Depending on the strength of the gods surrounding us.
We could do anything and seemed robust.
Time distorted the truth,
and aided in ourfall.
What once defied the setting sun,
grew less with each passing year.
Until, finally the world swallowed the moments whole.
There was a time high on the mountain,
when living seemed forever.
It was remarkable, but short lived.
Today marks the bittersweet anniversary of my maternal Uncle Kevin’s death. He is sorely missed, and I do my best to honor his memory as much as I can. I’ve added some links below to other poems and posts related to him, that I’ve written in the last year. It think it only fitting that he makes the ProCrasstheNation 2018 Advent Calendar. When I think of an Advent Calendar, I think of looking forward to something, and now in a sense, looking back. There was a lot of mystery behind Uncle Kev’s doors. He was easy to know, but at times kept his cards close to the vest. Thinking fondly of the many ways in which he enriched my life. He lived a life of patience and tact, and used these talents to teach his young niece and nephew game theory, or as he called it “STRAGEDY” There is many a night when I look at an empty cribbage board and smile within the glow of the memory it brings forth. There are many gifts in life that we are lucky enough to receive, but it is entirely true, that the gift of time is the most precious. Kev gave us as much time as we needed or wanted.
It’s funny how teaching your kids to ride a bike, can start with death.
Training wheels squared,
upon a flat cement space.
Enclosed from busy streets.
Helmets, elbow pads, and knee pads.
Just put them on the bikes, and go.
Around the schoolyard square.
Being pulled into the gravitational reality of a pigeon corpse.
Monument gray, tits up, broken neck.
It must have flown into one of the eighty windows above the school entrance.
Taking precautions to keep the children from harm, but facing down an inadequate explanation of death.
Just fixed there on the spot, full view.
A fly surveying the scene.
Kids steering the handlebars of their bikes to avoid the pigeon corpse.
I myself, standing by, hoping they don’t maliciously drive over the broken bird for jest.
They didn’t.
Still gentle. World has not touched them yet.
Or, maybe this the first grazing shot.
The circuit repeated, over and over.
Joy in learning new things.
Sadness in learning new things.
Driving eager with breakneck speed.
Can’t keep them from flying into windows.
There are too goddamned many.
A very special thanks to A and L. Our misadventures seem to teach me so much. Hope you’re taking notes.
40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam is a project in which people have joined me for 40 days and 40 nights of on-demand poetry. They have submitted the concepts, ideas, and subjects; I’ve done the rest.
“There’s something wonderful about drinking in the afternoon. A not-too-cold pint, absolutely alone at the bar — even in this fake-ass Irish pub.”
-Anthony Bourdain
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
-John Lennon ~ Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)
“Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling.”
-Prince ~ Nothing Compares 2 U
“For years and years I roamed, I gazed a gazeless stare.”
-David Bowie ~ the man who sold the world
“And I’m lost, behind. The words I’ll never find, and I’m left behind, as seasons roll on by, yeah yeah.”
-Chris Cornell ~ Seasons
“I have decided to leave you forever. I have decided to start things from here. Thunder and lightning won’t change what I’m feelin’.”
-Dolores O’Riordan ~ Daffodils Lament
“Well some say life will beat you down. Break your heart, steal your crown. So I’ve started out, for God knows where. I guess I’ll know when I get there”
-Tom Petty ~ Learning to Fly
“All dead, all dead. All the dreams we had. And I wonder why I still live on. All dead, all dead. And alone I’m spared.”
-Freddie Mercury ~ All Dead, All Dead
And alone, we are spared.
To conceive this dread, in fear.
Carpe diem, dear!
Do not go gentle into the void.
Live the fullest.
Drink well.
Eat voraciously.
Love others.
Warm your bed with the embrace of lovers.
There is nothing promised.
A sinister tease,
a statistical anomaly.
And despite this.
The finest gift, indeed.
A very special thanks to Jared Nownes for suggesting: Dead Celebrity Poem=Bourdain
Fellow Poet extraordinaire, Jared Nownes, can be found squirreling away words of wisdom and flights of madness on his blog “Sustantivos” you must go check it out.
40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam is a ongoing project in which people have joined me for 40 days and 40 nights of on-demand poetry. They have submitted the concepts, ideas, and subjects; I’ve done the rest.
Idols fall at the fevered pace of fake news announcements.
Ideas brand you as dangerous.
Dialogue dry-well, drywalled in.
Immovable position.
Paralyzed by fear.
Innocence becomes the lie it always was.
Ignorance is heralded,
especially when wrapped in arrogance and denial.
There is no middle ground.
Just extreme extremism extremely extant.
Order is caving and leaving on chartered flights, and squirreled in the hold of shipping containers.
Those that feel comfort within the framework that a society provides, have no conception, that that luxury is only provided by that which they hold in contempt.
Consequence is gaining.
Ignorance is not bliss, but a precursor to suffering.
The middle will not hold, unless good people stop listening to those that sow doubt.
The philosophers are extinct, and their ashes have been eaten gluttonous by apologists that are in love with their zeal.
I sit out in the open road, hoping that when the collapse comes, I can see that sinister look of recognition dress the faces of the smug.
A recognition that liberty is just another illusion in the tent of Abraham.
Institutional ignominy delivered on target by drowning drones.
Driven mad, by madmen, and the most sincerely irrational and well-meaning people.