If this is your first time visiting here you may want to click on the picture above.
On the ‘Ghosts‘ page you will find writing that holds special meaning for me.
It’s a good indicator as to the overall content of the blog as well.
For some reason I blew the page away and just realized it the other day.
That said, If this page does nothing for you, better saddle up and head on over to Mantown,
another blog I occasionally post on.
On vacation this week but posting will be light.
I will visit as many cyber-friends as possible as long as it doesn’t
interfere with my afternoon catnap.

{yes, I’m kidding}

Have a great week, peoples . . .

In about three weeks my wife and I will celebrate 25 years of marriage.
It just doesn’t make sense that I make a whole spectacle of it in one day, seeing we’ve been together and
so incredibly strong for 25 years.
These days, I’m truly amazed after reading the ‘legals’ in the newspaper with these assholes that get married for two weeks and then file for divorce.
Damn, it’s insane and I’m sorry, sometimes funny.
But what the hell were they thinking in the first place?
Either way, I’m devoting at least several posts to this incredible woman that understands me in a way no one in the entire world ever will, my wife, Pamela.
Yeah, these are going to be romantic and sentimental.
It’s just the way I am, folks.
Here’s to the one woman that still makes Mikey tick . . .

You

Here, in my heart
In my olde, melacholy soul
is the You I’ve always known

It’s in my darkest hours
that I find the way home
from the very light of You;
a serene beacon in this most sacred of harbours

With my spirit at the end of my tether
i cling to you like a rainbow clings to slices of sunlight;
this complicated prism of all that’s good in my life,
the colours of emotion, the extreme comfort in belonging . . .

It’s there in your heart
(I belong)
where my peacefully sleeping soul is forever safe
deep inside the You I will always know,
love always . . .

found this on the Jonathan Carroll website/blog.
written by 20th century German poet Rainer Maria von Rilke::

God Speaks to Each of Us

God speaks to each of us before we are,
Before he’s formed us then, in cloudy speech,
But only then, he speaks these words to each
And silently walks with us from the dark:

Driven by your senses, dare
To the edge of longing. Grow
Like a fire’s shadowcasting glare
Behind assembled things, so you can spread
Their shapes on me as clothes.
Don’t leave me bare.

Let it all happen to you: beauty and dread.
Simply go no feeling is too much
And only this way can we stay in touch.

Near here is the land
That they call Life.
You’ll know when you arrive
By how real it is.

Give me your hand.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

~going to try and get back to a state of blogging equilibrium here this week.
Life has been crazy. Thanks to all that have read and commented.
Much appreciated.
~m

A flutter of wings
in a world washed grey
closing tired eyes
slowly slip away

a fight against The will
learned tolerance to the pain
incomprehensible ruin
terminal drops of rain

the lack of understanding
invisible hands of a ticking clock
solitary hours moving away
shadows lost to the infinite dark

a moment of hope will surely find her
a millisecond of brilliant white light
a midnight angel to soothe her
freeing her soul to the black of night . . .

{for K}

I’ve been busy updating my “pages” and doing some sorely needed blog maintenance.
The Ghosts and Poetry pages have been updated.
I’ve also posted a short story I wrote 6 years ago.
Just click on one of the corresponding tabs above to get there.
Thanks to Moe for all her help and guidance when I was absolutely freaking out.
She is a dear friend and a most awesome blogger.
If you haven’t visited her yet (or blogrolled her) you are really missing out.
Got some stuff planned in a few days.
Please stop back.
In the meantime, please browse my “pages”.
Soon . . .

@2 Avenue Blue,
lies a slate overgrown with the bluest of moments,
cue the crashing waves of silence, and a wooden ship carelessly washed ashore;
unwanted and forsaken

@2 Avenue Blue,
a terminal night falls, showing no signs of any kind of hope in dawning crimson . . .
white-capped and perpetual waves of the past
wash away so many castles built,
gifts in the sand,
the sacred stuff of God;
fragile things, like so many grains of a dream lost to heaven, maybe hell

@2 Avenue Blue
midnight cries at a butter yellow moon, a flickering candle in a desolate night sky,
a solemn lunar lullabye
to the crashing waves of change,
forever washing clean the sins and inherent innocence of a distant
yet barren shore . . .
discovered, yet unknown and maybe new
@2 Avenue Blue

Scotch bonnet sunset

Cayenne-red skin screams for ice

air-conditioned bliss kiss

Darkness falls like heavy rain,
colouring the dormant landscape obsidian,
a pall upon the earth . . .
In lavender hues, the nightshades bloom
As shadows dance inside a room, where he sits in his deafening silence

Dropping his cares by the bed where he lays
he closes his eyes on tomorrow
Soon the nightshade will bloom
taking him far from this room
where he sits in this silence and prays . . .

Maybe the waiting is part of some plan, with ghosts of the past drawing near
but the signs of the dawn keep him lingering on, though he can’t remember the here
and now . . .
The nightshade will weep, the north wind will cry in a world he can no longer find
from the indigo heavens above, a solitary amethyst teardrop falls,
God’s healing salve for a father’s weary mind
And the nightshade will sleep . . .

I visited my father last Wednesday only to find him sleeping.
Not necessarily a bad thing.
But to me, his face has changed and not in a good way.
More later . . .
~m

There I sat; watching you sleep
counting your respirations, endless fragments of time,
grains of sand through the hourglass of your life

i wonder if you dream, of places long forgotten, of tender hearts that once made you smile,
faces where you found love,
surprised they were staring back at you . . .

There I sat; watching you sleep
ticking, ticking, the second hand on my wristwatch splintering a melancholy silence in a room where life goes on, almost unnoticed,
covered in the warmth of a much needed blanket

I pray that you dream, of things that meant the world to you;
these are the small and hidden gifts of an unfortunate and chaotic mind
and I wonder if God has ever cried for you?
the answer lies peacefully in the waiting arms of
Heaven . . . as He listens to the beat of your gentle, sleeping heart
I wish you heavenly peace

~m

Three beautiful girls
Hearts that you hold in your hands
Love you forever . . .

The world would be so much less without you in it, for the girls and for me
We love you dearly.
You are the heart of our family.
Period.
Amen.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Lord knows, you deserve a special day.