a photograph found in mind

as I stand here with the morning sun about to break
I find myself again wishing that I had a picture,
that we had taken a picture from the other day.

but as I turn to the typer to write my lamentation
I'm greeted by my smiling reflection in the blank black slate
and I realize that we were too busy enjoying the moments
to take the time to think to steal one.

-2007

more words...

right now I wish
I had more words
or had better words,
maybe a more extensive vocabulary?
that I read more books,
newspapers, magazines
wrote more letters
read more letters
right now, at this moment I even
wish I had read more poetry.
maybe if I knew another language?
if the inside spoke out loud?
if only I had more words
or done one or more of the above
then maybe I would be able
to get what ever it is off the
shadows of my chest
and leave its weight here,
or somewhere like it,
so it can take its rightful place lost in the
catacombs of stolen moments remembered.

-2006

On this day in history...

On April 12, 1961, aboard the spacecraft Vostok 1, Soviet cosmonautYuri Alekseyevich Gagarin becomes the first human being to travel intospace.

During the flight, the 27-year-old test pilot and industrialtechnician also became the first man to orbit the planet, a feataccomplished by his space capsule in 89 minutes. Vostok 1 orbitedEarth at a maximum altitude of 187 miles and was guided entirely by anautomatic control system.

The only statement attributed to Gagarin during his one hour and 48 minutes in space was, "Flight is proceedingnormally; I am well."

Happy Birthday Kaya!

On this day in 2001 the world was introduced to the one & only

Kaya McKay.

Happy 6th Birthday

Kaya!!!

May Your day be filled the laughter and smiles of a Princess!

On this day in history...

In 1922 Jack Kerouac was born. The author of a few books before his death in 1967 but best known of course for the seminal sign post in Beat Literature On The Road.

On The Road was the world's introduction to the likes of William S. Burroughs and Neal Cassidy (a.k.a. Dean Moriarty) who would then be one of the few to actaully bridge the generation gap when he moved from being the Beat driver to taking the helm of Further as "Cowboy Neal at the wheel on the bus to never, never, land" with Ken Kesey's Merry Band of Pranksters in tow.

Interesting morsel, Kerouac was the son of French-Canadian parents and learned English as a second language.

afterall, there is no Life without Them

don’t ever forget the importance
of the supposed
coincidentals

-Eagle 2007

beware the commercial within...#2

"The only way to be sure that you're up on all the latest trends is to get to the Home Show!!”

I just heard this in a commercial and
as it came to settle in the ole brain pan
I realized that I just bore witness to
a commercial within a commercial.

the main one, the obvious one,
was for the Home Show
the other was hidden behind it.

how oh so subtle it is
not selling a “thing”
no product to buy

the commercial in a commercial
pedaling something else
something far more insidious.

the thought,
the idea,
the belief,
that we need to be up on the latest trends.

and then there is always the exploding yogurt...

stub your toe on the chair
shave ½ a surface then the razor dies
dirty socks are the only socks
walking into locked doors
the bus drives away even though it sees you
your coffee is too hot
your juice is too cold
you're out of coffee
you're out of juice
you miss your train,
your plane
showing up too early
showing up too late
you break a shoe lace
you forget your money
you forget your phone
you forget your-Self

each and all tell tale signs you
should have stayed in bed

-Eagle 2007

On this day in history...(part 1)

On March 7, 1923 the New Republic first published this now famous piece by Robert Frost.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost

For more information: http://www.history.com/tdih.do?action=tdihArticleCategory&id=3900

On this day in history...(part 2)

On March 7, 1876 Alexander Graham Bell received the patent for the telephone.

Three days after the patent was issued the first successful telephone transmission was achieved when Bell called Thomas A. Watson (a machine shop employee who assisted in making the prototype) and simply said:


"Mr. Watson, come here, I need you."


Little did he know that his wish to help the deaf (continuing his father's work) would lead to all that it has.


In honour of Ole' Mr. Bell be sure to take a picture, make a movie, send an e-mail, surf the web, listen to music and watch a movie on your phone today...and maybe, if you find the time, make a telephone call to a loved one.


If anyone is interested in more information on the telephone and its history please see:

http://www.history.com/encyclopedia.do?articleId=223836

on this day in 1932...

John R. Cash was born.

Man In Black

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he's a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.

I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen' that we all were on their side.

Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.

Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter,
I'm the Man In Black.

Official Johnny Cash site: http://www.johnnycash.com/

a perfect crime...

riding the subway today I saw this little girl,
well maybe not so little actually
maybe 10-12 years old,
on the subway with her mother.
her mother had fallen asleep,
and for most of the ride
this young lady sat prim and proper
hands folded on her lap,
crossed over a plastic grocery bag
and her eyes, her eyes watched the world
as it danced before them,
with wonder she absorbed the shuffling and swaying
of life as it moved in and out of the sliding doors.
then all of a sudden she recognized
her mother was asleep
and I watched as her eyes grew bigger
and her hands slowly, silently, slipped into the bag,
the plastic grocery bag that lay just under them.
there was piece of pastry in a plastic container
you know the kind,
you almost have to break it to get your shit out
and in the process may cut yourself,
or, you find yourself in a situation like this poor girl
having to try to open one when you have to have to be quit.
I imagined her and her mother at the market,
doing some shopping, her being told that if she was good
she would get a treat, something nice to eat after dinner,
but only if she was good of course
and that surely meant none before she ate all her dinner.
here she was, her mother asleep, should she go for it?
I’m thinking why not, shit kid at least if you get caught
you get to have a taste and in kid time,
I’m sure there would be more than enough time to lose it
without getting a taste before they get home
let alone before she gets a chance to finish her dinner.
so, she went for it and it looked like it tasted good
as she looked at her mom still sleeping undisturbed
I could see it in her eyes,
see her next piece, her last piece,
after all I could see that it tasted like victory.
she was not greedy, I nodded to her
and pointed out the few crumbs that fallen on her,
I warned her of the evidence, the evidence
that would have blown her perfect little subway caper.
as she wiped them off she looked to her mom
she looked to her out of the corner of her now concerned eyes
and as the evidence disappeared
she breathed easy and turned her thanking eyes
just then it was my stop, and as I was getting of the train
she smiled and I gave her a wee thumb’s up
then the door bell chimed and her mom awoke.

-April 2005

100+ missiles and no one counting the tears

flipping through the channels
from one ‘talent’ show to the next
and in between fall the ‘reality’ programs
that are anything but
and when the candies were all in commercial
flip again I did
coming to land on what used to be
the true reality television
just in time to see the precursor
to a nightmare long in the making
but the vacuum is too vast
and the oil is getting too hot
its boiling point now being found
on the end of each flying missile
in the tears and fears of each child
running away from everywhere they may land
all the while the studio audiences
are using their selector buttons,
and those watching at home
well, they are text messaging their proof
that democracy truly is in the hands of the people
as they vote for their favorite
juggler, joker
dancer, skater, driver,
or lab rat living in an open wired house
and while democracy is on a commercial break,
across one worldly street
the bombs, they burst in ground
and across an other,
I stop flipping

drunken telephone...

Oh dear Mr. Bell,
if only your loved one could hear
then so many of mine wouldn’t have to.
your wonderous invention,
and wonderous it is, is also a curse
serving to remind the drunk lonely
that others aren’t drunk,
lonely, or even
awake.

-October 2005

the blank page stares back

so now what?
what are going to do?
well?
you got me up,
you told me what day it is
what time it is
and now here I am,
wondering what it is,
for what reason you beckoned me forth.
you have many times lamented my absence,
if only I was around…
the stories you could tell…
so now here I am,
what do you have for me?
I am enticed,
I'm intrigued,
will it be a tale of romance?
maybe a simple painted moment?
beauty caught in the eye of the beholder?
I can’t stand the suspense…
don’t just sit there…
how could you just sit there
rocking back and forth?
oh wait, I think I have it
I think I'm on to You!
you got me up for no reason
didn’t You?
well not for no reason, but rather
a hopeful one.
you thought you would get me up,
remind me the day
tell me the time
in hopes that maybe, just maybe
I might give you something to say.
well my friend, that is your job
me, I just listen and remember
take stock of the stained moments
you know you won’t.
nothing? ok,
well, get back to me when one of those moments come to pass,
you know the ones where you have something to say,
you know where to find me,
you know I'll always be here
but please don’t get me up
just to stare at me,
that is just annoying.

-2006

On this date in 1929 Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was born

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by a sign stating: "For Whites Only."* We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."²

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that:
Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Link: http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm

the days never change...

saddling up to the typer
I think about trying to write something
something more then different
to stain something that hasn’t already been said
and as I do
I hear the wheels in the tower spin and hum
while the early morning world
passes by under my window
and the clouds float
greyly above the dark sky.
through the fork view between the tree in the tree
I see a red and white banner billowing in the breeze
as headlights swim laps through the city streets
followed by a flock of geese flying south
in January
and I rock back and forth
clickity-clacking in between
these, the passing moments
realizing each and every day is
the same
next time around, Sunday
will still be Sunday
which will be followed by Monday
and so on and so on
on and on it goes
until they are no longer
because the days never change
but that’s alright
because the sights and sounds
of a solitary moment passing
always do
even when witnessed by
the same eyes
looking out the same window
on the same early Sunday morn’

-2007

barstool musings

lately I have been writing stories instead of thoughts
and at this moment
I find myself missing those short missives
the wee ones that tell whole tales
in just a line or two
or ten
but rarely more then a page,
would these short stains take to spin their yarns.
stories demand characters
who demand moments
moments that need to be created
made from fact or fiction
or a translation 'tween the two
without that, "where's the story?"
is the only question to be asked
without an answer to be given.
whereas the wee ones,
they need only a character to stand alone
and just like that
a thought becomes a tale.
the ones that call pages their home
they need characters that can stand on their own
while creating storied tales for others.

lately I have been writing stories instead of thoughts
and at this moment
I find myself missing those short missives
but when it comes right down to it
as long as a page is stained
and a story is told,
whether it be in a line or two
or ten thousand
all is well
as that means at least
one ghost is put to rest.

-September 2006