Third Eye

Whatever the vast expanse around me I feel says or does not say, 

It has not removed me, I'm still here.

There are too many trees to shade me from an unyielding and burning sun.

What I can see takes in the Earth and all its God-hewn forms.

I love them for what they are, and I'm thankful too, God don't forget that.

But I'm on the lookout for a sign.

Maybe you can't tell by my third eye peers through all.

It only opens with a tell, a signal, a lie, a truth.  

And I don't need to try because what I need to see just appears on its own.

Having this is a thing which either keeps me aware that too much exposure can burn,

Or it can show me the light.

Either sight saves.

In the meantime I'm glad to be among trees,

Trying to save myself from working too hard at saving myself.

Windswept

I'm on the open plain, it's so silent here.

And where the sound of my surroundings once held my senses,

Now quiet resonates.

I hear myself more than I used to.

My own head is louder than the prairie.

And dove seem to keep my attention from my ever growing thirst,

And I care more about birds than water.

When realization comes that time whips through stalks of grass,

I pull a blade and bite down.

The thin distance of what I can see is as blur of purple and blue,

My eyes water.

With all what I knew yesterday blown away,

I squint to see while wind tells me things I should have heard all along.

Home

Fireflies mark the lines where neat cut st. augustine lies.

In front of what you know to be...

And bees are moving in the hollies working blossoms gently,

Using the sweet and heavy air.

Where the girth of the oaks has gotten wider than you remembered,

And dim lights glow to you while standing at the curb.

Come in, you're home.

Gills

The current and shade won't let me see you,

Down there where I know you are.

And I crouch here on the bank with my eyes held still.

Knowing you're down there, looking up.

So, I jump in.

I can't breathe but I soon figure out how.

And our world flows over, and tries to carry us away.

In an exchange of ideals and wills, we make a trade.

All while we've caught each other and given up the world we had.

To let it wash away while water fills our lungs.

Next

Around about now I know to know what to do next.

But the next thing I could do is not the next thing. 

So I need to do what I should do next first.

It's never really easy to do next what I should do. 

And it’s not the next thing someone else would do.

Because what I should do next isn't what I would do or could do, even if I had the choice.

And what I will do next isn't something I couldn't do.

In fact it's something that's never been done before, at least not not the way I'd do it- Not yet, not anymore  

The next thing I'm going to do is the next thing to the best and last thing I ever did, at least for now. 

Because the next thing I'll do might be better than before. 

Youth

Lightning struck where I once had tread.

But the halcyon days I had have all but gone, and my youth with it. 

And a black hole in the ground gapes where I gallantly once stood on green sod with defiance. 

With pensive ambivalence I have looked down at it now for years.  

I wish for that bolt again. 

For it not for that blast of fire I’m certain my joys of today would be lost. 

The dust in my mouth doesn’t bother me.

No, I want more  of it 

While I’m down in this hole,

Filling it back up with my bare hands. 

Mosaic

Life is like a glass mosaic 

With broken colored shards of glass

in unspoken truth,

Hardened as our days pass. 

But oh, when light shines through it

We see ourselves on full display 

And the breaks and hues tell what you know

About yourself. 

That broken piece shines so bright. 

And your eyes are drawn to it. 

Funny, thought that was what was hurting so much... why is it up there now?  

Acceptance, you realize, is like the sun shining bright through the window. 

And, with you all broken and put back together, Everyone enjoys you in their window.  

Hammer, Anvil, & Stirrup

When you are born without something 

That you should otherwise normally have 

Then you are.... special. 

The world is full of these people, like us. 

We don’t talk about it, unless asked. 

We live out days full with perception. 

Our brains active with compensation. 

Out in front of every conversation 

A sight that could not be seen

A sound not fully heard 

And a brain busy with the tasks of 

Seeing and hearing without eye or ear. 

Would you be able to spot someone like this?

Such a depraved person,

Who’d never had complete sight,

Nor hammer, anvil, or stirrup. 

So sharp would be the measure of all taken in,

With the one set had left, 

they’d best us all. 

My Smoking Carbine

This gun is smoking.

Whirring sounds above my head didn't sound like what I'd expected.

I'm in my foxhole, and I'm scared.

When I was young I'd think about this.

It was simple to come to a conclusion, about living, about dying.

And might and sharp cunning skill carried the day and adulation,

and fruits of all endeavors toiled at the surpassing of others.

But I have shown myself what I can do.

And I'm in my foxhole, now and again.

I'm scared, because nowadays I level my gun and pull the trigger,

They die, and I do too.

Arrow

Behind my eyes

Some things others might notice...

Might mistake me for being dismissive.

Settled in my chest above my stomach and behind my heart,

A heat of sorts which drives my nerve,

Keeps me alert.

Sometimes it wells up 

But I'm not sad.

I'm not what you think.

I'm an arrow, nocked with aim.

Beacon

See me through the thickets of brush, from the hill where you hide.

And you sneak out late and go further than the night before.  Yes, I shine on.

And those journeys you had through time and countries.  You wondered about me.  Me, here just the same.

Out there you know and you kick all the same.  You kick and kick.

Rain comes, and false promises, false gods, and wells without water telling you about hope and vindication.

Further out you stride.

Where, one day, a light shines where you can see, see your knuckles, bloody.  You wash your hands.

And then, alas, you look up.  And you see me still here, shining, leading you home.  Your home, ordained with expectation.

And after all these years, you finally see me, yourself calling out to the person you tried to be.

Welcome.

Dead Wood

 It is not the duty of a child to mend the pains of a parent.

Like a tree, a child needs solid ground to grow.

A child will grow nonetheless and dig roots where soil feeds.

No, a parent's love is a one-way duty, to supply fertile ground.

To give, to teach, to care.

Any parent who confuses this will find themselves alone on rocky ground.

Or worse, in their own grove of dead wood.

We All Are Thespians

Sometimes you find yourself unseen

Where you expect to be noticed. 

And the decision, the process of deciding, to make yourself known happens.  

You decide to make yourself like someone you’re really not. Or rather you become the person that you think you ought to be. 

Just so, just so you’ll connect, you’ll be heard.  While that hole you’ve kept covered with your vest grows. 

Because what they all saw wasn’t really you at all.  

Shilo’s

I remember the diner in downtown San Antonio. They had the famous split pea soup. My dad went there. His office was on the next block, with all the pigeons, cigars, and mid day sun, and they ate and planned and laughed while I tagged along. 

And now I have worked in a downtown, in fact I have worked everywhere. And it’s 25 years later, but dammit I’ll find my Shilo’s.

Tree Trimming

What does it say about a man 

When I know that chainsaw can fall 

On me......

But I cut the branch anyway.  Nevermind that I’m standing on a ladder twelve feet in the air. 

And sure as hell, the freshly cut butt of that branch came right at my head.  I clung to my ladder, and the tree. 

Down it all came. The weight of it was so much more than I’d figured. Glad it didn’t take my fence with it. 

And the scant little bit of blood on my arm... well that’s just where the saw teeth  touched me before I threw it down- all the way down, before it cut off my arm too. 

But now the grass can grow again.  That vitex tree I planted can bloom again. Now the webworms are gone.  

Maybe it’s just that I was aware of the peril I just created, like a stimulant of sorts.  And, I’m so pleased with my yard.

But worrying for the safety of my family will make me lose sleep for days.