
the world's largest cauldron
lit by an eternal fire
coming from a pyre built on the words
of oppression
and hate.
Humanity waits
uncomplaining single file
to spit their ugly truths
one by one
as God, Allah, the Light,
and the gods together taking turns
wiping the sweat from their brows
as they  take an enormous
staff and wields it around
the gathering spit
until the whole world is absolved
and the ugliest of all thoughts
are dust.

Echoes

There is something haunting in those melodies,
those cords.
Time has escaped
and brought us squarely present.
Hear our ancestors' echoes
as the divide of time elapses with each note.
Heartache and regret
sadness and a hint of joy.

You might be a Tea-Pot but I'm a Wildflower

I'm like a Kentucky wildflower
waiting around all winter.
I need a little nourishment and a bit of sun.
I get thorny sometimes too.
Come spring I feel anticipation in my roots.
I'll grow tall with a little encouragement
and bend down in a little wind.
Please be careful to not
mow me down.
I'm damned to be either
admired
hated
or ignored.

.

Your Eyes

For a second I see you

reflecting back at me knowingly.

To show me something

I'm not clear about.

The what is not yet defined

but it is there.

All I can see are your eyes.

I no longer have your voice.

My Note Book

I only stop by my rock next to my creek to

write in my small silver notebook because

there are few pages left and I'm longing for

my next little notebook. This new one is red.

It's as simple as this.

These words that flow from my pen.

I've been writing in this tattered notebook

for months now. Pulling out the used pages and transcribing

them after close review into my poems.

Poor pathetic simple poems that I create only as

a promise to myself that I will this year contribute

fifty two times my poetic musings .

Those words swirl around without any real purpose, wisdom

or quality. Those words just say

on balance my life is like a see saw

tipping me to one side or the other.

Sad or happy, content or unsettled,  tired or energetic.

It has all depended on

the way the pen drops on these very pages

in this old tattered  notebook

that I'm anxious to discard for a new one.

Dammit I still have few more pages left before I can begin again.

Random Memories

_{Is it like a lightning?}

_{Do your memories really flash}

_{like an unmixed video of your life}

_{when you die?}

_{Or, do you remember little seemingly insignificant things jumbled}

_{up like jigsaw puzzle’s piece thrown about}

_{– with the one key piece missing?}

_{Will you remember the smell left}

_{on your shirt tossed in the corner of your closet on that morning?}

_{Or, recall your naked feet running over damp cold grass}

_{after a cloud dumped rain}

_{that one distant hot summer day?}

_{Or will you be reminded of the mundane sounds of}

_{the phone ringing off the hook?}

_{The toilet running?}

_{A door slamming?}

_{A heater blowing?}

_{A tree branch hitting the side of the house}

_{on a windy day?}

No 80s without Prince

I’ve had younger people ask me what it was like being a teenager in the 80s.  Although my experience is singular it’s probably fairly representative of my generation.  Just like generations before me and after music was the tapestry of our daily lives.  There were so many musical influences in the early to mid-80s.  I loved the diversity of music.  We had rock music in AC/DC, Van Halen and Def Leppard.  Wide variety of 80s Pop music in Duran Duran, Madonna and hundreds of one hit artists.  Then there was one very unique and special artist who was around for these formative years -  Prince. 

What do I remember?  I remember taking the bus downtown and walking up and down the nearly deserted streets of what was then the 4^th Street Mall.  There was a collection of wig shops and a couple of record stores.  We would run into the wig shops for our cheap big earrings and cool brooches.  The record stores had posters stapled all over the walls and ceilings and stand-up cardboard cutouts of artists.  Pretty much everyone at this time fled to the safety and blandness of the suburbs.  We lived closer to the city than those shiny malls so it’s what we got.  But, I’m glad for it because it exposed us to a larger world. 

These weren’t the best of times although we tend to get a little nostalgic.  We worried a bit about the future.  Especially whether there would be one or not.  We were under a constant state of worry that the bomb was going to kill us at any minute.  Prince’s song Ronnie, Talk to Russia from the Controversy album sings to this concern.  That is also probably why a song like 1999 was so popular.  Part of us didn’t really think we were going to make it to see 1999.  People like to say that things are bad in our country now.  I think they are full of shit.  After Nixon (Watergate), Vietnam, the gas shortage and the Iran Hostage Crisis it felt like a dark cloud was stationed right over our country.  I only have vague memories of most of these events.  But, you could feel the after shocks.  They were always there.  Then in the 80s we had all those horrific murders of black children in Atlanta, John Lennon being murdered, the attempt on Ronald Reagan’s life, Challenger disaster and AIDS.  We started the decade with the whole who shot J.R. on Dallas cliffhanger and we were obsessed with General Hospital’s Luke and Laura.  The marriage of a rapist and his victim and we thought that was so romantic.  What the hell?!?!

MTV came on the scene pretty early in the 80s.  We could now see our favorite artists.  The rocket would go up at the top of the hour letting us know what videos were going to show that hour.  It hooked us.  We couldn’t look away.  In the morning before school we would gather at a friend’s house to walk to school.  Waiting until the last minute that damn rocket would go up and announce a video that we didn’t want to miss but we had to leave.  Our teachers wouldn’t be amused in Home Room if we told them we were late because we needed to see the latest video.  MTV showed us how our favorite artists dressed and how they wore their hair and we went off to imitate their styles.  Prince for his part was a trailblazer.  Period.  He didn’t ride the wave of the latest fashions.  He created them.  He was the style maker of the 80s.  Period.

Back then we were trying to figure it all out.  Make our way in the world for as long as we could. Prince came to our attention in the very early 80s with the Controversy album.   It wasn’t his first album and I was familiar with at least some of his earlier work at the time but not really knowing who he was.   Our music, clothes and attitude back in the 80s was a bit like we really didn’t give a shit.  I think we did give a shit we just didn’t feel like anyone was listening.  Here was this guy singing the song Controversy about breaking down stereotypes and expressing the whole stupidity of it all.  I can’t say that I became an enlightened person after hearing this song.  But, what I know is that by creating and recording a song like this he did plant a seed in my awareness of diversity.  The 80s were a strange time.  We don’t like to talk about how different it was.  There are still attitudes that prevail but back then gay people were really in the closet.  It was a really big closet and it wasn’t until Rock Hudson died from AIDS that gay people had the attention of the nation with this health crisis.  There was a lot of pointing and blaming but it was at least being talked about.  Starting the conversation was the first step in a long journey.  I also wonder what our parents thought of us obsessing over a  black artist.  We didn’t really think anything of it ourselves.  I don’t remember thinking that Prince was black.  I mean I'm sure it didn't escape me but we just thought he was putting out great music that we could relate to. It was the beginning of the lines being blurred.  Maybe in some way that’s why 25 years later we went for it and voted for the best candidate in 2008 for President.  That might be in part the legacy of Prince. 

Prince’s 1999 album was released pretty close to the Purple Rain Movie and album.  1999 is the quintessential party song.  Its reckless abandonment and fatality at its finest.  We used to sit around and talk about where we be in 1999…in our early 30s…we’d be so old.  If the bomb could just hold off that is.  There is also D.M.S.R. a great dance song, “Everybody get on the floor what the HELL did you come here for?”  One of my favorite songs from 1999 is Free.  An anthem for how to respect the life we have been given in this country of ours.  It’s about appreciating what we have.  It’s not about accepting limitations but instead using this freedom as a platform to shatter any misguided notions.

The Purple Rain album was packed full of memories for me.  Line dancing to I would die for U & Baby I’m a Star to Let’s Go Crazy…another anthem about life and death.  I’m far from a religious person but it’s obvious despite Prince’s love of sexual innuendos he was a man of great faith.  This song is about having a good time while we are here on the earth and to not let the failures of life keep us from enjoying ourselves.   We should push ourselves to have a good life and know that when we go there is a place waiting for us. At least that is what he thought and I will respect his wishes.  The fact that he might have actually died in an elevator in his home brings new light to the line “when an elevator tries to bring you down go crazy hit the high floor” It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Prince hit the ultimate high floor.

The song Purple Rain with our hands in the air moving back and forth singing this song about the longing of a lost lover.  We tried to make this our Prom theme song (1985) but the class voted for some stupid song from Days of our Lives I think…sure the hell don’t remember that song but I certainly do remember Purple Rain. 

As the years past and I began college I drifted away from Prince and his music.  There would be the occasional song that would grab my attention but in college my music tastes moved in other directions.  But, Prince was always there. He was like a friend I thought fondly of and would always defend him against any criticism might come his way. I took him for granted and I'll always regret that. 

My hope is that his music and life will continue to live on in us and future generations of music loving kids.  Prince is the legacy of our times.  Without Prince the 80s would not have been the same.  None of us would be.

R.I.P. my friend. 

No two the same...

_{Has everything that}

_{can be said}

_{been said?}

_{All words in the dictionary}

_{mixed around}

_{to form thoughts}

_{already exposed?}

_{Or is that impossible}

_{as each day -}

_{each life -}

_{is like a snowflake?}

_{No two the same?}

_{I wonder this}

_{as a cool breeze gently}

_{bounces off my skin.}

_{No one has felt the same as me –}

_{exactly the same –}

_{as ever?}

_{Had a bumble bee flying around their head}

_{making a sound like a helicopter}

_{hoping it doesn’t land?}

_{Does anyone love this landscape as much as me?}

_{Take a break at this rock and}

_{think this stuff up?}

_{Mostly nonsense to others –}

_{to me profound.}

_{The birds}

_{the bugs}

_{the small waterfall turning}

_{the water in this slow going creek?}

_{Anyone else wonder when the solitary geese flies over}

_{if he has lost his soul mate}

_{or just}

_{hasn’t found her yet?}

Daisy Wishes

 

He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
White gown
and hurried vows.
Rice stuck in my hair.
He loves me.
Our first house.
Climbing the ladder
at work.
Never see you anymore.
He loves me.
Children came
along with money problems
and arguments.
While sitting the same room
feelings of loneliness.
He loves me not.

On The Outside

I’ve been writing about

what’s on the outside -

the blooms on the trees,

the unblown dandelions,

the sun’s rays reflecting off the

gentle pass of a tributary’s flowing stream

glistening off the surface like diamonds.

The bumble bee beside me.

I can hear his quiet buzz making it's way

with the purple wildflowers growing

next to me.

I’m careful to stay away.

 

Theatre of the Sky

Leftover dead vines twisted

around whatever remains

of the dead alabaster tree trunk

left hanging to dip into the

trickling stream.

A gentle current rippling

through many miles to join the river.

While above the moon and the sun are found in opposing sides

where for the duration both the opening

and closing of a performance

lays still in the theatre of the sky.

Do you ever think?

Did you blink?

Did you think?

There was no time for that you say?

You can say because

You didn’t blink.

You didn’t think.

But now that years have passed

through ages measured by

routines, moments of pleasure

 and of dreams.

Do you ever think about

the release of the trigger?

Reverberates

Too late now to return that skipped

rock to the shore.

It reverberates in the murky water

circling out over

and over until it’s memory is left -

Faint.

Remember

Was it the rain tonight

that summoned you to my dreams?

Memories that seem vibrant and bursting of full color.

Seems like a lifetime ago when we

shared easy moments equal in silence and desire.

Remember our visit the last night the palace stood?

We lost just a piece of us that next day when the cranes came

and tore it down for a quick lube change and a mini-strip mall.

Remember the time we entered your building to see your new neighbor performing a ballet brise while waiting for the elevator?

We laughed our silent laugh as our eyes met one another.

Remember the night as we kissed a bat flew in and rounded the sides of the room

hitting the walls around us in a panic?

I left the room and you shut the door as you managed its escape alone.

Remember once one rainy night after tempers flared

you left those pots and pans of mine on the porch with that letter saying goodbye.

You rang the bell and disappeared.

Where did you get that soft pink paper to write those words that whispered on the page?

It seemed so final.

But, the clock ran on for two more years before we made that final break.

Words

Those drunken hateful words

held still above

before they flowed through the air

to later fall back to the earth

like a seed of a reluctant weed

left to grow in truth

with its thorny stem

between the concrete cracks

of a torn up road.

Nature's Expression

Every time I come here

I’m afforded some new expression of nature.

Today is was the sun peeking out for just a second

causing the light to dance

around a row of trees

like a burst of sunlight reflecting off a crystal.

It happened so quickly that if I had blinked a second before

or after I would have missed the show.

Mirror

Sometimes when I am searching for myself

for a fleeting moment

it appears as if it’s your eyes reflect back

through mine.

Confused and lost for a moment,

Skipping a breath,

I stare to begin to see finally see

me again.

Mystery of the Empty Bourbon Glass

Found a  cloudy abandoned glass of used up bourbon

on a table nestled in the corner of the ladies room.

Who tossed this down creating a mystery?

Was she angry at her lover tonight? Slammed that empty glass down while she stooped to relieve the glasses’ contents?

Was she celebrating her birthday with one too many?  Emptied the drink quickly to rush to a celebratory another?

Was she decompressing after a fitful day of work?  Telling herself just one tonight but forgetting her feeble promise of restraint?

Was she just given the bad news? Death hovering over her like the smoky haze coming from the bar?

Or, was there nothing special about tonight? Was she going about her life without a moment of thought while she laid that glass down?

They are the First To Know

Wisps of clouds above

Brief moment of still before

Wind swirls around

Like an invisible hand

Pushing back

Browned leaves rustle under foot

They are first to know

Rain is headed down

Sun

He holds words like the clouds who snatch the sun from its legions of dependents and fans.

I’m left to bask in the nothingness of silence and explore my own quiet world.

Paralyzed behind a shaded tree  left with no comfort, warmth or words.

Absent the Sun my flesh turned cold and numb.