Hi... I've went through a pot of coffee, just catching up with where my friends and other PEOPLE have been since last night and still haven't...sigh.  Guess I never will, but what the hell - at least they will know someone cared enough to even try.

The weather here is changing again - as it always does, of course.  Leaving my head pounding away.  I'm a better weather barometer than most can find in a store... and I ALWAYS know when the weather changes - good or bad.  I've a much more than fair tolerance for pain and it actually helps anyway - keeps me focused with consciously trying to ignore myself so I don't 'wallow' in me so much that I can't see or hear another person.

I won't lie and say I haven't sat(?) sort of curled into a little ball in a corner of a room/closet/space that I've purposely made just as dark as I can because ANY light at all adds to the pain passing through - just that, at least that level of 'ouch' is most thankfully the rare exception and not my norm.  But heck, pain HURTS - so you deal as best you can as you can.  Sort of helps you remember that any PAIN hurts… and especially not just the physical.  There is lot of emotional pain out here, and confusion as well.  I witness it every day both in what some call the real world and within the Internet space I chance to wander through.

People just don't seem to understand that the Internet space is quite real and IS just a mirror or window into the rest of the world on the other side of the walls surrounding them as they sit at a computer.  The Internet is NOT anonymous! – ever!  And I don't understand why it is that most people think that it (the 'net') is.  They seem to understand that their telephones are a (seemingly) private but quite real connection to the person they specifically dial and thereafter speak with; hence, THAT person is real to them.  They treat that person as real; react to what that person SAYS – as real.  Today's level of technology allows for 'conference' calls too – more than one person at the same time, interconnected on one seeming telephone line.  Each person speaks – sometimes more than one AT THE SAME TIME, and all the others hear and react.  Sometimes each person on the line knows all the others personally, but sometimes not.  People pay a monthly fee for a private, uniquely numbered, telephone connection… key words to this sentence are "uniquely numbered".  EVERY computer connected to the Internet (for however brief an instant) is uniquely electronically identified – always.  Each connection - telephone or computer, does tie to a specific name and location/place/address, so does e-mail (Yahoo, Hotmail, whatever). 

I'm not trying to make this a techno discussion or learning 'paper' and I really, really could without any problem at all.  I have the ability, skill, knowledge, AND background to do that and in-fact HAVE done just that – in the past… what I'm saying is that I'm quite real – a real honest-to-myself-and-whatever-god-I-may-hold-within – person.  I am not a figment of imagination or a fictional character within a book found in Barnes and Noble, or B. Daltons, or any such store.  I could be your neighbor… I could be the person that bumped you as you walked by at the mall; the person sitting beside, or in the row in front or behind you - at the movies; that idiot that cut you off on the highway.

I might be kneeling beside you at church; one of the faceless crowd you see gathered around a grave on Memorial Day as TV crews flit back and forth reporting the 'events'; I could be your boss, or any one of your employees; a classmate, teacher, even a 'bestest' friend.  I could be a kid – though in truth this level of writing is a tad beyond what many adults could do.  But, teasing aside – I'm well past childhood though at times I guess I am a kid inside, you can grow up inside at a different rate of time passing or even never at all. 

Basically, what I wanted this – thought – to do is hold you long enough to actually realize

YOU

have just actually LISTENED

to someone other than yourself –

whether or not you actually realized it while you read down this page.

I

Am
A

Real

Person

Not a dream or an imaginary character – or that bit of lint held on your blouse or shirt by static.  I actually breathe, think, talk, feel, and have feelings… just like EVERY OTHER PERSON here, using the Internet, to reach beyond themselves. 

"Footsteps..."

Its lonely, it really is…

lonely…here

at times.

And that's ok – it really is.

Sometimes you NEED that space

to feel and appreciate

the presence of someone –

even anyone…

sometimes.

But lonely doesn't always mean

you are alone…

understand?

It just means that for this particular moment

wherever you may be -

you FEEL or perceive an isolation

from anyone or everyone

or everything

for any reason you may have –

or even no reason at all.

And with that realization in mind

or even with no forethought whatsoever,

I and sometimes you - reach beyond ourselves

somehow,

and we find so many of ourselves out here

feeling

the way we do.

And each of us -

each

of

us

IS a person,

not a figment of imagination

or a dream.

And yet, some are so damn mean,

and they alone know why they have to be

the way they are… But some

are people so unlike the ones

near us in our everyday living -

so unlike anyone we've actually ever known at all

that they make us pause

and take a breath

before we continue

or even CAN continue

on our paths…

And some ARE people just like the ones
we know and talk with

everyday…

And some ARE the people

we know and talk with - everyday.

Living isn't easy

and it isn't fair –

and I know that,

and so do you.

But we do it as we can,

as best we can.

I am quite real

and so ARE you.

Chris

05/27/2008

Tags: Poetry Writing

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I continue wandering, looking - thinking - looking again.
There IS a lot of 'depths' given within this place.  'Depths'
that really require taking the time to breathe.  'Depths'
viewed from personal heavens and hells while you
live with and within your own.  There ARE so many
'little' voices flowing through the light and night here -
in this place many choose as a 'home'.  Each, while just
a whisper when taken by itself, adds together into a sheer
wordless ROAR that grasps and shakes me... hard.

It doesn't matter if the various poems I've found were
manuscripts of utmost greatness or just the 'teasings'
of a bored-to-death-with-it-all PERSON wishing
that SOMETHING were actually 'different' - somehow,
within their moment of life.  And some people just
really DON'T know how to express themselves better
BUT - THAT doesn't invalidate the reality of what they
feel as they take that precious commodity -
THEIR OWN TIME
- and try to have someone, ANYONE - 'get it',
if just for one unrepeated moment, just for that one
INSTANT - someone ELSE can actually understand
them, listen to them, hear them, HEAR about them,
remember them - as they are or were.

Immortality is as you live it.  Spelling be damned and
Grammar? - a sheer joke as you CHOKE on the tears;
yours and all the ones you wade through reaching
that moment of insight or madness or whatever YOUR
moment might be. 

"A Pause..."

The sun is soooooooooooo warm right now
so softly caressing my face,
neck,
hands...
while burning hard,
scaring deeper and deeper still
into my eyes as I stare
longer and longer
unblinkingly awaiting
the moment of peace...
only blindness can bring.

Chris

Tags: Poetry Writing

9 comments View Entry

I read StormMorn's Blog this morning.  Its worth viewing, you should visit it.

digg_url = 'https://myboomerplace.com/user/blogs/view/name_stormymorn/id_10790/ti...'; digg_window = 'new'; But The President Said It Was Getting Better

Posted On 11/13/2010 09:35:22 by stormymorn

While reading I remembered that a bit back I actually posted a couple of 'things' that are still quite appropo.  Granted mine (these) are a lil long; but, I had something to say.  I headed them with the date of posting.

Mar 25, 2009

"A Morning's Thought..."

This is NOT a rant... just a morning's thought.
Good morning world... it's raining today - quite hard, both in reality and metaphorically.  At least the coffee is strong, black as hell, and steaming.  The 'news' as it's presented has the normal sensationalism and slants.  Lots of  'misunderstandings' and out-of-context-takings continue to lead followers along another's pre-selected and righteous path.  And you MUST believe SOMETHING - if you are told over-and-over-and-over by everyone (self-assumed to be in a position to know) regardless of your own personal conscience, standards, convictions, life-experience, or whatever 'yardstick' used to measure the self-acquired knowledge of your lifetime.

It's so believable - forget common sense or 'street sense' or continued reflections of historical fact.  Forget truth - but it isn't REALLY lies; it's more of half-truths, quarter-truths, unspoken explanations, innuendo, and intentional misdirection.  I almost want to believe... almost, but not quite.  I WATCHED the Berlin wall come down.  I've spoken with men who saw the concentration camps.  I personally know of people that really died TRYING to get across 'posted' areas to their self-perceived FREEDOM of our America. 

...And here, I've watched individual choice being taken away.  I've watched as personal conscience and individual responsibility has been replaced by the consensus of a self-perceived-elitist leadership's opinion as to what is right and what is (to them) wrong.  I've listened to what was being said - really.  We are too ignorant and naive.. to know what is right or wrong or good or bad for ourselves.

I've listened as we were told competing is wrong-minded whether in schools or the world-at-large.  I've listened as we were told we weren't teaching or caring for our children PROPERLY - that it is the right of the leadership to instill their 'values' and 'perceptions' of what IS to be taught and HOW and WHEN (that) 'it' is to be taught (if at all).  Political correctness MUST be instilled early-on for the most 'desirable' result.  I've listened as we were told what OUR morality is supposed to be and HOW it's supposed to be.  I've watched mediocrity be applauded, as the kids are 'dumbed-down'.

Additionally, so many, many NEW laws have been added to the books because the old ones (that were never repealed either) didn't disempower or criminalize enough of our people to enable the needed fear of "authority".  Its amazing how one 'act' of a person can currently have SO many possible charges and consequences attached - I do not believe even a small percentage of the lawyers or even the JUDGES out there are fully aware of the growing implications of what even THEY will face.  Ignorance of a law is no defense - true, but when even the lawyers and judges are ignorant, or yesterdays 'politically correct' actions are today's illegality... and what of CHARGING AND PENALIZING people for actions or activities that were NOT illegal when they were done?

I HAVE personally witnessed the closings of factories where we actually MADE things (even clothing) - well enough that they lasted for years and not just months.  I've also seen those SAME factories reopened in other countries and the products sent here to be stocked on the shelves of OUR stores.  I've seen successful businesses targeted and bought by foreign interests then specifically shut down to eliminate competition or to just 'cash-out' on the breakup and sales of assets.  I've SEEN our Shipyards and Foundries come to their end and even our own military begin to depend on the shipyards and foundries of foreign nations for even minor repairs.

I've watched as our nation has shifted focus from having industry to providing services and as those same 'services' are now being out-sourced to other countries.  I've watched the internationalization of our industries into a 'global' identification and the resultant shift of production efforts and Corporate Assets away from America.  Its OUR technology other countries use to discover, produce, transport, distribute, and market their materials HERE and elsewhere.  I actually SAW oil-laden tankers (REALLY low in the water) stacked at anchor for WEEKS, unable to off-load because the storage facilities ashore were FULL - ALL of them were FULL... during the even-odd buying days of gasoline rationing and I never forgot or forgave the political misdirection that enabled it to happen - and it HAS been allowed to happen here more than once. 

We, as a people, have let a lot of 'things' happen and its no longer slowly coming to a point where we (as a people) will have ANY say in what DOES happen - at all.  I never liked Starbuck's Coffee.  I smoke.  I don't believe that 'simpler' times of living EVER existed.  I like Renaissance Fairs.  I even commuted 220+ (two hundred and twenty plus - not a typo) miles one-way to a job - just to HAVE a job even though it paid a good deal less than the one that 'went away'.

I am NOT rich, nor a college graduate.  I've served in the military (11years USMC - Honorable Discharge).  I am not a political pawn.  I don't have an 'axe' (as such) to grind.  As for an agenda - hidden or otherwise?  I HAVE been around the world - quite for real, more than once.  This is HOME and I still cut my own grass and shovel the snow.  I'll stand to let an older person sit and I still open doors. 

It's just another Wednesday morning and the radio was on... and I had some coffee and an observation I wanted to share with the 'silence'.

Chris

Mar 31, 2009

"Legalized Thievery."

"Legalized Thievery"... what a concept... today the not so hidden taxes on Tobacco were dramatically increased to the point where they are 'hidden' no longer.  Michigan State Tax surcharges have now been put in place.   An April Fool's joke conceived and rammed through without even a by-your-leave by the 'powers-that-be' because they COULD.  The price of even the loose tobacco used by the poorest to 'stuff' or 'roll' their own has been purposely more than doubled.  Additional insult to injury is that even THAT price is further charged the state's sales tax.  Tax on a tax - who'd a thunk? 

Reasons given run the gamut from increasing the state tithing to anti-smoking publicity/programs to providing additional funding to be applied to the state's education system... to further ensuring that more adult citizens will modify their self-chosen behaviors and be "forced" to quit by a state imposed morality-driven economic pressure.  Rob from the poor to give to the poor... makes sense somehow, if in fact the money WAS going that way... but we DO know different - don't we?  The previously collected taxes AND the yearly 'settlement' from the Tobacco Manufacturers have been continuously applied elsewhere (at government whim) within the continuing deficit budgets and so will these.  It would be 'interesting' to actually have an accounting of the total monies collected to date and just WHERE they went... it wasn't healthcare costs afterall now was it?  The monies weren't put in an invested fund to grow and have the interest withdrawn to cover health-related expenses of the state's smoking citizens... so just where HAVE the Billions went.  This last round will add an additional 120 Million or so (in Michigan alone) yearly - at least that was the official web published guesstimate I saw.  Of course, THAT dollar estimate DID take into account a number to cover the people "forced" to quit, so the resultant 'fewer' smokers will be providing it.

Smoking is unhealthy.  It's been PROVEN hasn't it?  So those that do MUST pay more to do it... it's only right.  Of course its been a number of years since a person COULD smoke in the workplace.  Some employers don't let you smoke when NOT at the workplace too - legally.

I'm angry.  I've been purposely lied to, cheated, and been painted as a non-politically-conforming less-than-intelligent person who MUST do as someone that KNOWS better than I decides I MUST, and even WHEN I must... yet I live within my budget.

I've seen unions are now being "forced" by the powers-that-be (their own member and leadership supported politicos) to give back ALL that they were in fact created for - protecting the rights and livelihood of THEIR members... and son-of-a-bitch, they ARE accepting it.  Retirees are losing or have already lost their EARNED health care provisions... pensions being shrunken.  I've seen the 'plants' close and the working people forced to move on.  I've seen the companies out-source the jobs to other nations where labor (even so-called SKILLED labor) is not protected and hence - cheaper.  I've seen that it is "politically-correct" to renege on promises, pledges, and here-to-fore legally-binding written contracts.  I've seen its politically ok to penalize and steal because they HAVE the power to do as they THINK they can.

I'm angry, but the bigger question is this, "Why the hell aren't YOU angry?"  Its YOUR homes you can't sell or keep.  Its YOU and YOUR families that will be 'homeless'.  Its YOU that has to deal with rising food costs that haven't went down after the REASON they were raised went 'away'.  Its YOUR credit cards being cancelled and you weren't behind on payments.  Its YOUR Credit limits being lowered without reason to the point you HAVE to pay a penalty on your existing debt.  Its YOUR jobs and futures they've taken and given away.  Its YOU that can't even get through to unemployment on THEIR phone lines. 

Its YOUR money they've continued to steal.  Its the future of YOUR grandchildren they are continuing to sell out.  Just when WILL it become time to say "No More!"  Where will YOU draw a line that they'll cross anyway - just as they've crossed all the others? So what can one person DO?  Get ANGRY!  Say "No More!" - at least until or before they don't let you say anything at all.

And yes, I smoke - cigarettes... that I stuff myself because the last state imposed morality-tax on Tobacco made even "Dorals" unaffordable.  I earned my right to be angry... and so have you.

Chris

Postscript:  On June 1st, 2009 I put down my smokes - cold turkey and haven't smoked since - and taxes have increased anyway... chuckling here.

Tags: Political Comment Writing

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This is another from the "Cafe` Series" - just so ya know...
..........

He opened the journal... found a blankness... and the pen nib began its scrawling, and the ink trailed the thoughts as they flowed and floated along with the currents behind his eyes.

This is not a story... nor a fictional account... the scrawling sound ceased - the nib paused

"...nor an imaginative musing written by an old man sitting at a small round table, gazing thoughtfully (and somehow lost) through an old pair of glasses - the lenses a little clouded and streaked, some fine scratches, some debris of living..." I mumbled using my intentional 'Gandolf' voice, then chuckled...  " Ah, the pretensions we allow ourselves." 

"So this is tomorrow - damn."  I looked up and then around and chuckled - and this time actually heard myself.  "Why do we expect MORE?" 

Shaking the head doesn't clear the thoughts - but I did it anyway, it just accents the irony of even thinking them in the first place - now then... Chuckling again.  I looked back to the journal.  The pen began moving again.

You seldom think of tomorrows in terms of reality, its just - you HOPE how they will or could be, and THAT'S what you think about.  I don't remember ever WANTING my real tomorrows, the ones a year or more after a day of existence.  Strange how just living changes the wants we have - let alone the ones we had.  Pause...
 
Lifting the mug, sip.  Coffee has a bitter aftertaste today - "Figures..." setting the mug down again. 

Watching the people wandering by.  "Kids..." - most have to be 18-ish and upwards towards 30(?) - jeez I AM old - thinking of them as 'kids'.  BUT If another one pauses and calls me

"Sir,

Startled me... damn - I turned my head to my right, looked up...

- excuse me, is THAT chair taken?"  "No, its ok - feel free."  "Thank you."  "Welcome..."

I turned back to toward the street... turned back toward my thoughts. 

...calls me SIR with that speaking to grandfather tone of attempted respectfullness in their voice just ONE MORE TIME... I let THAT thought die ... a waste of time to go there.  Now then where the hell was I - looking back to the journal.  Reread the last few lines...

pause... 

The pen moved...

The scrawling continued... a bit longer.

"Yeah..."  Lifted the mug and sipped... cold now but its still good, yeah... its all good...

.......................................

This is not a story... nor a fictional account...

You seldom think of tomorrows in terms of reality, its just - you HOPE how they will or could be, and THAT'S what you think about.  I don't remember ever WANTING my real tomorrows, the ones a year or more after a day of existence.  Strange how just living changes the wants we have - let alone the ones we had.

"Kids..."

Midnight is a place
to some -
and home is where you find yourself
when there is no place else you have
to be
anything at all.

She laughed and teased
and the coldest eyes this side of hell
twinkled softly...
and she touched my arm
to accent her words
and her face had life
and she talked of hopes.

She didn't want coffee,
nor the tea that sat til its ice
was melted and clear above
browned dregs.

She wanted being heard
wanted being felt
wanted being alive
to just BE...
She wanted - and that was enough
for me.

She called out to friends
and they looked
and then THEY paused
and shared
then continued their living
as best they could...

and last -
she purposefully reached out
and touched my cheek
so very, very softly...
then got up
and returned to the street
turned and smiled -
then looked back to her 'work'.

Just kids... damn.

Chris

Tags: Poetry Writing

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Remember "Poetry.Com"?  Yes, I posted a few there as well - until I got tired of the 'snail mails' telling me I was selected to be  PUBLISHED in one of their anthologies...

Holding a book with YOUR work in it is an indiscribable feeling - but THEY got paid not the authors... and the restrictions to YOUR work - '20 lines or less'... LOL.


"20 Lines Or Less..."

Give US:
  Instant gratification -
    without thought or pause,
  A heart's eternal anguish
    self-less-ly bared,
  A time enduring revelation,
  That ONE moment of un-ending truth,
  An inarguable insight
    everyone already shares...
and all the heads nod - keeping time
  yes... that's IT... more... MORE...
  YES
FASTER
  and the eyes skim past
  racing - un-having to think
racing - to a foregone end
already KNOWING EVERYTHING there is...
in 20 lines
or
less.

Chris

Tags: Poetry Writing

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...and as promised - the final one for today...

"An Hour And 20 Minutes..."

An hour and twenty minutes… sigh.  I’ve an hour and twenty minutes til what?  What will it all mean – then.  The sun might shine or it could be rain, snow, sheet ice.  The heat might kick on all by itself.  A light bulb may actually glow.  I’m listening to the ticks…

Tick…tick…tick – an hour and ten minutes now… Where does the time GO when you’re having such ‘fun’… even pins drop as if encased in molasses pools – soooooooo slowly, barely turning end-over-end-over-end.  It gives an entirely new meaning to a drip-brew coffee maker, and the mind!  The mind races – RACES, in circles yet spirals too… in and in and round and around… but the thoughts – fragments and incoherencies, lost and found then lost and found again and again… threads, so many, many threads – interweaving…weaving…fading into the next construct… tick… tick…

An hour.  Just an hour, another lifetime passed and past and yet to come… a whole damn hour…hour…6o more minutes… then 59… now 58…eventually 57?  57 more minutes… each a little eternity.  Light a cigarette… the flame doesn’t flicker; strange how flames don’t really flicker after all… it’s all in the eye’s sight, what we THINK we see.  Watching the smoke move, inhale and exhale… how does smoke dissipate – expanding and expanding into a universe, a growing ball – ever fading, fading, fading… do we expand and fade and fade as well?…

Is it 50 yet?  50, 50, 50… come on 50…will someone give me 50, 50, 50 50…SOLD! – to the young-ole man sitting there in the back row… yay me… 50 minutes… and counting, counting… down and up, and down, and up…

Electricity doesn’t hum you know… it’s the wires vibrating to the electrons racing within.  Some would say it’s the ‘holes’ that flow and electrons just keep falling and falling within… like watching the hubcaps on a moving car – seemingly turning in the opposite direction of the tires motion… like living on the edge of our own universe… like living at all… life at all… flowing, racing, following all the holes, falling within and falling over-and-over and all to get – where?  What was the actual direction of motion?  Where did we go?  Did we go at all?  Threads and threads and threads – weaving, coalescing, expanding, fading…fading…

Its so not easy to lose oneself and yet we try… and find… ourselves looking back from all the mirrors that never were… cascading from all the non-surfaces back and forth and back and forth til we realize the fractals we are… such a pretty design that captures imagination and goes on and on and on til… 35… 35 minutes… 35… then 34.

Strange how coffee too hot to drink is so damned cold the next instant of awareness… time isn’t linear to awareness ya know?  It has no set place to be or follow.  Awareness is NOW every moment you ARE aware, but not the one – the moments you weren’t.  I’m aware of being me – except when I’m not… threads and threads interweaving.  I CAN feel my fingertips… each ONE… and all of them at once… but not my toes… I can’t feel the smoke I exhale moving through my fingers… I can see it passing through but not feel it… but I AM aware of my fingertips and can still feel each one all at once… and I am aware of the smoke – moving… expanding… I’m thinking, am aware that I’m thinking I’m thinking…but what is it, what am I, in between moments of aware? Of unfeeling? 

Tick…tick… 22 minutes… 22… Roses are red, Violets are blue, eternities last just moments – who knew?  22… 21…White noise, echoes without awareness… what really counts? And why?  And to whom?  So many ‘whys’ we have… whys for everything and anything – some our own and some are other’s.  Wise whys, shy whys, lost whys, because whys… ‘it-doesn’t-matter’ whys that ‘mattered-after-all’ whys… and cold coffee… 18…17…

I wonder
at the emptiness
with each breath

because -
its what we do
its who we are
its all there is
its all I have -
just each breath
to wonder with.

Chris

Tags: Poetry Writing

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If y'all don't mind I'll bore your hearts out with just two more today...

This - of course - is another repost from the "Cafe Series", but I think it really has something of value to think on.

“What is it about “Sanity…” you don’t understand Dave?” I asked as I set my mug down.

I sat still – listening.  “Well, you have a point.”  “But, man… that IS the same point I’m trying to MAKE!”  “Ok…ok, I get your drift… clarity… it IS how we ‘see’ things I guess.”  “So what IS ‘reality’ Dave?”

I listened, thought, and waited a bit.  “But the concept?” or perhaps, “It’s finality?” – a quizzical look.

Nothing still… I leaned toward him, “Well, I felt it was ‘relevant’, I mean damn, Dave… it always depends on perceptions doesn’t it???”

I reached for my mug… damn – barely any dregs… “Mary?”  I looked around – she was over by an empty table, wiping it down.  “Mary, we need some more coffee please.”

She looked up, paused and then said,  “Just be a sec hon” – softly.

She came up… filled my cup. I motioned toward Dave’s.

She looked a sec, reached and took his, set it on her tray, and placed a fresh mug on the table.  Then she smiled, turned and walked away.  I lifted mine…ahhh great coffee here.

”Excuse me, sir?”  I looked up.  “Sir, do you mind if I take that empty chair?”  “We need another chair for our table.”  I looked him in the eyes, “Nah, it’s cool… its ok – go ahead…” and he did… and Dave faded back into my memories.

”Sanity…”

We have our moments
our perceptions
of our realities…
minute by minute.

At times mine may intersect
with yours

and yours with mine

and sometimes they don’t.

Chris

Tags: Poetry Writing

9 comments View Entry

This is another repost of an older work... it takes TIME to re-invent a page at a new site AND still pay attention to its existing membership... chuckling here.  Exploring is such a fun thing to do...

God, you have to love the sun when it shines, especially after removing another seven inches of snow yesterday.  The roads are clear for the most part, though downtown is still a snarl of plowed drifts here and there.  Least the sidewalks aren’t too bad.

Its cold still – of course, it IS winter remember, but damn – love the sun.  ‘Barnes and Noble’ has an indoor café, a good place to lose the leather jacket, gloves and black leather hat – is even room for my walking stick to rest against a rail beside the table.

Before I continue, I need speak a lil of my ‘walking stick’ – just so there is no wrong impression or misunderstandings.  It is a hand-rubbed smooth, maple-toned, and uniquely tight grained, 5 ½ or so foot pole, about an inch and a half thick.  Its hard as rock, a perfectly center-balanced staff with a by-my-hand-woven soft-gray-and-green-and-tan leather-strip grip set about 6 inches from the end I made the top.  The leather strips are about a fingernail’s width and extend in a free flowing fan about seven inches from the hand-rest.  The bottom has no rubber or metal tip… just a still-somewhat-rounded blunt end that has so far survived years of intentional wear, tear, and thumping.  I can and have broken bricks, splattered apples, and ‘speared’ eye-selected ‘targets’ quite smoothly in a full and flowing 360-degree circle 7 feet from either foot – using either end of it.  It gives great ‘reach’ when you want it and more extended power than most can imagine – for any past military vet or Ren-fair devotee, remember being ‘tagged’ with a ‘Pugil-stick?’ or ‘quarter-staff’, well this one has NO padded ends.

I don’t shuffle or slump when I walk – unless I WANT to.  Don’t mistake the weathered and earned wrinkles and the long white hair (I prefer) as advanced grandpa-going-on-senility.  I don’t need my staff for balance, but its neat to stand and lean your forearms on it while you watch the world pass… besides, it gives your hand (either hand) a comfortable place to be and NOT in a pocket when you walk or stand (so past Marine Corps – that)… and it’s sooooo non-threatening.  In other words – it’s not a cane or a ‘walker’.

That now being said – I continue…

I sometimes wonder if anyone really wants to know of ME.  I can entertain – quite easily, in a heartbeat.  I have the ‘stories’, have had the ‘life’, have walked the paths of so many places most will not ever see… and the few that have, KNOW, I was there.  I can write fiction – imaginatively, yet it ALL has the grains of truths imbedded if any take the time or thought to notice.  Unlike most, I listen to both what IS said and what isn’t.  I think before answering/speaking but I don’t spend a conversation thinking about what my next words will be WHILE another person is speaking – that is soooo beyond rude, ya know?

I'm not the 'smartest' apple to have fallen from the tree, but I have been ranked in Tournament Chess and had trophies from it AND checkers - lol.  Germans in those off the path Hamburg cafes play a mean game too.  I once found an old-used copy of Omni Magazine when I was a kid.  It had a Mensa test.  Took me two hours, I answered them in ink - no crossouts, no incorrect answers either... and no I didn't join - was the CHALLENGE - ya understand?

I’m not always right – and know it but regardless, I WILL listen.  I look into eyes and don’t turn away.

I was a Gunnery Sergeant USMC.  Selected at nine years, promoted the anniversary of my tenth.  Quite a few ‘years’ ahead of my ‘contemporaries’ – as they say, the way-below zone at that time.  All of my ranks were from way-below zones.  I left the Corps with 11 years and 29 days of service by my choice – with an Honorable, of course.  So yes, I do KNOW the sound of real-not-make-believe gunfire… and the effects too.

I attended a Roman Catholic Seminary for 3 ½ years.  Learned many things and saw too-many ‘questions’.  Answers are not overly-freely given in life and I ALWAYS ask the ‘hard’ questions – it’s my nature I guess because I already know the answers to the ‘easy’ ones – usually without having to be told.

I spent time growing up in ‘projects’ as well as rundown apartment complexes and even a ramshackle farm – complete with the required ‘collapsing-from-its-own-age’ way-too-weathered-and-faded red barn and weed-surrounded chicken-wire-coop.  I DO know 'poor' in all its aspects.

I’ve had stray cats follow me home – for real and have had them run in a house UNDERNEATH the legs of a Great Dane just to ‘come home’ – and THAT dog did NOT like cats except as a “wannabe-a-chew toy?”  Dogs tend to curl underfoot when I sit on park benches… and I don’t mean MY dogs either.

I know the streets – of the world – up close and personal.  I’ve shared coffee and personal ‘moments’ with the ‘night-people’ of many continents, even in the daytime.  I’ve been the ‘stray’ taken home a time or three as well.  I’ve even had tourists take pictures of ME! – lol.  I’ve danced with the men, arm-in-arm on the isle of Rhodes and Ouzo is a pure hellfire BIATCH the morning after-the-morning-after… but damn, it goes down soooooooo smooth.

I know what it is to sit on a sea-wall at 3am watching the endless progression of waves walking ashore – just because, and how people magically appear when a fire is lit in a fire-pit on a seemingly deserted beach.  I’ve savored Red Mountain AND Dom Perignon, walked glaciers and jungles and swamps and even the Baltimore Block (back when it REALLY was what people THINK it still is)… and I cried while walking the Kasbah – meanest damn place in the world bar-none.

I still sometimes wonder – if anyone really wants to know of me.

”A Pause…”

I’m the faceless shadow
no one ever sees
while crossing
crossing
crossing countless paths.

I’ve touched upon so very many lives -
chance moments,
good moments,

and damned ones too.

I’ve spoken with
and listened too
been hollered at
and damned as well -

by voices I never really knew.

I’ve left footprints
handprints
even noseprints on speckled glass,
and scrawls to mark my presence -
if any cared to see.

I wonder still
whether any will
ever
know
me.

Chris

Tags: Poetry Writing

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This is another repost of an older work.  Part of the "Cafe Series".

"Braveheart..."

I’m not one for joining in -
groups or
clubs or
assemblages given to un-thought or inarguable causes
or gatherings where people are over-looked and under-seen-and-heard
by self-recognized guess-perts of unquestionable stature.

Yeah, silly me.

Silly for not wanting to be part and parcel of greater holes,

Of others oft-proclaimed lesser’s non-thoughts and self-less-indulgences,
of taking unheard, uncaring, and unlistened

to previously unrecognized heights of low-and-meanspiritedness.

”Whathahell???” another train got derailed.  I came back to a gray-puff-of-mewing settling into a small circle on my lap… and then the sound and vibration of a little buzzsaw.

”I’m a hard man.  I’ve carried ‘cold’ to places few would recognize or if they did – recognize – they would turn and RUN, while screaming senselessly all the air from their lungs.”  I said softly, while lightly petting the kitten that decided to ‘risk-it-all’ on coming up to a stranger for whatever reason kittens have.  The lil thing purred mindlessly and curled even tighter, gathering all the warmth it hadn’t felt since god alone knew when.

”Mary?”  I looked around, ah – there she was.  “Mary, I need a tuna sandwich and a glass of milk – please… oh and some more coffee too.”

She looked, then looked again and chuckled, “Be just a sec hon.”

Time became a meaningless concept…

”Who’s your friend?” Mary asked while kneeling and setting down the plate of just tuna – minus a side of bread, and a saucer of warm milk…

”The Unrepentant Curmudgeon… nah, Braveheart – yeah that fits.”  I scooped it up and set it gently down within reach of the ‘goods’.  Then watched as the ‘goods’ vanished bit by lick by bit.  Mary reached and lightly scratched it’s ear, “Braveheart, yeah that works.”  Damn thing purred some more but the ‘goods’ kept vanishing – smart lil ball of puff.

 ....I looked at Mary, “You won’t get any hassle…” I began.  She interrupted with another chuckle and a lil shake of her head and kept lightly scratching the lil ear.  “Marty opened the can of tuna AND gave me the saucer.”  Marty is the owner – nice woman that… more heart than most would give her credit for.

”Well, gotta get back to it,” she said as she smoothly rose and turned to walk away.

”Hey, where's my check?”  “Braveheart took care of it – “ she flipped over her shoulder with a chuckle, “besides, we only accept purrs today and you look to be ‘purred-out’.”

I looked down, Braveheart was cleaning and preening.  I had ceased to exist and life was GOOD.

I like sidewalk cafes.

Chris

Tags: Poetry Writing

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