Somewhere, amidst the shattered crystal silence of daybreak. . .
I find you
the dusty silhouette of a life
resting on a shelf in my mind that’s sadly gathering dust,
the gentle flutter of wings sets the shadows free
and
I watch as you dance among the countless stars, set deep in the face of a forever-winter sky

a whisper; but a sotto-voce prayer moves me through a time and space where I realize I have lost you all over again
A transient streak of starlight falls into the invisible arms of the waiting horizon
and I look to the east, my heart finally believing in the goodbyes and the time stained no mores
and I begin to understand why
He chose you
to shine
so soon…

Just some thoughts regarding the past.
5 years and you’re still on my mind, Mom . . .
Miss you

the echoes of goodbye,
cross a yawning chasm of fog and thought
find me sitting in this Darkroom,
the pictures of my life, languid and swirling above me

familiar fingers of blacklight penetrate me,
violating my inner walls of thought,
a fortress once impervious yet fragile, yes, once like me

galaxies of sotto voce secrets, skeletons in my locked closet
seem to drip like candle wax from the hanging pictures
the memories of my sweet by and by
they were prints I lost so damn long ago
souvenirs, as lost as I

this Darkroom embraces its secrets,
never letting go of the subtleties of the ‘why’
some things just simply refuse to let go of me
like the distant echoes of goodbye . . .

~m

*repost of a  dark angel

*a repost from a time I can’t seem to forget

This morning, the highway was filled with a multitude of disembodied headlights, each one searching through a seemingly inexhaustible mist, an optical illusion a bit tough to handle at 6AM when you’re still sleeping.
I made it onto the train and stared out the window at the relentless sheets of rain.
The dark and rainy skies made me think of a night many years ago when I went to my parent’s house after a slew of frantic phone calls from my mother.
She would freak out on a fairly regular basis back then.
At the time, she was in the late beginning stages of Alzheimer’s and I was still in total denial.
I pulled into the driveway and saw her silhouette standing in the open doorway.
I remember thinking she looked peaceful standing there
and not the frantic woman I’d just spoken to on the phone.

I called her name.

“Mom?”

No response.
As I walked up the stairs, I could see her staring off into the distance, detached and trance-like.
I stood next to her to try and see what she was looking at when she said,
“Look. There’s million’s of them.”

“Millions of what, Mom?” I asked.

“Stars,” she said, “Can’t you see them?”

In the front yard there was an old oak tree, the leaves still dripping from the heavy rain.
Behind the oak, I could see the front porch light from the Jacobson’s house
up on the hill illuminating the thousands of falling raindrops.
Stars, I thought, it’s raining stars.
I took off my glasses to see the world, if only for a moment, through my mother’s eyes.
A simple oak tree was being transformed into an impressionistic masterpiece right in front of me, thanks to a few misfiring neurons located somewhere in my mother’s brain.

“It’s beautiful, Mom.” I said.

“Yes. It is…” She replied.

I didn’t realize it at the time but the raindrops falling from the tree closely echoed the neurological avenue my mother was currently traveling down.
The drops of rain falling and disappearing into the waiting earth were so much like her failing memory,
a collection of antiquated shooting stars ultimately destined to crash and burn, their celestial beauty gone all too soon.
As we stood silently on the porch, an internal cog clicked inside me.
It was a frightening moment of absolute realization.
My phase of denial had finally come to an end.

~m

Out of respect for my father,
Malarky Monday will return next week.
Please light a candle for kind and gentle man that will be missed.
That would make for a great Malarky Monday.
Rest easy, Dad.
You’re finally home . . .

~m

One night at the Cape all of us went to Baxter’s in Hyannis for dinner.
It was a beautiful night as we sat watching the ferries come and go in the harbour.
Not sure what everyone ordered to eat but no one was talking and I’m assuming it was all good.
I do remember that Mark got an enormous Fisherman’s Platter that looked incredibly good,
no, it was ‘call your cardiologist before eating’ good.
He gave me a fried scallop that was roughly the size of an Aussie cricket ball which I split with Pamela.
It was so good I had to go back up to the counter and get a side order for us to split.
I’ll never learn.
It was such a beautiful night that I suggested we walk Main Street in Hyannis and check out some of the shops.
While the womenfolk were looking at Cape Cod jewelry,
Mark and I wandered over to a leather store across the street.
The rich, earthy aroma walking in was almost narcotic.
I love the smell of leather.
Mark and I were immediately drawn to the hats hanging on a wall in the back of the store; there were porkpies, fedoras (ala Indiana Jones), top hats, baseball caps and one very special hat that I somehow missed.
Mark asked to see a now familiar hat on the very top row.
“Check it out, mate. It’s an Akubra made in Australia,”  He said,
as he showed me the inside label of his hat by the same maker.
I loved the hat he was wearing when he first showed up at the house and now I knew why.
He asked the price ($85) but by now Pamela and all the girls were standing next to us ready to go.
I wanted to buy the hat because I really liked it and I wanted to offer a showing of solidarity to Australia.
Alright, the solidarity part was my brain making up bullshit but I really loved the hat.
I could hear Pamela in my head saying, “You Have Enough Hats!”
I’m thinking now there was a reason I didn’t get it.
Move forward in time to Logan Airport on the Sunday Maureen and Mark were leaving.
Pamela, Hannah, me and M&M were standing at the gate, all of us knowing what was coming next.
Mark patted Moe on the bum and said, “Alright. Let’s go. Let’s get this done.”
Probably some of the hardest words my friend has ever had to say.
The Tear Factory was now open for business but before it closed, Mark took off his Akubra and placed it on my head and gave me a huge bear hug.
“Take care of this for me until the next time, buddy.”
Translation: How Michael got his very first Akubra.
You never forget your first.
I don’t know much about the road ahead of me but I do know this; the next Akubra I put on my bald noggin won’t be from some leather shop in Hyannis, Ma.
I’m thinking someplace much more exotic . . .
Like Queensland, Australia

I am all about the stars.
Just downloaded ‘Stellarium’ tonight.
Had to share.
Even the desktop icon is cool for this program.
If you like stars and the night sky this program is nuckin’ futs.
It’s a big file (@40megs) but totally worth it.
I’ve been trolling the sky for the past half hour.
Click on the picture above and enjoy.
Any guesses as to the constellation up there?
(Moe, don’t bother)
:mrgreen:
Enjoy . . .

There are things that happen in our lives that simply defy explanation;
situational outcomes, a much needed phone call out of the blue, an errant email you ‘forgot’ to open that drastically changes some facet of your life.
Lately, my father’s journey has been something of an emotional rollercoaster ride.
In the span of one visit, he’ll laugh one minute to beat the band while the next he’s crying like a baby.
While it’s easy (and enjoyable) to watch and listen to him laugh, his tears and all too complete sorrow are a completely different animal.
Wax on, wax off.
He was never an emotional man to begin with so that takes some getting used to.
My sister and I have been truly baffled by the whole thing.
The last time my sister visited our mother’s grave, she had a brief ‘conversation’ with Ginny.
We both do the same thing when we visit her.
She told her about Dad’s current penchant for a psychological taste of a Six Flags amusement park.
She also told her that her ‘Wally’ is sad and misses her dearly.
One week later while Maureen was visiting our father she noticed a woman standing in the doorway of his room as she fed him lunch.
Her heart skipped a beat.
This woman looked like our mother.
Her eyes, her hair, her glasses, her sunny disposition were all subtle suggestions of ‘Ginny’.

“Hi, Wally!” she said, as she walked in and touched our father’s hand.

Maureen was a bit gobsmacked by the situation but she said our father seemed to enjoy this woman’s company.
He was smiling and laughing.
Her name is Margaret but they call her Peg.
And Peg seems to have a thing for Wally.
We were told that Peg and Walter can sometimes be found sitting together in the rec room that looks out over the city of Worcester.
It’s a wonderful view even on a grey and rainy day.
Peg even holds our father’s hand.
It’s uncanny that after my sister’s visit with our mother this woman should almost materialize out of thin air.
I’m thinking that as poor as my father’s eyesight is, every time he sees Peg, he’s also seeing our Mom.
Rollercoaster ride, explained.
Possibly.
In looking at the situation I’m so tempted to believe this woman was sent by my mother, a surreal gift of a love from someplace truly wonderful.
I know, it sounds way too Disney and formulaic but the situation defies explanation.
Maybe Peg was sent to help my father finally get home.
Perhaps she’ll remind him of the most important things missing in his life, make him close his eyes and dream good things.
Maybe she’ll give him the much needed solace he so richly deserves.
But for now, he shall remain a constant rider on these misshapen, parallel bars of cold steel.
He’s still holding on for dear life, lost on a perpetual track of fragmented emotions.
Destination?
Only God knows when and where the rollercoaster will ultimately arrive.
For the love of my father, I hope it arrives soon . . .

We have our bad times, those days filled with
gray and bruised thunderheads ready to burst with raindrops of frustration.
It’s in getting through the inevitable storms; riding the dark waves of our lives
to the safety of some waiting harbour that we realize the sun can still shine, just for us.
It takes a real strength to weather it all.
And we are that strong.
The stuff we’re made of is ultimately all that’s really needed to see us through to the other side.
And we will get there.
Although we can’t control the winds, we can carefully move the sails that will someday guide us home.
We have to hold on, just the 2 of us, if only for the three tender and beautiful hearts
we’ve been so blessed to receive in this life.
Everything will be alright.
So for now, just hold my hand
and don’t be afraid
to feel that at the end of the longest day, that the moon and stars are shining, just for us.

No one knows what it’s like,
maybe even him
the days are like carbon copies of days gone by, yesterdays passed;
more of the same, the blooming of a thousand shades of grey
And life is grey; maybe it’s the only shade he knows . . .

No one knows what it’s like
maybe even me
as I take in his awkward smiles, I wonder just who they’re really meant for
Does he miss her?
Yes, he does, and he tells me so, in sotto voce syllables
I’m still unsure of what I must believe and choose to believe in him because
what’s left is all I have to believe in

No one knows what it’s like
Perhaps, God does, but He is forgetful too;
like the saving grace of His mercy, of dignity and compassion,
the sadness of detail, the complexity of why
And He cries,
for all fathers present and past, but maybe for a world He ultimately created
in love . . .

My father knows what it’s like
when it’s time for me to leave and
long forgotten tears of understanding reach his tired eyes,
tears I can no longer wipe away
because unlike him,
I already know what it’s like to say goodbye
And I do . . .

The picture above is a favorite poem I wrote that I pasted into Wordle.
I found the site through Kat, a poet/writer and wonderful new blogging friend.
She ‘Wordled’ a poem she’d written and I so loved the image it gave me.
Wondering how many readers here know what poem I Wordled . . .
Any guesses?

btw- Pamela did most of what you see above. I just supplied the words.
Click on the picture for a larger view