Five colors

 He sat on the front porch, drifting somewhere but nowhere in particular. He did that a lot more frequently these days since she passed on to a place she believed in. For years, she tried to get him to join her for Sunday service, but he always came up with an excuse of one sort or another. He could see her in a Sunday dress, her hair neatly combed, and the bible in her hand that she was never too far away from. He buried it with her because she told him to, and he wasn't one to tell her otherwise.

The night air had a bite to it, so he went inside but wished he hadn't because all it did was remind him of her everywhere he looked. He roamed around from one room to another, seeing her sewing bag in a corner where she sat for hours making a blanket for a grandchild or a hat for him that he wore when it got cold enough, even if he felt a little silly in it with its five different colors.

He went into their bedroom, where everything was just the way she had it. He remembered so many times he'd sit on the edge of the bed, her reading, but put down the book to listen to him about one thing or another. They never solved any world problems, but they worked through many things in their world.

He hasn't slept in there since she passed. He couldn't lie there without her by his side, but when missing her got bad, he'd go in and sit at her dressing table, hold onto her perfume bottles, smell her hair in the brush, look into her mirror, and wonder why she had to go first.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her as plain as day, and they were dancing all around the living room to her favorite song, not a care in the world.

He didn't realize just how much he missed her, but the pain was real, and he doubted it would ever heal. He went through the motions of everyday life, going to the places they would go, each bringing a tear he didn't wipe away.

He grew older than he should have from eating his cooking, and not a second passed that he didn't miss hers. He supposed she was looking down at him, getting a few laughs at his culinary talents.

Three years was all he had left before he got called to be by her side again as his broken heart healed. Maybe she mended it with five different colors.

Mike 2024                                     

One love

 I was fortunate enough to have had one true love, someone who made the hair stand up on the back of my neck whenever they were near, the one whose kisses left a taste on my lips I prayed would never go away.

I was attracted to her like no other, although there were times in later life when I tried to find a love as true but never did and had to settle for second best. I know that's not fair, but I won't lie and say I didn't compare her to every woman I dated, lived with, and, in Two cases, married. None of them could ever take her place.

I loved her for a short time before she went to be with the angels, leaving me broken with an emptiness I still feel today decades later.

Her picture hangs on the wall in my study, a bit yellowed now, but her smile still shines through, and her perfect lips are worn away from my kisses, hoping to taste hers again.

I've come to accept the world's loss of such a beautiful person, but I can't accept why she had to go so young. Did she know I'd never be the same without her, and all I had were just memories to keep me from going insane?

It's been forty-some years that I've mourned her, and if I live to be one hundred, I'll mourn her even more.

Is there a bright side to this sorrow I've lived with? I believe there is. One day, I'll be called home and see her standing there, smiling at me with cherry-red lips, waiting to kiss mine. She said she'd been waiting for me for just a few moments, as heaven knows no time. And as she reached for my hand, my youth returned, and we were two teenagers in the deepest of love, walking together in eternity like we should have been doing on earth a very long time ago.

Mike 2024                                         

Writing in darkness

 He wrote by the light of candles. He said it was because he had to pay close attention to ensure his words made it to the paper rather than on the day's unread news. The candlelight chose a specific spot on his work, which was up to him to ensure it remained throughout the pages.

He wrote in silence, as the darkness of night was his favorite time to compose what he hoped would be worthy of his readers. The night was darkness, welcomed as most things slept, assuring him of the quiet he needed to grab hold of memories and other events he felt like sharing with perfect strangers.

Sometimes, he sat in that darkness for long periods when words stayed hidden, and his heart grew cold. No matter what he thought about, it wasn't worthy of telling, as wads of paper littered the floor and grew.

He tried to go back in time to where he felt most comfortable, and the thoughts came easier even though he had no idea where they came from.

Sometimes, that worked as if a switch was turned on, and words once again flowed.

Sometimes, as the sun began to rise, he knew what he had to do, so he snuffed out the candles and welcomed the light of day, the sounds of birds and lawnmowers, children at play, and life being lived. For now, he would enjoy the day, but in his mind, he longed for fresh candles and darkness to unleash a story.

Mike 2024                                                 

One last moment

 One last view of the forest. One last taste of the sea. One last amazing sunset before it's time to leave.

To hear a baby cry once more and one more time to dance. One more chapter in a book I can't leave to chance.

One more moment to hear the birds singing me to sleep, one more quiet memory belonging just to me.

One last time to tell you just how beautiful you are and one last time to kiss you, if only from afar.

One more precious second as the sun goes down to rest, I'll hold you in my arms and cry, knowing I was blessed.

Mike 2024                                       

A town forgotten

 In the distance, a car drove down a deserted street in a deserted town in a forgotten place. As he walked to the beat of snow crunching underfoot, he counted the light poles that still gave light and a traffic signal that stayed green for what seemed an endless amount of time.

He stopped in front of store windows that once a long time ago would be decorated for the holidays but are now boarded up, leaving him only his memories of time passed.

He sat on a bench where dozens of people would sit, waiting for the bus into the city. Where Initials in hearts were carved out, professing endless love that time once again forgot.

He lit up a smoke and watched as he blew smoke rings into the emptiness of the night, remembering days past when everyone seemed to smoke and never gave a second thought that they would kill you. After all, John Wayne smoked.

The sun would rise soon as he took one last walk through the town that time had forgotten. A drunk lay in a doorway of a closed drug store, his empty bottle beside him, and tomorrow, not promised.

At the edge of town, he stopped and looked back at where he grew up and the memories he made there. Now, it was just another whistle-stop he was passing through, hoping for a change but realizing he had just paid his last respects.

Mike 2024                               

    

Moments

 Some called him a storyteller, while others said he was a little outside the box. Whatever he was called, he did have a way with words, and he lived to write them down.

It all starts with a thought, a scent, maybe a song, and then his mind and heart take over. Like paring a fine wine with a tasteful dish, he carefully savors every word and begins to write.

There are times when hundreds of words attack his brain all at once, and it takes everything he has to capture them, arrange them in a sentence, a chapter, and the final product.

He often wonders when the words will stop and hopes he's one of the few who retains his memories and creativity until the moment of death when the final chapter is written, and everything stops or does it?

Mike 2024                                            

Veterans Day

 The sound of artillery fire haunts him to this day. The choking smoke of diesel fuel and the cries of fallen brothers broke him in ways only those who lived it could understand.

Cold steel was everywhere you touched, making you long for home and the softness of anything at all.

Like a lilypad floating on an endless sea, you forget what land felt like as you steam where you're needed, knowing it won't be good.

There is silence among your brothers trying to eat, but food isn't on your mind, and sleep only comes in spurts as the distant sound of the big guns sends ripples through the ship.

Weeks turn into months and months into more months with no word from home, leaving you with only memories to hold onto, along with a tattered photograph of the one you left behind.

Somewhere beyond your sight, a battle rages on, and men are dying, yelling for their mothers who watched them sail off so young and so scared.

It's your turn now as shells fly past you and a brother falls. Another strike and a gaping hole puncture the ship, and another brother cries in pain but can't be heard as more shells find their mark in the darkness of night.

Daylight brings support ships that shield us from further destruction and sinking to the ocean floor.

As we limp into port, an eerie silence fills the air as wounded are tended to, and shock is buried in your brain for as long as you live.

Like all battles, many are lost but never forgotten. The heroes of war don't feel like heroes; they are just thousands of warriors, some who made it home and some who didn't.

On this Veterans Day, stop for a minute and thank those who gave it all so we as a nation could live free and for those who will take their place on distant oceans, young and scared but ready to answer the call.

11-11-2024                                     

       

Mike

Small wooden box

 He had a small wooden box he kept in a drawer that he sometimes opened and traveled back in time to days long passed. With nimble fingers, he turned the pages of his life and remembered when things were simple and held great meaning.

He took out a box and removed the purple heart he received back when he was just twenty years of age and fighting for freedom. A sniper's bullet found its way to his leg and ended his time in the army, but he felt okay most days, and his limp was a constant reminder that freedom doesn't come easy.

He pulled out a picture of his wedding day, which had yellowed over time, and his beautiful bride, Marie. She was his nurse at the VA hospital, where he recovered from his wounds. It was love at first sight for him, but she needed a little more convincing.

The day he was discharged from the hospital, he promised her he'd come back carrying a dozen red roses and an engagement ring. He did, and she said yes. They had sixty years together, and when she passed, his heart broke into pieces he could never mend.

The next thing he removed from the box was a bag of marbles that belonged to their son, who left this world too young but filled their lives with joy and happiness every single day they had together. He wiped away the tears that always flowed when he held that bag of marbles.

There were letters from his wife she wrote to him in battle, sometimes taking months to reach him, but he didn't care because reading her words and smelling her perfumed envelopes got him through the darkness of war.

His son's baseball cap he never took off, a piece of rope he taught him to tie knots with, an old pitcher's mitt, and a pocket knife he thought every boy should have. They were his treasures in the old wooden box in an old dresser drawer under lock and key to preserve his memories, good and bad, happy and sad.

His wish was to be buried with the small wooden box so he would always be close to everyone and everything who gave his life meaning. On a cold and windy day, he was lowered into his final resting place next to his wife and son and his old wooden box that would join him on one final journey.

Mike 2024                                            

The last salute

 He stood on the river bank, watching the retired warship being towed to its final resting place among the others already at rest.

There were no more fierce battles and ports of call where, as a young sailor, he found comfort in a woman he would never see again.

Looking at the rusting ship, he remembered her with fresh paint and the flag flying proudly as they steamed toward yet another battle.

He looked up to the bridge, where he once saw the captain giving orders and officers yelling at kids like him who were scared to death but never wavered in their duties as sailors.

He saw his shipmates operating the guns of war, each shot deafening and leaving your ears ringing sometimes forever.

He watched as the stern became lost in sight as the tug maneuvered the tired lady to her final resting place, where guns were quiet, sailors faded away, and all that she was remembered in the mind of one last crew member who cried openly and without shame.

He saluted the old ship and began to walk away, but not before hearing one final blast of the ship's horn as if she was saying thank you and fair seas to her last remaining sailor.

Mike 2024                                                

I'll be there

 I'm watching over you; that's something you should know.

I'll be right here beside you wherever you may go.

I'll be there for your birthdays, and we'll walk a million miles

I'll sing to your new babies and watch you as they smile.

I'll always be beside you through the good times and the bad

I'll give you peace and comfort because I am your dad.

I'll kiss away your teardrops whenever you feel sad 

I'll plant a distant memory you forgot you even had.

I'll always be close by you to take away your pain

I'll whisper words of comfort in the sunshine and the rain.

I'll always say I love you and hope that you can hear

I'll wait for an eternity and the day you'll join me here.

Mike 2024

                                              

The study

 Silence filled the small room he called his study. He went there when he needed silence so his words would flow smoothly. Outside, the noises of a family carried on without him for a while, at least until his heart had spoken and words put on paper.

There weren't hundreds of books in his study, no certificates of schools attended, or numerous writing awards; just a desk and a chair that looked out of a window into the forest where he got lost until that first word was written.

Sometimes, he'd watch his children play in the backyard, throwing sticks to their dog Skipper, playing hide-and-seek, and playing on their swings, pumping their little legs trying to reach the forest's trees. When they were called inside, he would again look at the trees, a bare canvas for inspiration.

He longed for perfect sentences, and then, like something magical, his pen began a journey that would lead him deep inside his mind and onto paper.

At times, he would go so far back into his memory that he wondered if he'd ever return, leaving him tired and relieved that his mind hadn't been too destroyed by his youth and all he'd ingested in the name of experiment and curiosity. There were moments when he wanted to do those things just one more time, to visit Alice in Wonderland or follow the Yellow Brick Road. But he had a family now, and escaping reality again was too scary.

So he went to his study, the small room once a nursery, and he picked his mind to write about what he saw as he bounced back and forth between reality and a desire to flash back to days in the forest that, for now, he can only look at through a window sitting at his desk looking at the many album covers that took the place of books on the wall. Zeplin, the Stones, The Doors, Jethro Tull, Cream, and more dove headfirst into his mind and have remained a source of his imagination, leading to hundreds of stories, some real and others probably from the deepest part of his mind, that will keep him guessing until the ink runs dry.

Mike 2024                                                

Walking with her

 He walks alone on the beach they once walked on, letting the sand flow between his toes and breathing in the ocean smells. Not many words are spoken as he walks, and she looks for treasures from the sea, always telling him this is the day she will uncover something extraordinary. Every so often, she stops and sifts through the sand, scooping out handfuls and letting it flow out between her fingers with help from an incoming wave. Oh, look, my love, colored glass probably from an old pirate ship hundreds of years ago. A rum bottle, she said, and put it in her pocket to take home, clean, and add to her collection of things found on the beach.

He could see her clearly going about her quest for treasures, letting a tear fall, mixed with the salt water running down his face. Then, he'd find himself alone again except for the memories of their time together and all the adventures they had living a simple life on a beach, her looking for bounty and him looking for her.

Mike 2024                                         

Old friends

 His old guitar leaned against the wall, gathering years of dust. If only it could come out to play one more time. The scars of age were each a reminder of a gig, a concert, and quiet moments in the night when it had to be played. 

He looked at it and felt a closeness, a bond, a friendship that lasted through the years. It was carried around from town to town until it was noticed and heard by some who would make it famous.

But it wasn't the fame. It was because he was a part of a team that sang for the love of playing, so he continued doing gigs in small towns and around campfires, reaching the hearts of those who felt it's every beat and strum like a lullaby to the soul.

It's tired now, like its partner, gathering dust and leaving the music to the younger people, who some say learned from them as they were indeed masters of their craft.

He slowly got up and reached for his old friend, caressing her, wiping away the years of dust, and telling it they had one last song to play. Holding it felt natural as he softly strummed its strings to a song they had written long ago. The music flowed out the window and was heard by a group sitting around a campfire who began to sing along, never missing a note or a chorus.

They did like us, my friend, he said as he set it back, leaning against the wall, waiting for the dust of time to rest on both of them.

Mike 2024                                 

                  

Silent keys

 He sat at his desk deep in thought, trying to find the words to best describe his love for her, but the keys were silent. He tried to remember all she meant to him over the years, all he wanted to write to her, but the keys remained silent.

 He wanted to tell her all she meant to him and how just thinking of life without her made a hole in his heart that could never be healed. But still, the keys were silent.

Then, a memory of their first kiss came to mind, and he could close his eyes and taste her lips. He remembered asking her to be his wife and how she cried with tears of happiness. He remembered being by her side when their first child was born and how they cried together.

Then the keys came to life as one memory after another found its way to his fingers, and the keys sang out like their favorite song. He smiled, knowing his memories awakened the silent keys, as everything he wanted to say to her flowed like a river running straight from his heart.

Mike 2024                                     

 

God rest her soul

 His steps were slow, almost a shuffle. Even the most basic actions required concentration. He was often grateful for the small house. 

He made it to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee that would last a couple of hours before he brewed another. It kept him awake, allowing him to live the day on his own terms and not fall asleep every time he sat down. He didn't care much his trousers were stained with things that never made it to his mouth, a menu of meals past.

He turned on a stove burner and heated his wife's iron skillet—God rest her soul. He cracked two eggs into the pan and made his way to the toaster in just enough time to get back to the stove and turn off the burner. He had known for a while now how to time things at his pace. He put the eggs on a plate and got the toast slightly burnt but he would scrape some of it off. His neighbor gave him a jar of peach jam, which he used sparingly to make it last.

By the time he sat down and began to eat, he was already tired, but the wait was worth it. One more cup of coffee and the other half of a partially smoked cigarette completed his first meal of the day—and maybe his last if the caffeine didn't work. He made his way to the sink and washed his plate and wiped out the iron pan the way she showed him God rest her soul. 

Time didn't matter to him anymore. He just let his growling stomach tell him when to eat. He went to the kitchen window and watered her favorite plant, which he somehow managed to keep alive. He figured it was her doing, and he smiled.

He managed to get through most of his day as daylight faded and the house got dark. He turned on a small light that lit the way upstairs, looking at the pictures of the family they hung on the wall from the bottom to the top. Hed stop on every step remembering when all of them were taken during the happiest times of his life.

He sat on the edge of their bed, one they had shared for sixty-seven years, and his tears began to flow. Lying in that bed, he thought of her, and how deeply he loved her, hoping someday soon, they would reunite for eternity. 

But until that day, he would go through the motions of cooking eggs in her iron skillet, watering her favorite plant, and hoping she didn't see him smoking. God rest her soul.

Mike 2024                                         

 

A million miles away

 I know you see me from a million miles away. I sense your presence almost always. I know you hear me when I say your name in a song, and sometimes I swear a cloud is smiling.

It seems like yesterday you left me, but decades have passed, and my broken heart stays broken. Maybe I don't want it to mend so I can still miss you as much as the day I said goodbye

I know you see me from a million miles away, and I see you in every memory that fills my heart. One day, we will look down on the place that was a whistle-stop to eternity and look together.

Mike 2024                           

        

Autumn remembered

 Soon, the mornings will be cool as leaves explode in beauty. The corn fields will be harvested, and children will pick pumpkins, leaving the rest for the earth to take back. There were always Sunday drives to capture the beauty etched in my mind that lasted a lifetime. Children jump into piles of raked leaves, sometimes joined by parents. While pumpkins are carved and set on the porch, waiting to glow by candlelight.

Bonfires and smores, hot apple cider, and pumpkin pies fill the air as only they can. Dozens of trick-or-treaters walk the sidewalks as parents guide the way with flashlights, telling the smallest goblins to hold out their bags.

Sweaters are pulled from dresser drawers, and jeans replace shorts for another few months. Yard furniture is stored in the garage, and lawnmowers are replaced with snow blowers as winter draws near.

Autumn brings so many pleasures and anticipations of what awaits around the corner, but that's tomorrow. Today, we will watch as the colorful leaves begin their slow journey, falling off the trees in a sort of dance and coming to rest on the soon-to-be-frozen ground.

It's my favorite season, and I take in as much as possible to get me through the harshness of what awaits as winter softly knocks but not for long. 

Mike 2024                                              

Washing dishes

 

Washing dishes and looking out the kitchen window at her world had never seemed like a chore. Her once-young hands kept smooth by wearing rubber gloves. She went through the motions, remembering her mother telling her to use plenty of hand lotion afterward, which she does to this day.

The dishes are few now as her husband passed a while back, and she seldom gets visitors anymore except when her daughter and kids come for a week when school gets out. She laughs, thinking about what one child asked her as he stood on a stepstool, her handing him a dish towel and telling him to dry after she rinsed. He wondered, grama, are you poor? Why do you ask? Well, you don't have a dishwasher like we do. We just put the dirty dishes in the machine, turn a switch, and leave the room.

She thought for a minute and then told him that if she had a dishwasher, she wouldn't be able to stand side by side with him and tell each other what their day had been like, how school was going, and anything else that came to mind, and the dishes would be washed in no time at all.

That grandson comes to visit, but not nearly enough now, as he's grown and busy with his life. They still stand side by side, talking about many things, remembering when he stood on a stool to look out the kitchen window as she handed him a dish towel. He didn't need the stool anymore; he just needed her standing beside him, looking out the kitchen window at their worlds.

Mike 2024

One in a million love

 She was his rock, his confidant, and his shining light in an otherwise dark world. They were in love longer than most, taking their vows to heart and never wavering for all sixty-eight years. She remembered the good times and the bad, but every day, they kissed each other good morning. She knew their love was as strong as ever, and she prayed for one more day together to see another sunrise, a full moon, and star-filled nights.

They sat on the porch together in the swing he had made for her, slowly rocking back and forth. Occasionally, they remarked on something they had probably already said a thousand times but still held great meaning to each other.

They talked about the kids, grandkids, and soon-to-be great-grandkids and how much they enjoyed their visits just to watch them grow up in front of their eyes. They spoke of when a tornado came through, destroying the barn but sparing the house, and how friends, now mostly gone, helped build another bigger and better than the last.

Sometimes, during their talks, he would reach for her hand carefully, as she was fragile, and he didn't want to hurt her. She would gently squeeze his hand, letting him know it was all right.

As daylight began to fade, he helped her up and steady himself at the door, leading them into their home, where they shared a cup of tea or, on occasion, a glass of sherry to help them sleep. Neither wanted the day to end, fearing they may not wake to a new day. But it was a reality they saw many times with others their age.

Waking to a sun-filled day, they looked at each other and smiled, knowing there would be another sunrise, full moon, and star-filled night as they slowly rocked in the swing, gently holding hands and knowing their love was one in a million.

Mike 2024                                                                 

Neatly folded uniform

 He knew people sometimes laughed at him, but he grew used to it over time. They didn't know that he defended his country many years ago and came home broken and alone. They didn't know the pain he lived with every waking hour or the pride he still felt when he saw the flag.

They couldn't see the scars he kept hidden or the nightmares that followed him home. All they saw was a broken old man who got in the way.

They didn't know he suffered for them and never thought twice about serving his country. He was one of many silent heroes who proudly wore the uniform now neatly folded in a cedar chest.

War isn't something you forget. It's latched onto you for as long as you try to live an everyday life, but normal doesn't exist for you and never will again.

Now, another white cross marks his grave among his fallen brothers as he finally rests in peace, leaving memories and pain behind him, standing before his maker in the neatly folded uniform he so proudly wore.

For all those who served with pride and honor, I salute you.

Mike 2024                                            

Four miles away

 My footprints behind me blew away in the relentless winter winds. A million thoughts going through my mind as I try to taste her lips once more before mine are frozen in a puckered position forever.

She bundled me up in layer after layer before kissing our last kiss goodnight, watching me from her window until I became invisible in the darkness of winter's fury.

Four long miles at a snail's pace, each breath a labor of love, each step a gift. I took that walk in every season, come rain and heat and winter freeze. But summer was my favorite because I could taste her lips all the way home, four miles away.

Mike 2024                                           

                                               

Hint of jasmine

 A gentle breeze blew with a hint of jasmine as It flew past me on its way to another front porch swing. 

Blades of grass and tulip bulbs rise to say hello after a long winter's nap, and the robin's song fills the air with a springtime melody.

The windows are opened as curtains dance and point the way for winter stale to leave.

Buckets of paint are unopened, and ladders are set to give the old gal a facelift, but that will have to wait until the sights and sounds of springtime say goodbye to me as it flies past with a hint of jasmine and summer on its tail.

Mike 2024

                                                                      

Her porch

 She sat on the front porch he built with his own two hands, remembering the day he started it. She stopped peeling apples as her memories took her back to a happy time.

They were so young when they married and began building a life together on a good-sized piece of land her father gave them as a wedding gift. They lived in a tiny cabin while he built the house that became their home for sixty-eight years.

When everything was finished except the porch, he asked her how it should look. She picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt, the perfect place for family gatherings on a Sunday afternoon, a place where troubles were worked out and the lessons of life taught. She kept on drawing as he smiled, knowing he needed more lumber.

It took him several weeks to complete the porch of all porches, and when it was complete, they stood back and looked at it for some time, wondering if they had gone too far.

She resumed peeling the apples for Sunday dinner, remembering when dozens of friends and relatives would gather. Some were inside to help prepare a feast, and many more would sit on the porch in the fifteen rocking chairs he had built over time. Others would perch themselves on the railing she insisted on so the little ones would be safe. She couldn't count the times that porch was like a babysitter for her.

She looked around the now silent porch, reliving in her mind the sounds and sights of family and friends. There were no more footsteps on the wooden floor or children's laughter as they played like children do. She saw the faces of loved ones now passed on, and for an instant, she saw him standing in front of her holding the stick she used long ago to draw her perfect porch. Then, with the tip of his hat, he was gone, leaving her once more to rock slowly and finish peeling apples.

Mike 2024

                                               

           

Old salt

 Many decades and memories ago, I sailed the oceans of the world as a boy just out of high school and craving the life of a sailor. Little did I know what awaited me around the ship's dark passageways as a new boy who hadn't gotten his sea legs yet. Harmless beatdowns more of an initiation than anything else, an old salt tradition, you could say.

I became a man while on a warship, learning the ins and outs and making friends who would always be my brothers. One of my favorite places was the single bridge, the highest point of the ship, where I could look down at the ant sailors scurrying about their duties so far below me.

We spent endless months patrolling, always ready for whatever came across our bow, friend, or foe.

Liberty was a time to let off steam. In every port we anchored, lands of extreme beauty went unnoticed for the most part to a kid of eighteen. His mind was getting drunk and laid over and over again until the ship doctor broke out the crab medicine and worse.

At twenty years of age, I was counting the days until I was discharged and sent back home to begin a new life as a civilian. The only thing was that I didn't want any other life, only life as a sailor. At thirty-six years of age, I was discharged with a bunch of medals on my chest and two decades of service that came with good luck, a cake, and a lifetime of wanting to forget the sadness that sailed with me.

Now, I sit on a boulder looking out to my beloved ocean, remembering how the ship sometimes sailed smoothly and other times got tossed around like a kid's toy. Or I was sitting high above her, looking down at the ant sailors going about their duties. Sometimes, I relive the big guns firing at ships too close for comfort, seeing the flags of our enemies, and the captain shouting orders to steer hard starboard as a torpedo came within inches of blowing us out of the water. 

I hear the screams of my brothers caught up in the fight as metal pierces their bodies, a one-way ticket home in a flag-draped casket. I kept telling myself it was a choice that I could have gone on to college or learned a trade, but the ocean called my name and soon owned my very soul.

Many years have passed, but I still find myself sitting on that boulder, wishing to get my sea legs again, having one more liberty call with my brothers, and feeling the salt on my face as we sail on to distant lands and sometimes crab medicine.

Mike 2024                                          

Memories

 Beautiful memories must be nurtured like flowers need sunlight to grow. Even the smallest one is kept locked away until called upon to surface, bringing with it another segment of your life story .

We make memories, both good and bad, happy and sad, reality and fiction, that somehow all come together to make us who we are and what we choose to remember. Memories of love are the strongest of all and feel different than any other, encompassing everything we feel that left an impression in our hearts.

I love writing about my memories, reaching back and remembering those that brought laughter and sometimes tears, but always a thank you once they've gone away and been saved for another time. If you think about it, we are the caretakers of our memories and should never take them for granted because they may not respond one day.

Mike 2024                                             

     

Whispers

 He didn't sleep again last night and got tired of looking at the ceiling with the water spots from the big storm years ago. So he got up, slipping on the slippers she bought for him some time ago—he couldn't remember exactly. It seemed to him that getting moving was more challenging every day, but why should he care? He wasn't going anywhere as he looked at the calendar to confirm that. Why did she have to leave him? He whispered as he slowly stood up and made his way to the kitchen a million miles away, or so it seemed to him.

His daughter said she might come for a visit this week but hasn't shown up yet. Or did she? Surely, he'd remember if she had. He put the kettle on for his morning cup of tea, whispering he wished it was a strong cup of coffee, but the doctor said no caffeine, and that was that, except for the times he didn't listen and enjoyed a cup anyway.

Why is it so quiet here? He whispered, looking out the window and seeing some birds perched on a wire with their mouths wide open, singing a morning song he couldn't hear. He reached across the table, finding his hearing aids, whispering how much he had a love, hate relationship with the damn things. But he liked to hear the birds, so he put them on and smiled at the melodies outside his window.

He got up and shuffled across the kitchen to a junk drawer that held everything and then some. But it wasn't tape or paper clips he searched for; it was a half-pack of cigarettes he was after. The doctors will love this, he whispered, lighting it and returning to the table and a cold cup of tea.

He was enjoying his morning, making smoke rings, when the door opened. His daughter came in, put her arms on her waist, and asked him what he was doing in God's name. He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray she had made for him in grade school long ago. What would Mom say? She asked him. Probably join me, he whispered.

Not long after, he met his beloved wife, leaving his daughter to sort through his things, a tearful job she never wanted to do. He didn't have much of any value, so she boxed it and donated it to charity—all except that old ashtray she made for him so very long ago.

Why did you have to leave me? She whispered as she closed the door behind her.

Mike 2024           

                  

Final visions

 As I become one again with the Earth, I join others who came before me who guide me through a journey that even Alice in wonderland would be amazed at. 

The ground itself and the ocean's waters accept a part of me that will always remain within them for a time unknown to man.

I will be among the wildflowers and the fireflies and all things beautiful.

I will see the faces of those I love and share passing smiles as the clouds carry them away.

As I become one with Earth, I will move slowly and deliberately, finding answers to lifelong questions that were buried but are now as clear as daylight.

Infinite space and time have no meaning. No memory exists, and feelings that once mattered are erased for eternity.

We become a small part of the Earth, a spec in a sandstorm, a snowflake in a blizzard. And We know only peace and want for nothing.

In that final moment when fate is decided, we will begin our journey, led by an angel guiding us into the heavens as we say goodbye and are rewarded with one last vision of who we were.

Mike 2024                                       

Junk drawer

 He rummaged through the junk drawer, pulling out things he had no use for but kept just the same: a roll of tape he couldn't get started, a screwdriver with a worn tip, Zip ties the size of Texas, and finally, a rolled-up piece of tissue. He unrolled it carefully until he was holding a candle in his hand. It was the candle on his wife's last birthday some fifteen years ago. Then, like he's done for all those fifteen years, he put the candle on a cupcake and lit it. Happy birthday, sweetheart he said and quickly blew the candle out to make it last another year. As he sat there watching the last puff of smoke rise to the heavens, he smiled, knowing one day he'd join her, and that candle would remain rolled up in a tissue forgotten in the junk drawer.

Mike 2024                       

               

Secret place

 We called it our secret place way back when. It was an abandoned small neighborhood store her great aunt Me-Me owned that closed after her death at the age of ninety-two. Everything remained the same inside for years after her death because, sorry to say, no one cared what happened to it. It had no value, as everything was in need of repair, so it sat there with the cobwebs and dust undisturbed except for us.

We were both sixteen when we first went inside. She had found a key that unlocked decades of emptiness. The small building was nestled between two other stores at the Time: a barbershop that closed years ago and a small hardware store with boarded-up windows. I remember walking in  and thinking, "Time does have a way of standing still."

The smell of all things old filled my nose as she took my hand and led me around. She told me she remembered coming there as a child visiting her great aunt and helping herself to penny candies, which remained untouched and rotten on the counter. Our footprints on dusty wooden floors followed us to a small kitchen where her aunt would make treats of all kinds that she wrapped in paper with a red ribbon tied around them and displayed next to the candy jars.

The wooded shelves behind the  counter were still filled with canned goods, their labels faded, once colorful fabrics, dry goods, and burlap sacks. There were brooms made of straw and assorted toys under a small Christmas tree, now just a piece of wood with a pile of dead needles.

A narrow staircase led to her aunt's bedroom. It seemed she was a bit of an eccentric and collected a lot of stuff over the years, some still in the boxes they came in, gathering more dust. Old hat boxes, umbrellas of old with fancy lace and elegant sets of gloves, some with encrusted bling, and a closet bursting at the seams with dresses and gowns and dozens of shoes that were never worn.

Look at me, she said as she entered the room draped in a full-length mink coat and matching hat. I remember her wearing this when she came to visit and thinking someday I'd have something like that. Oh, well, at least I had a chance to wear it once. There were boxes of old polorides of family, friends, and kids who came to her store. She loved kids but never had any of her own and was known around town as the old maid.

Look at this, I said, handing her a picture of her aunt holding the arm of a soldier in uniform. On the back was written, "My one and only love." She told me she asked her Grandmother about the man, and she told her they were madly in love, and when he died in the Great War, her heart died along with him.

The store became our own museum as each time we went there, we found more and more stuff that told us of her past and how, eventually, she retreated into herself and never went outside but remained behind closed doors, dying a little more each day.

Her Grandmother found her lying on her bed in a beautiful red dress and a new pair of shoes, wrapped in a fur coat and matching hat. She said she had a smile on her face and held tightly in her frail hand the picture of her one true love. Knowing that we felt like we were disturbing a sacred place. We never returned until years later when the city bulldozed the three small stores, making way for something new. We watched as the little store came crashing down until nothing remained except for some broken penny candy jars and a lifetime of sadness.

Mike 2024

This story is based on truth. My first love and I often went to her aunt's store. It started as a place to be alone and do what young lovers do. But as we discovered more about her aunt, we began treating the store as a place of memories we didn't want to disturb. Rest in peace, Aunt Me-me.

Red tables and chairs

 He stopped in front of a storefront he went to decades ago. Back then, it was a soda shop he remembers with red tables and chairs, a jukebox playing the hits of the day, and high school kids gathered around talking about Friday night football and who was in love with who. 

It was a simpler time when your television set had three stations, and your telephone had a twenty-foot cord so you could go into a closet and talk in private.

He remembered her like it was yesterday, meeting at the soda shop, eating a hamburger and fries, and washed down with an ice-cold Coke. You were as shy as any kid could be, but you swore you wouldn't mess this up. When a second Coke was ordered, you felt like you'd known her forever.

Throughout high school, you were inseparable. You carried her books and walked her home every day, talking and holding hands, planning your futures together, and finding love for the first time.

School dances, football games, movies, and quiet nights sitting on a park bench in silence, hoping nothing would ever change, but it did. It wasn't that they grew apart on purpose. It was two lives going in different directions, trying to meet somewhere in the middle with beliefs that they would be okay but they never were again.

Now, as he stands here looking through the window of a cell phone store that once gave his young life meaning, is as gone as those red tables and chairs. He wonders where she is now and if she has found love and happiness. He tries to manage a smile, but his heart says no.

He slowly walked away from the old soda shop, his hands in his jacket pockets, and only looked back once.

Mike 2024.                                 

 

Winter memories

 The cold wind of winter slapped me in the face as I walked the quiet streets of my past. Memories came flooding back at a pace hard to describe, like a movie on fast forward. Houses that each told a story still stand, looking weathered and old. Clapboards need paint, and sidewalks not shoveled.

I chose the cold to take this journey back to my favorite time of year so I'd always remember ice skating and sledding, which brought big smiles and a mother's warmth when it was time to come inside. I also remember snow days from school and countless snowball fights, usually ending when someone got hurt. I wore layers of clothes and green rubber snow boots that kept my feet from freezing. Then came the spring thaw, with muddy everything from head to toe and dirty little snow piles soon to be washed away with a springtime shower.

I'm old now, with winter's memories, remembered and lost, while some remain buried as deep as a snow fort made with frozen mittens. And I'll always remember the smell of baking bread coming from Mom's kitchen a few feet away. My frozen face smiles as I try to walk in the footprints of those who walked before me but are soon blown away by a cold winter wind. And I wonder if someone else chose the cold to go back in time and walk the quiet streets of their youth.

Mike 2024                                                                                              

Creatures big and small

 He once lived off the mountain, where people scurried around like working bees. He had a job, a house, and almost a wife once. He did odd jobs to save enough money to leave that place and find the peace he sought high on a mountain where the only sounds were those of the wild.

He built his house with his bare hands now scared from life and hard work. His was a quiet life when words were said silently if said at all.

The years passed, and he grew old alone with no regrets as he had made more friends than he could count. He named them, and when they came to visit, he would put something in his hand, and they would go to him gently, taking the piece of meat or something from his garden, then back away slowly, looking him in the eye as if saying thanks.

Soon, his age would prevent him from hiking the many trails he had carved over the years, and he knew one day soon he would have to venture down the mountain and seek help. Or he could sit in the rocking chair he had made decades ago and hold out his hands, filled with nuts and things from his garden that fell to the ground without notice, as his friends on the mountain quietly said goodbye to the man who was their friend.

Years later, some hikers came across an old cabin with the skeleton of a man sitting in a rocking chair, where small animals in the dozens seemed to be guarding him. One hiker pointed to the trees, where he could see larger animals of the mountain looking at him as if to say, "Leave this place, as it is sacred ground."

He was a kind and gentle man who became one with his mountain and the friends he made who showed this place to their young for generations, telling them not all who come to the mountains are looking for sport but rather for peace within themselves and bonds of friendship with those creatures both big and small who understood him when words need not be spoken

Mike 2024         

                    

Man on fire

 I met him years ago when he cut my grass. He was a large man who rode around on his mower all day, singing as he went, in heat or cold. He would stop if he saw me and ask about my family, especially my grandson, who he told me was very polite and an excellent young man he would say. 

He told me how he and his aging mom loved avocados, and I happened to have a tree growing that produced many avocados yearly. 

I would pick a bag full, hunt him down doing a lawn, and then give him the bag. You would have thought I gave him a bag of gold. He told me his mom had many recipes for them, and he would surprise me the next time she made something special.

True to his word, a couple of weeks later, he showed up at my door with a covered dish. This here, he said, is Momma's favorite dish, and mine too. He removed the cover, and the heat rose from the dish, invading my nose. My eyes began to water as he laughed and laughed. It's spicy, isn't it? He said with a toothless grin. 

He took a plastic spoon from his coverall pocket and handed it to me, saying, "Go on, now have a taste. "I took a bite, and my tongue stopped working like it does at the dentist after a shot of Novocain. My tears flowed down my face, and when they reached the bottom of my stomach, I had serious thoughts that I was dying. He likes it, Momma. Just look at him! "I managed a smile at Momma as she waved from the truck and yelled, "Thank you for the avocados! "

Well, you can enjoy that now and don't worry about the dishes. They're the ones you throw away. Imagine that, he said, walking back to his truck. It took a while before I regained the feeling in my mouth, but you have to admit, it was one crazy moment in my life that I won't forget.

I heard he passed away recently, shortly after his mother, and now, every time I pick some avocados, I think of him and the simple joy he got watching me on fire.

Mike 2024                                     

           

Bird songs

 She woke to the birds singing, something she had looked forward to since she could remember. Their morning songs, which she sometimes joined in, brought silence as the confused birds wondered who the new guy was, but they soon resumed their morning melodies, knowing it was a friend. With a mug of coffee in hand, she opened the screen door and ventured into the early morning hours when everything was waking up to a new day. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the purest of air, only found on her small farm deep into the forest. She smelled her favorite wildflowers growing in a meadow and the sweet grass surrounding her cottage that the goats kept groomed. There was Fresh cut hay and several rows of corn almost ready for harvest. It was an earthly smell, she thought out loud. She picked some herbs, put them in her apron pocket for cooking later, and let out a small scream as she came upon some strawberries she hadn't looked at for a while. Next came some blueberries she gathered, which got her thinking about making a pie for a dinner guest she wanted to impress. The day moved on as she went down to the spring, where the water bubbled across rocks, inviting her into the cool water where she shed her dress and cleaned herself with lavender soap she had made. Drying with the sun on her skin, she sat upon a boulder as the last few rays of sunlight began to make room for the night. Suddenly, she jumped up and headed for the cottage to finish cooking dinner and making herself as pretty as she could when there was a soft knock at her door. He stood there holding flowers and smiling, telling her how beautiful she looked. And was that blueberry pie he was smelling? It was a nice dinner, but it was getting late, so he kissed her cheek and thanked her, hoping for a kiss in return. All he got was the scent of lavender as she shook his hand goodnight. She fell asleep to the horned owl and awoke to the sound of singing birds, and all was good.

Mike 2024                                                

Wooden porch

 He didn't care much for television. It became a race to see how many car commercials could be aired in a thirty-minute show. Besides, he wouldn't be buying a new car anytime soon, as he turned in his license a while back. He preferred to sit on his front porch and think back to when this little house was bustling with the laughter of children and grandchildren and the smell of Sunday dinners that brought them all together. Now it's quiet, and the laughter has gone someplace else, and the only thing that moved was a teardrop falling down his face and landing on the old wooden porch.

Mike 2024

Last sunset

 I held you as your last sunset gave way to stardust, gently wrapping you in a blanket of softness. I looked at you and saw a tiny smile, but what it said was as large as the heavens themselves. Our time together may have been different than most, but we used every second as if it were our last. Stolen moments that always seemed like the first time with a spark turned into a flame that would never blow out. I can't picture being without you, as that emptiness and sorrow have filled my shattered heart. And no one will convince me time will heal when the pain consumes me with every breath I take. In my dreams, I will hold you again and laugh with you. I will kiss you good morning and again at night. I will remember all we meant to each other, as each memory I have will be a gift of love from you to me.

Mike 2024                                                

Shadow dance

 He danced with her shadow, the one he kept inside. Their favorite song playing in his mind as he held her close, her perfume filling him with memories of days long past and a love that could never end.

They were so young when they met at a USO dance before he shipped out. He spotted her right away, laughing with other girls. Then, her eyes fell on him, and she smiled a smile that burned into his heart and would stay there for decades to come. He asked her for a dance, a boy in a man's uniform who had never danced before, except for the time his mom showed him a few steps to get him through his senior prom just eight months ago.

She smiled and followed him to the dance floor, where he gently held her in his arms until the music stopped, neither wanting to let go. She started to walk back to her friends but turned and reached for his hand. I love this song she said and wrapped her arms around him for one of many dances that glorious night in 1945.

Now, a weathered old man alone without her asks her shadow for one last dance, humming the song they called theirs as his stocking feet tried not to step on her toes. He hears her voice so clearly and smells her perfume, remembering a young boy in a man's uniform who fell in love on a dance floor all those years ago. Now he dances with her shadow, the one he keeps inside. Their favorite song playing in his mind as he holds her close, her perfume filling him with memories of days long past and a love that could never end.

 

 

A dusty picture

 She sat down her, knitting for a moment, as her gaze landed on their wedding picture, which had been on the shelf he had built many years ago. When did she dust it last? She asked out loud. But it wasn't dust she saw; it was her tears falling that clouded the picture. She slowly got up and headed for the kitchen to make a cup of tea but stopped in front of the shelf, taking the picture in her hands and lovingly wiping away any dust with her apron. Back you go, she said to herself, wiping away the tears and picking up her knitting, remembering that day as if it was yesterday. She wore her mother's wedding dress, as did her daughter, with a few alterations. They married at her husband's family farm, and closing her eyes, she pictured it all. The tables filled with food, the smells of the farm, and the way he never seemed to stop smiling at her. She recalled a wooden dancing floor in the meadow where they danced the night away, never wanting the music to stop. She looked at the picture again, drying her eyes, knowing for certain there was no dust.

Mike 2024                                                            

Red envelope of love

 He always remembered a birthday or their anniversary. He was just that kind of man. He enjoyed looking through rows and rows of greeting cards but usually had to settle for the one that only came close to expressing his feelings. So he began to write his own cards, each a testament to their lives, love, and the times they shared for all those years.

He took all the time needed to express his true feelings, writing the verse with pen and paper and sealing it in a red envelope. All the envelopes were red, regardless of sentiment, as it was her favorite color.

In time, he wrote to her often, not just for birthdays or anniversaries but for the everyday things he wanted to say.

He wrote about their first date, first kiss, and the day they married. He wrote about their first house, second car, and a room full of children and grandchildren. He wrote to her so she would never forget the depth of his love, and she kept each one, often picking a red envelope from her chest of treasures and reading it over and over until her tears dried and the next time she opened a red envelope of love.

Mike 2024                                                  

single teardrop

 A tiny raindrop came to rest on his tired and weathered face as he tried to remember her. At times, her image came clearly to him, and he could smile again, but in the dark moments, the ones he tried over and over to see never came. 

Sometimes, without warning, she would appear but in silence, as he strained to hear her say I love you one more time. Now, as he says goodbye, watching her fade into just a tiny raindrop falling down his face, that single teardrop becomes many.

Mike 2024                                              

Heaven

 One day, the sky will open and lead me to the brightness of the heavens. A weightless cloud will be where I'll sit, and all those I love will greet me. Family, friends, and even pets will surround me with feelings I can only describe as the ultimate love. Everything I ever felt will be replaced with angelic smiles and eternal peace, leaving my time on earth a forgotten memory. I will meet God and finally have answers to so many unanswered questions. He will speak softly in a language never heard but understood. I asked for his forgiveness, and he smiled, saying I had already been forgiven the second my soul left my body. So here I am, floating on a cloud that sometimes takes me to the ocean's depths or into the endless universe where time has no meaning and tomorrow is always promised. I have finally come home.

Mike 2024