tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15573739368449946122024-03-07T21:49:01.339-08:00Just PoetryChuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.comBlogger290125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-86636635473744530942015-03-15T22:28:00.000-07:002015-03-16T23:01:09.608-07:00I Long To ReturnIt is a moonlit, windy night.<br />
The full orb above has pushed aside the stars<br />
and lazy clouds, backlit in pale blue seem alive.<br />
<br />
I want to return, return to the mountains,<br />
to deep corridors hewn from rock,<br />
halls of wild nights and exquisite beauty,<br />
peaks of ecstasy dropping to rumbling cascades<br />
speckled and glittering like the stars wheeling overhead.<br />
<br />
And I wake, and I rise from city slumber<br />
thinking on the pine and madrone,<br />
the oaks and redwoods, the sorrell and moss;<br />
this dust that settles 'round unnerves me.<br />
But new strength speaks to me.<br />
This new dawn sings of the hills,<br />
just as the exhausted dusk<br />
shall sing of valleys long.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-88476617029915554252015-03-04T20:26:00.000-08:002015-03-04T20:37:47.270-08:00Terry CoatesI should be writing a love poem,<br />
a sonnet or an ode to affection.<br />
I can not write about a rent of sorrow.<br />
So I'll light a cigarette<br />
because I don't want the drink<br />
and I'll eat something<br />
because I shouldn't smoke<br />
and I'll deny that vent<br />
calling, "Sit with me. Feel me."<br />
<br />
"What? You too?" began a fusion,<br />
a harmony in healing<br />
and a lesson on love,<br />
and the value of vulnerability,<br />
and how simply being is enough,<br />
and if I am present<br />
when incumbent upon me to share me<br />
this.... this love will fill the days<br />
when there's little joy in life.<br />
<br />
"Sit with me. Feel me."<br />
Your beauty without vanity<br />
made a difference, Terry Coates.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-62115109516691327822015-02-28T22:05:00.001-08:002015-02-28T22:05:32.979-08:00Memory of MomI thought of you today<br />
and my memory failed me.<br />
I could not remember the loss,<br />
yet in you<br />
I find memories of happier times.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-59828467806195493542015-02-14T20:21:00.002-08:002015-02-14T20:25:19.059-08:00The JourneyMy seatmate is a squirming eight year old from Hermosillo, Sonora, Mexico. He is mildly peeved at my rudimentary Spanish. I am impressed by his mastery of English. We are each traveling to Orlando, Florida on a journey.<br />
<br />
He travels with family to support family. I also travel to support family. His cousin has earned a new sponsorship in some type of auto racing venue. His tee-shirt sports more sponsors logos than I can count, including Chevrolet, LabCorp and Ricky's Authentic Mexican Food. Oh, there's some Nascar stuff too. Christian, my seatmate, assures me he has no interest in Disney World this trip. He wishes only to yell loud enough for his primo to hear him over the noise.<br />
<br />
And so with the lights of Dallas to the north and maybe College Station well to the south I have adopted a grandson for the moment. I am learning a bit about what an eight year olds' life in Hermosillo is like (well, actually a suburb I can not master pronunciation of). And I recall how young boys travel in small tight-knit groups in their natural state. And I am sensing that they fear the violence of their surroundings.<br />
<br />
He has the most amazing chocolate eyes. I'd say they are about 65% cocoa in color and they flash with delight when he speaks of his papa. It seems his dad also works in construction and my traveling companion is much enamored of him.<br />
<br />
I'm also benefiting from eight year old wisdom. I've been told that eight year old boys don't like to go to sleep but under questioning he admits that they don't like to wake up either. But they have the best dreams; dreams of cousins and Fiestas and riding bikes and a special girl. "Sí. Mañana es el día de San Valentín."<br />
<br />
It is somewhere north of Biloxi/Gulfport when I realize my journey has changed. I am traveling to a memorial service, a celebration of the life of a most remarkable woman, my mother.<br />
<br />
The life of Margaret Ann, know as Sue to seemingly all but her mother, who called her Ann, and a brother who called her Margaret, will be memorialized by many tomorrow. My seven siblings, her numerous grandchildren, in-laws, outlaws, nieces, nephews, great grand kids, perhaps a sibling or two of hers, friends and God-only-knows who else will assemble in a church in Retirementburg, Florida, to pay their last respects and maybe share a memory or an anecdote about someone I am just beginning to realize how much I miss.<br />
<br />
In the two and a half months since my mother went home to her Lord I have not allowed myself to experience much emotion surrounding a deep loss. And my new young friend, in sharing about his family, has in a short three hours allowed me to re-experience some of my childhood again. And the first tears come easily, softly, while some cleansing of those cobwebbed spaces buried under ill-conceived notions of how a grown man should express loss begins.<br />
<br />
As we deplane I share a warm handshake and a look into the eyes of my young friend's father. I am convinced that I was he many years back, working to earn calloused hands and raise a family. He is grateful his son didn't disturb my trip. Quite the contrary; his son made my trip memorable and enriched my life.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-2046574053194425592014-11-29T21:07:00.001-08:002014-11-29T21:07:54.376-08:00Let Us Return Home<span style="line-height: normal;">Let us return Home, let us go back,</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Useless is this reckoning of seeking and getting,</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Delight permeates all of today.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">From the blue ocean of death</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Life is flowing like nectar.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">In life there is death; in death there is life.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">So where is fear, where is fear?</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">The birds in the sky are singing “No death, no death!”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Day and night the tide of Immortality</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Is descending here on earth.</span>Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-40591096087465859342014-11-29T16:20:00.002-08:002014-11-29T16:20:53.447-08:00FallingIt smells of dust<br />
as the gentle rain begins.<br />
I can taste it growing in the damp air;<br />
no sweetness, not now.<br />
These tears falling, falling, fallingChuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-55769129974113457922014-11-02T00:33:00.001-07:002014-11-02T00:33:52.771-07:00Loose EndsEach human life an epic<br />
and unrepeatable anecdote<br />
is still but a sample size of one<br />
and may in the end be the control<br />
for a much wilder experiment<br />
being conducted in the next room.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The role of being myself<br />
fell to my understudy<br />
sometime in my fifteenth year.<br />
That gawky loner<br />
for whom nothingness came easy<br />
had spent his life in the wings<br />
mouthing the lines unaware<br />
the smallness of his perspective.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-66634819465667968082014-11-02T00:21:00.001-07:002014-11-02T00:21:56.615-07:00WhyWhile examining the why's<br />
(I want to know the reasons<br />
my writing has ceased)<br />
I see a tendency to give up<br />
trying to relate an experience<br />
you can not relate to<br />
whether through pity, or envy,<br />
or simple forgiveness<br />
and so it drifts away<br />
from the volume of my life experience<br />
and the memory seems out of place,<br />
almost mythical,<br />
wandering restless in the fog<br />
no longer even looking<br />
for a place to land.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-46095699598598477342014-11-01T14:33:00.000-07:002014-12-01T17:24:49.310-08:00Trying to RelateWhile examining the why's<br />
(I want to know the reasons<br />
my writing has ceased)<br />
I see a tendency to give up<br />
trying to relate an experience<br />
you can not comprehend;<br />
whether through pity, or envy,<br />
or simple forgiveness.<br />
And so it drifts away<br />
from the volume of my life experience<br />
and the memory seems out of place, <br />
almost mythical,<br />
wandering restless in the fog<br />
no longer even looking<br />
for a place to land.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-50050262798693842272014-10-10T23:13:00.000-07:002014-10-11T08:09:01.231-07:00For EmmalynConsider one apple, fall's bounty<br />
tucked into a bushel of them.<br />
And though much like all the other apples<br />
it is individual already, cover and core.<br />
<br />
Now think of this day, one you'll not recall<br />
owing entirely to your new-formed youth;<br />
your next breath, that quick sip of air,<br />
ordinary, yet not, because it is yours<br />
and you matter.<br />
<br />
And so you were born<br />
without knowing the date, or why,<br />
but the particular joy surrounding your arrival<br />
and the swelling of hearts drawn to you -<br />
you'll not understand until new life<br />
springs from you.<br />
<br />
And you have the experience<br />
of your first apple yet in store.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-44805856606387146562014-08-29T01:34:00.000-07:002014-08-29T01:35:27.491-07:00UntitledWhat is left behind<br />
<div>
when crossing a frontier? </div>
<div>
Pain and melancholy? </div>
<div>
The tears of loved ones<br />
who see a search for forgiveness<br />
in rheumy eyes?<br />
At the precipice<br />
I feel the world changing.<br />
Or is it me?<br />
<br /></div>
Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-90656801723436362012014-08-05T13:34:00.001-07:002014-08-05T13:34:22.455-07:00The Storm WithinThough formless I am battered<br />
tossed for long ages<br />
torn within by raging forces<br />
incomprehensible conflict unknown to me<br />
dwelling in dimensions of madness<br />
the blackness fighting to engulf<br />
my shattered fragments of rainbow<br />
whiteness of incredible intensity<br />
writhing in this malignant gloom<br />
I am lost<br />
<br />Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-51575948840808217602014-08-03T01:34:00.000-07:002014-08-03T01:34:01.800-07:00FearsI acted out of old fears<br />
and it left me fearful.<br />
In the ensuing loneliness,<br />
I became unsure, isolated, fatigued<br />
.... Oh, I was so tired.<br />
And at the end of the day<br />
I brought you my fear.<br />
Seeking relief I put it at your feet<br />
and called it love.<br />
It was not.<br />
And neither was the beating<br />
my spirit failed to endure<br />
because of your fear.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-49480604469260053642014-07-29T22:04:00.005-07:002014-11-01T13:59:05.621-07:00Parsing ThoughtsOnly a few birds are still speaking<br />
<div>
the troubled ones, I think, </div>
<div>
as this dusk settles to dark </div>
<div>
and I am left<br />
to look about aimlessly </div>
<div>
and emptily seeking what can be said</div>
<div>
for purchase against the unsayable.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And as I might attack a block of ice </div>
<div>
with pick and mallet </div>
<div>
I prize apart the compressed, </div>
<div>
the mass of my obdurate brain,</div>
<div>
picking loose the skein of thoughts </div>
<div>
before compressing them anew, condensing,</div>
<div>
distilling phrases to word.</div>
<div>
Fear</div>
<div>
Anger</div>
<div>
Pain</div>
<div>
Sin</div>
<div>
God</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My tragic capacity for self-deception </div>
<div>
with the limitation of language,</div>
<div>
a driven force required </div>
<div>
to overcome these mantras,</div>
<div>
I now see my words a simple finger </div>
<div>
pointing to the moon,</div>
<div>
not the moon itself </div>
<div>
and the mallet life's strongest force,</div>
<div>
Love</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-886489281385592432014-07-23T02:03:00.000-07:002014-07-23T02:03:45.084-07:00MaybeToo long have I slumbered<br />
secure within the discomfort<br />
of transferred fears,<br />
the paralyzing gifts<br />
that kept me in a box<br />
unable to venture out,<br />
unable to risk.<br />
<br />
I've been hindered, I believe,<br />
believing in the false realities<br />
imposed by others,<br />
my inability to fulfill your expectations,<br />
my feet held to the fire<br />
for falling short.<br />
<br />
Lately I spend much time thinking<br />
maybe I have a right to ask for what I want.<br />
Maybe I have a right to be happy.<br />
Maybe it's acceptable, to me,<br />
to have healthy relationships.<br />
<br />
I should spend more time writing<br />
and perhaps, one day<br />
I can eliminate the word "maybe".Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-25374360233992048412014-06-18T14:00:00.003-07:002014-06-18T14:00:58.039-07:00Uncomfortably Numb<span style="line-height: normal;">Many holidays that came and went</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Empty days and memories</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Echoed laughter as time was spent</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Something I refused to see</span><br />
<br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Each time I knew the day grew near</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">I felt uncomfortably numb</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">To wake alone like all days past</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">And wish it had never come</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">Is it future yesterdays</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">Or maybe past tomorrows</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">I fear the dawn and what it brings</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">This overwhelming sorrow</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: normal;">I've finally seen what it was I left</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">With no friends or family</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">What it is that hurts so much</span><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;">My life went on without me</span>Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-59290063399106676832014-05-22T00:06:00.000-07:002014-05-22T00:06:08.705-07:00As I DieLet this time for parting be sweet<br />
As love melts to memory<br />
As pain to songs,<br />
And the gentle last touch of your hand<br />
Soft like a flower<br />
That only blooms at night.<br />
Be still now my soul<br />
My death is but completion<br />
My lamp no longer lights the way.<br />
<br />
And while I am gone,<br />
In the depth of your hopes<br />
And desires<br />
Exists your knowledge of the beyond<br />
Unacknowledged,<br />
Like bulbs under the snow<br />
Dream of spring,<br />
My restless breath now rises<br />
To seek God unfettered.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-86269247301945242422014-05-13T23:22:00.001-07:002014-05-13T23:22:44.082-07:00A Meal, Post MarriageAlone, at my breakfast table<br />
In an otherwise empty room, ruminating<br />
The bitter taste her beauty held,<br />
How that kept me in sway<br />
And the loss of two castles<br />
Each charming in its way<br />
And missing them (but it wasn't a catastrophe)<br />
Even losing her (the voice and gestures<br />
I'd loved)<br />
I shan't have lied, but the art<br />
Of losing is not hard to master<br />
Though it does look like (write it pen!)<br />
Like disaster.Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-27984094272222735172014-04-30T07:26:00.000-07:002014-04-30T07:26:19.287-07:00Resentment<span style="color: #33ff33;">Here am I</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">destroying my liver</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">and you walk about</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">as if nothing has happened?</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">This kombucha I keep</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">in a refrigerated heart</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">and sip from whenever</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">the compulsion fails to start</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">is nothing more than</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">an imagined hurt</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">a resentment no more delicious</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">than the dirt</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">I choose to feed it.</span>Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-29353253621355381152014-04-24T23:28:00.000-07:002014-05-21T23:29:32.183-07:00Dreams<span style="color: #33ffff;">But a dream or two ago</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">we'd trade a kiss hello.</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">But the scourge of dreams... ?</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">Soon I'll wake, and it seems</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">certain my tears will flow.</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">In a world of constant change</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">some things never do.</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">That's how it's meant to be</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ffff;">with the love I've held for you.</span>Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-87736042275236971442014-04-22T14:56:00.000-07:002014-04-22T14:56:19.599-07:00Fulfillment<span style="color: #33ff33;">Hatred, being a cage</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">of personal choosing,</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">is a consumptive disease</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">an act of volition </span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">in losing</span> <span style="color: #33ff33;">individual freedom and self</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">while love, in all its prerequisites</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">requires lovers lose themselves</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">to find themselves</span><br />
<span style="color: #33ff33;">to become themselves</span> <span style="color: #33ff33;"></span>Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-22738178100783548012014-04-22T00:58:00.000-07:002014-04-22T14:02:37.199-07:00The Burnished Copper Girl<span style="color: red;">"Have you seen her,"</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> they all say,</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">"The red-haired woman</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> with the sexy sway?"</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">"Yes I've seen her",</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> one man cries,</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">"The ultimate enigma</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> with bright blue eyes!"</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">"She caught my breath,"</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> one man speaks.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">"I've dreamt of her</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> in my sleep."</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Her copper locks glisten</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> in the light.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Her milky skin glows</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> like the moon at night.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">She owns the room</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> but unaware</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">of the reaction she cause'</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> or the lengthy stares.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">With all eyes upon her</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> women wish they were she.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Men all want the woman</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> and wish they were me.</span>Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-53636639543133626312014-03-20T20:30:00.000-07:002014-03-21T21:46:11.583-07:00More, Together<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">The reference to marriage</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">as institution belies</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">a value underlying promise,</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">that public proclamation</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">of private intentions</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">be more edifice than enterprise.</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">To say "a state of wedded bliss"</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">will not be too grand ideal,</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">no, hardly large enough</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">in fact, some states </span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">are much too small</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">there being a country required.</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">And not a bond as some do claim</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">based on a fiat rate of exchange,</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">the economics don't pencil out</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">but put to rest any doubt</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">you are more, together</span><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">than the sum of parts.</span>Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-43171357792746297622014-02-28T15:31:00.000-08:002015-03-12T08:18:06.420-07:00Love PoemMy pen dips deep, lingering<br />
<div>
in the warm inkwell of your endless ardor.</div>
<div>
The ink of passion flows for me tonight </div>
<div>
and I would show you how it feels, </div>
<div>
my muse, to be truly needed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I would write poems of love's power </div>
<div>
on the parchment of your skin, </div>
<div>
secret words, that only you can understand </div>
<div>
until my pen runs dry and I return </div>
<div>
to dip again, </div>
<div>
in ink created by ecstasy </div>
<div>
for the calligraphy of desire.</div>
Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557373936844994612.post-57604866087115822212014-02-22T12:18:00.000-08:002015-03-12T08:16:33.400-07:00A Rare Thing<span style="color: cyan;">She was a rare thing</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">so fine and lacy she flowed</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">on the breeze or spoken word</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">walking about like a playful eddying wind</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">revealing its path in what it moves</span><br />
<br />Chuckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12590752129351724484noreply@blogger.com0