What can you say to a wall?
Not much, I guess.
What can you do when there is so much left to do but nothing left to accomplish?
Wait.
Who do you talk to when the one person you need to hear is no longer present?
Wait.
Why do some people believe they are always right?
Because that’s their ‘truth’.
When will people realize that life is a journey with happy endings, awkward beginnings AND unhappy endings?
Never.
When will the telling of one-sided fairy tales stop?
Ask Walt Disney.
When will you get off of that cross? [someone else needs the wood]
*no answer*
Where are the answers?
But more importantly where were the questions that should have been asked?
Never sent.
Ask and you shall receive.
Unless you aren’t prepared for the answers.
If you don’t have the intestinal fortitude to ask,  zipper that talkbox shut.
(say that 3X real fast) [LOL]
Amen, my brothers and sisters, amen . . .

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

I wrote  ‘The Frozen Man’ after listening to this song from James Taylor.
The song subject is a bit different than that of my poem but I credit JT with
the creative kick and ultimate catalyst I needed to write those words for my father.
My daughter Hannah, read ‘The Frozen Man’ in the pouring rain last Monday morning at North Cemetery.
Amidst the silence, there was nary a dry eye under the tent, especially me.
I listened to this song on my Nano tonight and got a bit misty.
I remember the day it inspired me to write the original poem for my Dad.
My deepest thanks to Yvonne for making my words
look so damn beautiful in calligraphy
(they were on display at his wake, btw)
Remembering my Dad today, who is no longer the Frozen Man.
He is finally free and I am slowly moving on . . .

Got this from a close friend of Sarah’s.
It is, in a literary sense, quite haunting and spoke to me in ways unimaginable.
It was supposedly written by a 15-year-old girl.
Pretty amazing and apropos for this particular time in my life.
Thank you, Katherine.
You are, in many ways, an angel,
although you would never admit it . . .

“The soul and the body exist separately.
While the soul uses the body as a vessel to express itself,
they never truly become one.
For this reason, when one’s body passes on,
the soul does not follow.
Instead it remains living; free to wander where it pleases.
Visiting its favorite places, or doing its favorite things.
And if, while on Earth, the soul found someone so special that it wants never to leave them,
it will enter that person and continue to live.
It chooses to stay in that person.
Forever watching over them,
Protecting them,
Loving them.
Forever being with them.
Realize this, remember this, keep this with you.
Because the bodies of the ones we love will pass on,
But their souls will never die.”

*thinking about Dad and angels

For me this post signifies many things:
loss,
discovery,
deletion,
pain,
expectations,
choices,
devil-is-in-the-details,
denial and
ultimately
The
truth . . .

Cryptic, I know and I apologize for my strange and mysterious ways.
The following poem has been used for many purposes over the years,
based on its various interpretations.
Methinks, that’s why it’s such a great piece of literature.
It spoke multitudes to me tonight.
If you’ve read it, read it again.
If you haven’t, you are in for a real treat.
I’ll be off in the distance chasing away the endless cumulonimbus clouds
again . . .

The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler , long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I was given this award a few months ago by Annie, a writer I truly admire (and a dear friend).
She gave me the award saying this; “Michael at Smoke & Mirrors because his landscape is beautiful and touching, albeit often sad, and so very real that his words can touch as no others can.”
I have to apologize for being so damn late.
Thank you, WC.

Here are the rules for the winners:

I’m bestowing this honor on five bloggers that I feel are deserving in so very many ways.
They are all wonderful and have added so much colour and creativity to our cyberspatial community.

Spasmically Perfect

Spaz and I go way back to the early days.
A comment of hers left me speechless and I haven’t stopped visiting her since.
If you haven’t spent some time at this very special blog you are missing out on some wonderful stories, prose and the thoughts of one incredibly creative woman.

Enreal

Not sure how we linked up initially but I’m so very glad that we did.
A visit to this place is simply magical.
Her words are not unlike a wonderful session of yoga for the restless mind.
Trust me.

Grimm

What can I say about a guy like me that is totally in love with his wife and kids?
Grimm is a lighter and much funnier version of yours truly.
This is a guy that really deserves more recognition that what he gets.
I found Grimm on BlogExplosion a little while back and have been thoroughly entertained since.
I am proud and truly honoured to call him a friend.

Poetikat

A blog that makes you laugh, cry and give serious thought to the many serious questions regarding our lives.
Kat is a writer/poet that truly inspires me to be just a bit more, creatively speaking.
Though she has an avid following I had to give her this award.
Please stop by and say hi to Kat.

Smith

Although he’s the ultimate blogslacker, he writes very well and has a joyfully sardonic sense of humor.
His view on the world is uniquely his own and I love the fact that he can verbally smackdown
the most intellectual of assholes with the most succinct use of the English language known to man.
Did I say he writes well?
Please visit Smith.
Someone has to at least tell him he won an award . . .  (yeah, i’m a wisearse)

Congrats to all!

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 . . .