Author Mike OConnor: Chest of treasures

Author Mike OConnor: Chest of treasures: There is shine beneath the dust like that on a fine piece of furniture. There is warmth beneath the ice-cold heart that still beats e...

Chest of treasures

There is shine beneath the dust like that on a fine piece of furniture.

There is warmth beneath the ice-cold heart that still beats every beat for only you.

There is wisdom scattered about the failures and disappointment.

There are chapters un-written and lyrics not yet sung, poems tucked away in books that no one has ever seen…

There are words that I kept inside fearing them to be misread causing pain or confusion…

Often, I have wondered if I kept my pen silent for the wrong reasons and now as the twilight begins to descend on me those reasons are only a scattered memory never to be found….

I have known love in what I believe to be the truest forms. The love of children and that of theirs. The love of women some more than others but only one that pierced my heart with a fury unmatched….

What awaits? So many sleepless conversations asking that question only to go unanswered until the answers are clear.

I have walked many miles and only recently slowed my pace, maybe to see more, smell more, take it all in with hope my pen will jump onto paper one more time?

I will always be here with words that have yet to be discovered. I call it my buried chest of treasures that I hope finds its way into some of those hearts I loved so dearly.
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Author Mike OConnor: Dreams

Author Mike OConnor: Dreams: Sometimes dreams can fill the emptiness we live with daily. I had one such dream last night. You were there, you were the dream. Everyth...

Dreams

Sometimes dreams can fill the emptiness we live with daily. I had one such dream last night. You were there, you were the dream. Everything I loved about you was there to, your smile, your touch, your endless kindness and eternal love. I woke from the dream a couple of times fast realizing you were gone so I went back to sleep to see you again and again until the sun blinded me and made me wake up. It's evening again and I thought of you more than I usually do all day, now I’m sipping some warm milk looking forward to a long, long sleep………
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Author Mike OConnor: Places and things

Author Mike OConnor: Places and things: I walk down a dirt path in the woods of my youth, my memories like a whirlwind engulfing me with places and times long since forgotten. ...

Places and things

I walk down a dirt path in the woods of my youth, my memories like a whirlwind engulfing me with places and times long since forgotten.

A rabbit dashed across my path startling me but causing a short laugh as I press on. Turning a corner, I flash back to a fort we built out of fallen branches and rocks that seemed like the weight of the world on our shoulders. Little did we know then that the world would get so much heavier.

Deeper into the woods and the white birch trees loomed above me in all their majestic beauty. We would find fallen pieces of bark back then and try to craft canoes like our ancestors did but without much luck even though we would spend hours in silence working on them.

The stillness crept into my being like a soothing touch of a mother, the soft breeze her lullaby. I sat under a giant oak and listened to nothing, but everything. Night fell, and I chased fire fly’s like I did so many times in days long gone.

I came out of yesterday and into the darkness of today with a smile on my face and a lullaby on my lips
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Author Mike OConnor: Autumn dreams

Author Mike OConnor: Autumn dreams:      I see you walking between the rows of autumn corn your pace a bit slower than last harvest season. You stop every so often and run yo...

Autumn dreams

     I see you walking between the rows of autumn corn your pace a bit slower than last harvest season. You stop every so often and run your rough hands across a stalk as if saying goodbye to the very thing that made you who you are today. These fields provided for you and your father before you and never let you down except for the dust storm back in 65. That was a bad time for all the farmers, but you banded together and beat the odds replanting and going without until the next harvest and so many more that followed.

     Are you looking for me out here dad? You know I just didn't have the calling and that hurt you more than I probably know, but didn't you teach me to follow my dreams wherever it took me? Wasn’t it you who said I should farm if that's what I want, not what you want? I wrote a book dad. A book about the men who farm their father's dream. I spoke of you often and how you set aside your dreams to be the farmer your father wanted you to be. I wrote how proud I was of you for keeping the traditions of the family going even though I rarely ever saw you smile.

     I'm a writer dad and my passion is words. Will my son grow up to be a writer? Maybe, but he could grow up to be a farmer, his choice to make. Sometimes he dresses like you in the coveralls you gave him last Christmas. He walks around the table chewing a straw, we don't allow him to chew on corn silk just yet. He is with me today as you walk through your rows of autumn corn for all eternity. He can’t see you, but I see you in him and I know although I didn't follow in your footsteps I walked beside you like any proud son who loved their dad.

Author Mike OConnor: Happy days

Cat Stevens changed me with a tune and I flash back to happier times that I wish could return. A time before all this push button swipe screen chaos that eats the minds of our youth and robs them of a thing called life. Have you ever wondered what life would be like now if it had stayed pretty much like it was after ww2? The 50’s and greased back hair, cigarettes rolled up in t-shirt sleeves, bobby socks, and poodle skirts? Drive-in theaters and necking. Drag races and root beer, and the 60’s with the birth of the hippies and flower power, free love and mind-altering drugs. The best music ever and the understanding of no one. The 70’s and tv sitcoms that made you laugh so hard as you identified with the characters. Bell bottoms and leisure suits. The 80’s and change slowly but always. The 90’s and confusion sets in trying to figure out the new inventions that seemed to some to serve a purpose for humanities growth. To me it was the beginning of the end...the year of mass panic when destruction gripped the world as the superpower was breached and thrust into revenge mode with weapons of mass destruction changing hands faster than a numbers runner. A mere fifty years. A drop in the bucket of time but a leap into so many negatives for some like me. Are we better off now? Respect has become a word only practiced by a very few and family value is used as tv commercials to sell a product rather than being practiced by real families. How many houses these days even have a dining room complete with a table large enough for Sunday dinner? And how many can get a family together long enough to sit and be a family? Easier to meet up at Chile’s or olive garden. Am I against progress you ask? Guess I am to some degree because all it has done is drive a wedge between people, families, and nations. Politics is just a game of thrones run by puppet masters who cling on to the few that still buy their lines of deceit and broken promises. I wish there was a place we could choose to go live where time did kind of standstill. A place where real things still mattered and innocence existed. Sometimes I think I will find that place before my time here is over. But it will probably be in pill form with cat Stevens in the background.

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Happy days

Cat Stevens changed me with a tune and I flash back to happier times that I wish could return. A time before all this push button swipe screen chaos that eats the minds of our youth and robs them of a thing called life. Have you ever wondered what life would be like now if it had stayed pretty much like it was after ww2? The 50’s and greased back hair, cigarettes rolled up in t-shirt sleeves, bobby socks, and poodle skirts? Drive-in theaters and necking. Drag races and root beer, and the 60’s with the birth of the hippies and flower power, free love and mind-altering drugs. The best music ever and the understanding of no one. The 70’s and tv sitcoms that made you laugh so hard as you identified with the characters. Bell bottoms and leisure suits. The 80’s and change slowly but always. The 90’s and confusion sets in trying to figure out the new inventions that seemed to some to serve a purpose for humanities growth. To me it was the beginning of the end...the year of mass panic when destruction gripped the world as the superpower was breached and thrust into revenge mode with weapons of mass destruction changing hands faster than a numbers runner. A mere fifty years. A drop in the bucket of time but a leap into so many negatives for some like me. Are we better off now? Respect has become a word only practiced by a very few and family value is used as tv commercials to sell a product rather than being practiced by real families. How many houses these days even have a dining room complete with a table large enough for Sunday dinner? And how many can get a family together long enough to sit and be a family? Easier to meet up at Chile’s or olive garden. Am I against progress you ask? Guess I am to some degree because all it has done is drive a wedge between people, families, and nations. Politics is just a game of thrones run by puppet masters who cling on to the few that still buy their lines of deceit and broken promises. I wish there was a place we could choose to go live where time did kind of standstill. A place where real things still mattered and innocence existed. Sometimes I think I will find that place before my time here is over. But it will probably be in pill form with cat Stevens in the background.
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Author Mike OConnor: Liquid gold

Author Mike OConnor: Liquid gold: The rain finally came today a welcome gift of water to fill the emptiness we have felt for so long. I think I saw the blooms of almost dec...

Liquid gold

The rain finally came today a welcome gift of water to fill the emptiness we have felt for so long. I think I saw the blooms of almost deceased flowers raise up to catch the sweet drops savoring everyone as if it was the last. The ground sucked it in like a hoover on a rug choking for more and more until the drains were full and nothing cared, and it kept coming in tremendous force picking up dead branches turning them into speeding boats racing down the streets ending up who knows where? People stood at their open doors watching it pour letting the screens filter out the heavy drops turning them into a cool mist upon their faces. Everything took on a new color and vibrancy that had been missing for so long. The pond at the end of the road filled again meaning happy grandkids could skip stones and chase ducks. My dog kept a sharp lookout through the window licking the falling drops off the wrong side of the glass. A game he would play for as long as the rains kept coming. That un-familiar sound of tires on wet pavement was almost soothing as was the gushing of water down the drain spouts. A simple thing like a heavy rainstorm can mean so much to so many. I’m glad to be a part of it sitting here writing this listening to the liquid gold hit my tin roof......

Rusted gates

     We live our lives looking back to things we would have done differently. It seems to me we apologize under our breath daily if not to just our self. I regret things like most do, but I don’t dwell on what could have been but rather what is. Making mistakes is a part of the growth that we are supposed to accept and at some point, leave behind the apologies and shame of our earlier actions. As I got older I realized we were brought up to do a few things our entire life so the gates of glory would open for us when our time came, but when I got there the gates were rusted shut and nobody manned the post. So, I stood there wondering what now? I couldn’t turn back there was only darkness and an endless black swirling hole.

     Standing at the rusted gate I had all the time I needed to review my life, the good and the bad. I don’t know how long I stood there but, in the end, I had traveled into myself and relived my life in every sense. And then I did it again, and again, and once more, and so on. It was a remembrance I was not being allowed to end and so I stood at the closed gate for a period we know as eternity

The looking glass

Like most people on any given day I stood in front of the looking glass and peered deep into the image looking back at me. Who was that old man with the wrinkled brow and leather for skin? Hair grew out of places I didn’t even realize there was dirt. “Are my ears bigger”? I wondered as I pulled on them like a child tugs a dog’s ears. I had come in here alone but now this strange old man stood at my mirror blocking my view of what I knew was a very younger man. Did I blink, and time left only to return to this ancient soul in front of me? Did I sleep, and the years left me while everything around me and in me grew without fanfare?  A cup of steaming coffee on the counter, a folded washcloth and an unlit smoke in the clean glass ashtray. “better hurry up in there old man less you want to be late for your own funeral” who the hell was that”? I shook my head, took a sip and fired up the smoke. The wash rag was left untouched. As I opened the door I got one look at her and she was as young and as beautiful as she was some sixty years ago when we first met. She smiled, held out her hand and with a voice as soft as velvet beckoned me to follow. It has been said a true love will last beyond any defined word or understanding. I am about to find out……….

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Just a way home

I walked the pathway deep into the woods one quiet winters day. The snow fell softly to the waiting ground which lay undisturbed until my boot made itself known. It was so quiet except for the occasional bird or small animal foraging for food. I knew I was alone but felt as if someone was walking right beside me. I looked once in a while knowing I was being foolish. Or was I? Deep into the woods I stopped and rested upon a fallen tree that I’m sure lived well over one hundred years. What stories it could tell. Small children playing hide and seek within view of the wagon train in the meadow just ahead. Lumberjacks sparing it from there killing blows of the ax. So, what made it fall? Lightning perhaps but no scorch marks to be seen. A disease maybe? Or just of old age? I hoped that the cause as I got up and walked deeper into the white birch forest. This was my goal today to find this place I had been to before on winter walks. A magical place where hundreds of trees reached to the heavens standing side by side like wooden soldiers waiting for orders.it was beyond peaceful and quiet here as if time just stood still for a while allowing me to experience what I like to call "the angels rest stop" if I close my eyes I can see hundreds of them standing among the birch trees heads down in prayer also appearing to be waiting for orders. I always leave a part of me there among the tall beautiful trees, apart I guess I was supposed to leave. My walk out of the woods was just a way home......

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Slapped in the heart

Woke early today I had a reason. It’s been awhile since I climbed on the steel pony and just headed out in no direction. The music competed with my pipes. The pipes won. As I rode I went back to the days when these songs shaped who I eventually became. Without it, I would have missed more than I can remember. We lived and breathed the music of the sixty’s and seventies it was our heartbeat. Now decades later I am still spell struck when I hear those riffs and never-ending leads. I throttle up and let the air fill my being as I race towards another rush of a different kind.So many bands, so many songs so many memories of blurred faces and reckless nights of wonder. Now cruising at eighty-five mph with one hand on the bars and the other squeezing the last drop of volume as zeppelin slaps me right in the heart.

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Angel

Sometime in a day long yet to be you will grow wings and guide a lost soul to the eternal place of peace.

Your countless good and giving have not gone unnoticed. The others before you all point to you and nod their approval

It is a very special group and fewer than many may think. True there are souls spending eternity in beauty never known but they have no wings, only smiles.

To be given wings is the highest of honors bestowed upon by God himself and the others who follow them into battle must approve beyond any doubt.

Someday you will have your wings and give yourself flight coming to rest beside those who need your strength and wisdom to carve out their path to smiles.

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Class

I like to watch as people grow in life. From times gone by when they were younger and full of ambitions to "now" when they have become those ambitions with grace and style. It brings a smile and sometimes a tear to my weathered face knowing they made it to a place they once thought of as only "dreams. “All of us know such people and isn’t it nice we do? I think some of the more "public" figures stand out in my mind as pillars of strength and beauty in the way they grew older gracefully and without fanfare. I believe these people knew they had a window that would bring them great exposure and they went with it until they themselves said it was time for the last curtain call, time to close that window allowing for someone else to open it.I believe it says a lot about a person’s character when they know deep inside that their "inner mirror" will remain young and beautiful for all time. The outer reflection shows all of us feel younger inside than we project from the outside, but it is just nature’s way of telling us we have lived our dreams and did it with class.

Summer love

An old rope tied to a sturdy branch makes the perfect swing into the cool pond. Soon to be sunburned bodies relax in between turns sipping on cokes and talking about the next school year. Boys show off on the rope swing, while the girls giggle at their failed attempts. At lunchtime picnic baskets and coolers are brought out and seating arrangements are quick to be filled by boys wanting to sit next to their not so secret crush. Separate conversations fill the air with laughter and innocent joking all just a part of a summer day. When the afternoon sun starts going down and the day is coming to an end everything is packed up and the walk back to the car is quiet and reflective. Some hold hands while others shout out teasing words that go unheaded hands still held. They soon part and go separate ways promising to meet here again next Saturday. That night all in their separate homes they take a minute to re-live the day, smelling their clothes for a scent of someone who stole their heart, rubbing their hand that held another’s. To be young and free to fall head over heels for the first time should be one of the most wonderful times in your life….

Spring run

     His fur was blowing with the soft spring breeze as he looked out the open window, tail wagging, his keen sense of smell and hearing telling him it was just about that time when he would once again run free in the grass meadows behind the barn and down the hill. I sat at the kitchen table watching him watching me waiting for my boots to go on and my hat to be placed on my head. A sure sign it was time to leave. I only had to stand up and he made the leap off the couch to the door scattering rugs and barking his need to be on the other side of the door. It was a beautiful spring day with bright sunlight everywhere coming to rest on the new births of grass and wildflowers all soaking up the brilliant rays of life.

     I managed to get the door open but not all the way as he only needed a small space to dart through and take off in a run he had been dreaming of throughout the cold frozen winter. He ran faster and faster never slowing until he reached the back of the barn where he waited for me to catch up looking up at me with questioning eyes. Words weren’t needed, I just pointed to the meadow and he was off like a fur rocket darting left then right always moving until something would catch his attention like a bird or squirrel and then he became stealth slowly moving towards his target but never meaning harm.

     I walked a distance behind him as keeping up was impossible. Finding a fallen tree to sit on I listened to his faint barking knowing he was in dog heaven running and just being him. After a breather, I set off in his direction and called him to me. It took him a couple minutes but within a short time, he was at my side panting like a marathon runner. I gave him some water and started picking twigs and other things off his coat as he looked up at me with thankful looks and an occasional lick of my cheek. I pointed towards the barn and he took off running again only this time he stopped every so often to smell a wildflower or turn over a small rock filling his lungs with the freshness of the season. Back in the house, he fell asleep and I poured another cup of coffee watching my friend as he dreamed of his day in the meadow.

M.O.

Beach walk

The warm sand between my toes felt soothing to the body and mind. Worldly cares seemed to go out with the tide and peace came with the incoming waves. I walked for time unknown without even thinking of the problems waiting for me back with my flip-flops at the bottom of the wooden stairway. So, I walked and walked occasionally bending to pick up a piece of sea glass or an interesting seashell. The long stretch of isolated sand was beckoning me to stay my course and not look back. And I walked. The waves crashing on the shore were like a beat to a song yet sung. The heat mixed with the cooler ocean breeze browned my skin and warmed my soul. My lips parched were rewarded with a cool drink from the water bottle tucked away in my shorts pocket. And I walked. The day was coming to an end the pounding surf like an alarm going off telling me to go back to my flip-flops at the bottom of the wooden stairs and I walked. Darkness was all around me as I tried to navigate my way back to someplace I started from.it all looked the same. The tide was in and I had to walk through seagrass and fishing line as the surf pounded the shoreline. And I walked faster. After a long while, I saw the light from the hotel beckoning me to the wooden stairway that was now partially submerged as one of my flip-flops floated past me on its way out to sea.

Raw emotions

     Sometimes people ask me if my life is as sad and lonely as I write it to be? I keep telling them that I am a “storyteller” that I write about people and things that somehow just get transferred from my mind to the keypad. Sure, there may be characters in my books that remind me of someone I know or did know ages ago, and I may sometimes use the memories I have of them, combined with my imagination to create a unique character. Isn’t that what a writer does? I will admit however that having the ability to be a storyteller requires not only a vivid imagination but also having the ability to create from one’s own experiences and memories. That is the reasoning behind my most recent book titled “Raw emotions “I tried to create a series of stories based on my memories with a dose of my imagination. The contents of this book go back to over forty years of pieces I wrote pertaining to several topics. I can’t begin to tell you the joy it brought me to be able to share this book with you and I hope your imagination and memories are stirred up a little bit as you follow along with me on my journey titled “Raw emotions”

Available at-www.amazon.com

Dirty elbows

For those of you like me who have sat at countless bars resting your elbows on the rail or on the bar, top was as normal as breathing itself. Everyone had their own unique way of sitting at a bar. Check it out next time you belly up. One thing that separates the real barflies from the occasional stop in for a quickie is the color of the elbows. Yep, the elbows. A seasoned drinker will have elbows usually gray in color and very rough to the touch, a sure bet he or she has logged thousands of hours propped up on either one or sometimes both elbows. A cigarette in one hand elbow firmly planted, while holding the handle of a beer mug in the other, elbow again firmly planted. Don’t believe me? Try it. There are also the ones who have both elbows firmly rested on top of the bar hands folded, fingers entwined resting on the chin. Obviously in some form of deep thought. Yep, the gray elbows of a committed drinker are earned, well there bought, I wonder how much money a good set of bar elbows is worth? Something to think about huh? And I bet each one of you did or is looking at your elbows aren't you? Cheers!

Life lesson

Stretched out on my back beneath a giant oak I gaze upward through each branch and into the sky above. As the gentle breeze blows through the tree single leaf’s fall and slowly float down to me coming to rest where they were intended to return to the earth from which they came. My eyes follow them on their slow journey to dust and I am reminded I to someday will join them.

A sound in the distance gets my attention and I turn my gaze towards the woods edge where I see a doe standing still as she stares at me with big brown questioning eyes. What must she be thinking? Am I a threat, or a friend? Somehow my stillness attracts her, and she moves closer each step one of caution and concern. Very slowly I reach into my jacket pocket and remove a small piece of apple I was saving. Do deer even like apples? I have always believed animals and humans understand each other if given the opportunity to test the boundaries. Time past and the sun was beginning to slowly set awakening others in the woods that preferred the darkness to light. By now she was within ten feet of my seemingly lifeless being each of her steps coming sooner and with purpose. I closed my eyes and spoke to her with my softest voice barely a whisper and with sincerity. It was then she removed the piece of fruit from my outstretched hand all the while staring at me with those beautiful eyes. She retreated to the safety of her domain as I wiped a tear from my eye.My time under the giant oak had come to an end.Most would say I wasted a day, I say I attended a life lesson and I long to return.

Frozen memories

Frozen memories of times when my skin was tight and morals loose.

Born a rebel lived the life paid the price.

Steel ponies too many to remember but loved each one.

Mountain roads the smell of burning oak and colored leaf’s blowing across my path.

Racing down dead man’s curve a smile bigger than Texas and tears pouring out of my eyes.

And oh, the women. Grabbing hearts all along the way a beauty in every port a wife here and there but always another just around the bend.

Settled now? Not really, I still take on the curves just a bit slower and the ladies are more of a challenge, so I go for the ones that remind me of the days all their skin fit. Sometimes I get lucky but wonder how to keep up with their young desires.

I know I was destined to be alone and I really do welcome that as I age. My memories are plentiful and will keep me in smiles until I am a memory.

Going through the motions, for now, it really is all that’s left that makes any sense.

Had a good ride though matter of fact one hell of a ride and even though it is coming to an end I will always have the anticipation of the reward of forgiveness and a never-ending ride on the perfect road

Memories are often daunting, to say the least. I sometimes find myself staring into nowhere re-living a childhood or teenage memory only to find myself smiling at my own ability to recall after all these years. Sure, there may be some dust on the memory but then life isn’t always lint free is it? The memories I like most are the ones I question to be real or made up in my ever so slightly disorganized thoughts. It’s those memories I find myself thinking about as I put pen to paper. Once I've finished composing a piece I re-read it, re-live it, and store it away in the memory bank.

Reunion

The old rotary dial phone hadn’t rung in he didn’t know how long? The sound of it startled him so it took a few rings before he could get to it. “hello” a pause then “hi dad” the old man sat down because the voice on the other end was one he hadn’t heard in a very long time. “how are you dad”? He didn’t answer right away as he didn’t know how he was or how he could explain it.” I’m good I reckon and how about you are things going well for you”? The old man twirled the phone cord still not believing that his first-born son was on the other end probably as nervous as he was. They hadn’t spoken since his wife, and his son's mother had passed away going on twelve years now. “I’m good dad I know it’s been a long time and I got to thinking about you today and how we left things all those years ago. I wanted to apologize to you, I was wrong but stubborn like someone else I know. The old man managed a little smile and remembered that day a dozen years ago when he told his son he was better than what he was doing. The son disagreed and stormed out of the house saying goodbye forever. “yea I guess both of us have that stubborn streak done we?” “dad you said I was better than that and you were right, I was so I did go to college and graduated first in my class. I went on to become a doctor and have my own practice, I did good dad and I wanted you to know that” there was silence on the line for a while just the old mans labored breathing that has bothered him for a while now.” Still smoking old man”? He replied with the sound of his old flip top lighter and the line grew silent once again. “seems we have a lot to catch up on dad, so I was thinking of flying up there for a visit sometime soon” there’s somebody I want you to meet. Two people. I’m married dad with a son.” The old man got up from the chair and looked out of the kitchen window, a place he stood so many times watching his son play.” A son you say? What do you call him?” “his name is William dad after you.” The old man dried the tears from his eyes and spoke slowly into the old rotary phone.” Guess I’ll make up the guest room then” Thanksgiving will be here soon how about a big dinner with all the trimmings”? His son agreed that would be nice and they said their goodbyes and hung up. The old man stood at the window awhile longer then went to his tool shed to gather some tools he hadn’t touched in years. He tightened the nuts and bolts on the old swing set and even gave the teeter-totter a fresh coat of paint after all he couldn’t have “William” thinking he didn’t take care of his toys….

You are the dream

Sometimes dreams can fill the emptiness we live with daily. I had one such dream last night. You were there, you were the dream. Everything I loved about you was there to, your smile, your touch, your endless kindness and eternal love. I woke from the dream a couple of times fast realizing you were gone so I went back to sleep to see you again and again until the sun blinded me and made me wake up. It's evening again and I thought of you more than I usually do all day, now I’m sipping some warm milk looking forward to a long, long sleep………

I wonder

I sat a few feet away from three men of the streets. They were talking about what their plans for the day were. One said he had no plans that he was going to just sit where he was and do some thinking. He said it was good to just think sometimes. The other said he may go to the beach. He would put on a pair of long pants as it was a bit cool. The others nodded in agreement. “Got any beer”? “Just two and I need them for myself” “Got any money”? “Check comes tomorrow” ‘let’s go collect cans for scrap money,” one said, and the others nodded in approval. ‘Might get enough for a six” they got up and slowly walked away. Wish I could have heard the conversation they continued to have as they went about their day. I wonder how many of their ideas really came to be?

Forest of imagination

Dylan sings in the distance as my mind carry’s me back to a happy time of growth and discovery I can still clearly see the parties and smell the smoke, sweet smoke that put me deeper into the music, into the times. Small blots of color that melted on my tongue changing the music, changing the everything…

An old dilapidated house next to the college ten, twelve seventeen people living there sharing everything, sharing each other not knowing or caring just doing, and Dylan sings in the distance.

Packing up when summer came around headed to the forest, pitched tents, lost the clothes, journeyed in the night to the next campfire sharing each other, sharing drugs and stories that became songs. Running through the meadows catching fire fly’s in jars and becoming one with them as the acid took its toll for hours to come.

Waking in the meadow staring into the starless sky wanting to see the darkness again but settling for a swim in the gorge the water so loud it seemed like it made the noise twice. Making the way back to our camp naked and dirty and happy…

Music flowed with the smoke each breath taken filled with song and that sweet smell of earth a reason to stay here as long as possible.

So many stories so many people so many searches for one’s self in this forest of imaginations and experimentations. I was a lad of seventeen and never again will be as free both in mind and body. I sometimes wonder if I left my soul there?

Frozen memories

Frozen memories of times when my skin was tight and morals loose.

Born a rebel lived the life paid the price.

Steel ponies too many to remember but loved each one.

Mountain roads the smell of burning oak and colored leaf’s blowing across my path.

Racing down dead man’s curve a smile bigger than Texas and tears pouring out of my eyes.

And oh, the women. Grabbing hearts all along the way a beauty in every port a wife here and there but always another just around the bend.

Settled now? Not really, I still take on the curves just a bit slower and the ladies are more of a challenge, so I go for the ones that remind me of the days all their skin fit. Sometimes I get lucky but wonder how to keep up with their young desires.

I know I was destined to be alone and I really do welcome that as I age. My memories are plentiful and will keep me in smiles until I am a memory.

Going through the motions, for now, it really is all that’s left that makes any sense.

Had a good ride though, matter of fact one hell of a ride and even though it is coming to an end I will always have the anticipation of the reward of forgiveness and a never-ending ride on the perfect road

Passing water

He sat on the curb his head in his hands. He appeared to be looking at the slow-moving stream of water moving down the street gutters. In the shelter of a doorway I smoked a cigarette and for some reason was fixated on this person of the streets. He didn’t move from his position but then where did he have to go?” At least out of the rain” I thought to myself. He lifted his head from within his hands and looked towards the heavens. Opening his mouth, he drank gods tears and smiled as if to say thank-you for the drink.

Here I was out of the downpour fearing I would ruin my expensive shoes and he wore none. At that moment, I realized just how blind I was to the human spirit and the sometimes “clouded” minds of those walking right next to us on every street in every city and town. I went into a store and bought a pair of sneakers that I gave to the man. He looked up and smiled for a moment then went back to looking at the passing water.

There was nothing left to do or be said it was just a “moment” and it made me feel like I had made a sort of “contact” with a mind that had long since been ignored and waved off. I hope the sneakers fit.