Ink in the Blood Posts

Revision

contained

wrapped within

people in their places

mostly lost

found

sucker for a story

the first page

not the last

I like beginnings

where it’s possible

and easy

all the mess in the middle

skip that

I hate roller coasters

and the way it ends

endings are so final

a tiny dot

.

at the end of a sentence

that had so much to say

but ran out of space

I love happy endings

not the sad ones

like Titanic

I hate that movie

every time I watch it

unsettled

what happened to the magic

the magic in the movie

the story

the script

the revision

Jack lives

he gets to live

why didn’t he

get to live

where was the edit

the final edit

somebody sick that day

he should have lived

Jack …

and his Happily Ever After

with Rose …

I hate that movie

and that stupid song Celine sings

.

TL

The Stone

the fade

of light

natural

artificial

or otherwise

the curtain falls

when it falls

in all stages

big or small

the progression

of time

turns us all

over

and

over

and

over

like a stone in a tumbler

polished

after the turbulence

the grit is gone

like the mud it laid under

silent

inside the stone

a million stars spill out

like sunlight on the sea

glimmering

TL

In the Night

inside

the glow

of a winter white

rose

I climbed

a spiral staircase

and found

a thousand years

sound asleep

at the bottom

of a weeping

well

in slumber

I woke up

and walked

in circles

searching for

the switch

that would turn on

all the lights

and in the darkness

of the night

I stumbled

over the moon

TL

From Tee to Green

you push

a giant toothpick

in the ground

and place a ball

on top of it

and grip the leather

and take a practice swing

‘til you hear it sing

then into position

your body

and mind

and so it would seem

to the spectator eye

such a simple thing

to get from tee

to green

in short order

and repeat it

year after year

no matter the weather

the up and down

the hazards

but a glimpse

of what you see

on tv

or around a tournament town

doesn’t begin

to graze the surface

the struggle within

there are so many elements

in play

that test who you are

who you think you are

what you’re capable of

what you think you’re capable of

and in those hours

of bend and build

there is a quiet

in the dew drop mornings

the biting frost to blazing heat

the torrential rain to not a drop

the barely a breath to whipping gusts

the blue skies to crackling thunder

the dusk to dark

it’s all there

on courses long and short

the lessons

the private lessons

unending

the reassessment

the adjustment

the learning and re-learning

the simplifying

becoming less

becoming more

constantly evolving

continually revolving

from the ground

up

TL

Blue Roses

shopping

for groceries

but lost in the flowers

veered over

to the boxes of boutonnieres

lined up on the shelf

like mini black caskets

these weren’t the plastic pathetic kind

the box said real

behold a blue rose

that never dies

ironically the rose will last

a long, long time

so long as

you keep it away from the rain

and the sun

perfectly preserved petals

that never age

or crumble

embalmed beauty

for the masses

not even a rose can die

naturally

‘cause of shoppers like me

who buy up all three

TL

Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

as an orphan

from Korea

i learned English

stateside

from Mr. Rogers

my first mentor

and the kindest man

i ever knew

TL

The Lake

the road

is the same road

nothing’s changed

about it

in 20 years

only my shadow

has

it used to fly down the road

with a hummingbird heart

before the coffee was brewed

and the dogs barked

then down to the dock

the stillness of the water

rippled only by a fish

or a turtle peering up

or a bass boat crawling by

I’d stare at the water

like some stare at fire

thinking or not thinking

that’s the part

that hasn’t changed

TL

Your Own Table

there’s some

thing

about cooking

your little meal

in your little kitchen

that makes it

a little more

fulfilling

TL

Intersection

if you keep

in mind

the line

behind you

the lines

beside you

and the line

ahead of you

you’ll better

understand

the lines

how they

connect

the beginning

the ending

and everything

in-between

TL

he was gone

before the ink could dry

on the page

nothing slowed him down

for long

like Rocky, he got up

he wasn’t anywhere near perfect

but he was real

and if he loved you or hated you

you felt it

he could talk to anybody anywhere

at anytime

he had tremendous empathy

for the down and out

the hopeless and hurting

he could relate to the pain

and loss

he’d give a stranger his last dollar

and if you had no family to stay with

he’d be your family

no matter what he’d been through

or how hard it was

he remained hopeful

and grateful

humble and kind

he might of been a newspaper man

to some

but to me and to many

he was a teacher

who could teach you a thing or two

about life

he sure didn’t waste it

like that Blake Shelton song

“man, he lived it …”

TL

The Moth

betrayed

would you then fall

away

and disappear

into the mountains

sit somewhere by the sea

and forget how forgotten

flowers fade in vases

ripe fruit rots

in the bowl

the wind is roaring

through the field

no trees to shield

or shelter

quiet is the night

that whispers early in the morn

and the birds are still singing their song

as the white moth dies a slow death at the door

and if I could talk to him

I’d ask him why

why does he keep coming back

to the flame

knowing he’ll get burned

time and again

is it because he’s stupid

or full of hope

or blind

or all of the above

who knows

or maybe after being burned

by so many beautiful brilliant bulbs

he just stopped feeling the singe

and became numb to it

this can happen overnight

which, of course, means the beautiful brilliant bulbs

can’t hurt him anymore

as he lies dying at my door

he doesn’t hurt anymore

‘cause he’s finally free

to fly

TL

Returning

when something

breakable

breaks

like the heart

it cracks open

creating space

and as time goes by

the space spreads out

f u r t h e r

this gives the soul somewhere

to wander about

as it waits its turn

to go home

TL

The Dying

in the abyss

one searches

the dark

in a timeless night

forgetting all things

backward

and forward

all the steps

it took

to get there

and then you’re there

at the ending

when all you want

is the beginning

when you were first born

shaking and lost

and somebody wrapped you up

and held you close

and you could hear their heart beating

and it was familiar to you

this soothing rhythmic sound

from far and away

and then you were asleep

TL

A Wrong Turn

she woke up

that morning

70

he woke up

that morning

32

she had never met him

before

he had never met her

before

for whatever reason

they were both traveling

the same road

that night

at exactly the same time

and for whatever reason

he was driving in the wrong direction

she had no time to react

they died on impact

TL

The Wind

the blades

of grass

clean shaven

down the stretch

after the rain

the black bird struts

his stuff

the squirrels race

to the top

turtles are sunning

on the bank

minnows moving

in the pond

a butterfly remembers

when

it had no wings

and wastes no time

resting on flowers

as if it knows

the wind will take it

wherever it goes

TL

Summer

in a single

s e c o n d

the sun fell

soft

into the sea

leaving suds

to wash and fold

the sand

that dried between

my toes

TL

U.S. Navy RE-1 Heath Phillips

I salute you

for your courage

for your bravery

for your heart

you never fought

in war

and yet you

saved so many lives

more than you’ll ever, ever

realize

may you finally

sleep at night

and wake up

in the morning

free

TL

The Beach

there’s an endless rack

of white lace

rows as far

as the eye

I spend 5 days

slipping dresses on

and off

taking my time

pearls

or no

my bare feet

tip toe

across silk

I shed something

sad

as I return

the dresses

I wore

and put the pearls

back

in their shell

TL

Winding a music box

brief

but beautiful

like the days

a butterfly lives

like a song

that plays 3 minutes

you hear at 100

like a passage

in a book you read

when you were young

and when you were old

you understood

like a meal

that took hours and hours to make

and minutes to devour

but there’s something about the flavor

and you search for it

at every table

like a movie

on the big screen

that made you sit there

after it was over

and everybody left

and went home

like a snow day

you have to roll in it

and throw it

and catch it

and make it last

like a garden

that bears in the summer

and folds in the fall

like a dog

after a bath

like a firefly

at night

like candles

on a cake

like fireworks

in July

like Legos

in small hands

like skipping a stone

across the sea

like a dance

first and last

like saying hello

and then

saying you gotta go

that last look

before the eyes

close

TL

Rushing

it’s raining

outside

she stirs her cup

and listens

the sound of it

like a rush

over rocks

saturates the soil

a stream in the street

hurries to the grill

seated in the gutter

the symphony rises

to ovation

from the belly below

a tire splashes

over

like drops hitting the tops

of umbrellas

they hurry home

TL