I feel like a sad song
One that feels as I do right now
no rhyme, no reason;
just overcrowded staves of emotional chromaticism making no sense; no reason, no rhyme

I feel like a sad song
One that sounds different than the one I’ve sung for so long, too long now
out of time and tune, out of my mind with more questions than the distant answers found on the worn pages of a fake book, my book of life

I am that sad song
One deep inside the why’s and the what ifs of a book;
moments in time, this book of liars, of blue tears
of grace notes unnoticed and songs unsung, a song of the heart still waiting silently to be found
maybe to be sung . . .

~m

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

During my lunch hour today I wanted to drop off a fountain pen for repair.
This meant a walk to Downtown Crossing in the shopping district,
an area swarming with people today due to the warm summer weather.

The Bromfield Pen Shop is a place I have dreams about with all their pens, cool ink and exotic paper.
It’s the only place in Boston to take a sick pen; the patient of the day: a Mont Blanc fountain pen.
As I walked down Washington Street, grilled sausages, onions and red and green peppers assaulted my olfactory senses.
I was hungry and had multiple thoughts of mustard.
Spicy, brown mustard.

I was limited on time so I dropped off the pen and didn’t chance a look at the new inks
that had undoubtedly come in.
I am a big-time sucker for creatively colored inks.
Thank my lucky stars I didn’t have the time to spend money I don’t have on inks I really don’t need.
And ink is sooooo cool.
You have no idea.

I left the pen shop and walked up Bromfield Street when I saw a sign for a tres cool sandwich shop.
I walked in and saw a line longer than the bank on payday.
I would settle for a grilled chicken sandwich from Burger King. (yummy, right?)
I sat down to eat and noticed an older black man panhandling right outside the front door.
This guy was a bit different though.
He wasn’t asking for money, though he did hold a large BK cup in his hand.
I watched through the glass as he mouthed ‘hello’ and ‘have a nice day, now’ to the many people walking by.
He was polite and generally unobtrusive for a needy guy.

And he was needy.

He stood about my height (5’8”) and had on ratty clothes, the overall effect topped off
with a weathered Boston Red Sox hat.
His toothless smile seemed almost innocuous. . . inviting.
You almost wanted to forgive him though he’d done no wrong, if that makes any sense.

As a rule, I don’t give money to street people.
I might offer a piece of fruit or a bottle of water if I have an extra.

I reached into my BK bag and took out an order of French Fries that I hadn’t ordered.
I brought them up to the register and told the woman that waited on me that I hadn’t ordered them. She waved her hand in a ‘no comprende’ way and said ‘keep them’.

I haven’t been eating fries lately and decided my windfall would be a snack for the man outside ‘working the street’.

I ate my lunch and continued to watch this man smile, say hello, give directions and take whatever this unblinking society would give him.
I finished my sandwich and grabbed the bag with the fries (still sufficiently hot) and left.
I walked up and handed him the bag and said, “Here, eat these. You do eat fries, don’t ya’?”

You would have thought I’d just given him a winning lottery ticket.

He smiled and said, “Bless you, my brother. Bless your heart.”

I walked across Tremont Street and through a warm, sunny Boston Common back to work,
oddly happy to have been sincerely blessed.

~m

Yeah, that’s me.
Minute by minute, day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year.
It gets weak sometimes, folks.
The train between Boston and Worcester seems to take on an almost elastic quality these days.
I want to be home.
Maybe I just need a vacation.
See all of you next week.

Pax . . .

M

*In’ as busy as a . . . ‘
Get that mind out of the gutter.
Won’t be on the net for most of the weekend.
The blog and Facebook will have to wait until next week.
(I know, you’re crest-fallen *grinning*)
An 18 hour day tomorrow and work on Sunday will leave me with
little to no cyber- playtime.
Mikey is like sad poo-poo.
Catch you guys on the flipside . . .

~m

reds, crimsons and bloods
there’s a rose in the meadow
snow-covered in love . . .

for a very special flower
and for Deb

The tree is up and dressed with soft, white lights, ornaments and icicles.
The cats are already stripping them off and methodically leaving them on the floor where my unsuspecting feet find them at 3:02am.
The other morning I found a ceramic reindeer the sole of my left foot was violently impaled
with the antlers of an unsympathetic and ceramic reindeer.
*%&^$&(#)@!!!!
Bastards.
Yeah, it’s Christmastime.
Although I’ve yet to hear much in the way of holiday music,
I’ve no doubt that within two weeks time I’ll be deep in the complicated state of Yuletide Dismay
wanting to slit my wrists at the mere sound of the introduction to ‘Carol of the Bells’.
It is at this festive time of the year that I unleash my innermost Mister Nasty, the stygian beast within, the curmudgeon of melancholy, my dark saint.
Part of me still harbours (more like imprisons) that little boy that used to love the snow
and the Christmas lights and yes, even the ’Carol of the Bells’.
These days Mister Nasty can’t come out and play.
Actually, I don’t want to come outside.
I play the dark saint of sorts and find my own personal way to somehow make it to December 26th
(Sarah’s birthday for those of you who will find out anyway on her Twitter).
I think that some of my snowy disdain is rooted in the overabundance of past holiday social fatalities.
Dealing with Alzheimer’s Disease ironically (and sadly) made me forget my ‘Santa’ mentality replacing it with this almost diabolical Grinch-like quality – an issue currently Under Construction.
Humor me for the next month or so as I deal with the bleak canvas of winter as my thoughts turn deeply inwards.
This holiday season has quite a different feel to it though and I think I know why.
Unfortunately, I can’t tell you the reason.
So indulge me, won’t you?
And who knows?
Maybe this Grinch will once and for all find his Christmas heart . . .

Enjoying a bit of badly needed time off.
I will be reading and checking in but won’t be posting until next week sometime.
Have some personal things that need some attention.
Thanks for stopping in.
Now back to my fine Montecristo No. 2 . . .
(and no, that’s not me sitting in the comfy chair.
I am in a dark cellar with a rocking chair and three cats. But somehow that’s okay)

Pamela-

I’ve always dreamed of singing this song for you.
In my heart, I know that I have, maybe someday I actually will.
It’s everything I’ve always wanted to say to the only person in the world that I could ever say it to.
Our love is a slow, sweet dance . . .
Happy Anniversary, my Pamela
(put on the headphones I’ve left for you. Loggins is simply amazing LIVE.)

Forever

Now, while we’re here alone and all is said and done
Now I can let you know because of all you’ve shown
I’m grown enough to tell ya
You’ll always be inside of me.

How many roads have gone by
So many words left unspoken
I needed to be be your side
If only to hold you.

Forever in my heart
Forever we will be
Even when I’m gone
You’ll be here in me
Forever

Once, I dreamed that you were gone
I cried, I tried to find ya
I begged the dream would fade away and please awaken me
The night took a hold of my heart
And left me with no one to follow
The love that I grasped in the dark,
I’ll always remember

Forever in my heart
Forever we will be
Even when I’m gone
You’ll be here in me
Forever

Forever in my heart
Forever here you’ll be
Even when I’m gone
You’ll be near to me

Forever in my life
Always thought I’d be
I’d be yours

Forever . . .

It’s not only the way it feels,
it’s the way it makes me feel . . .
a conditional freak of
my own mind,
my own doing,
my own flesh and
candy-apple red blood,
and a host that lives inside of me . . .

It grows asymmetrical outside my body,
the unwanted lichens of all that I can’t bear
It’s only when I look in the mirror;
I am sadly reminded that it’s still there . . .

Someday perhaps it will leave me,
that time just isn’t right now
but
I still ask when, Dear God in heaven, when?
And I shall curse forever the very day it found me,
this visible demon of my flesh
I gladly let the steam cover the bathroom mirror
and for the moment,
I can put the thing to rest
Perhaps