a relaitive dream ; searching for the need

. . . . . . the words of an untamed tongue filled the air.  it started earlier in the day;   a blind sided punch in the face,  by invisible words and an invisible intention.  the smooth flow of the enjoyment of the day,  interrupted by a rip tide of  a hurt feeling.  what we said,  tossing back and forth,  word after word,  like a catcher and the pitcher,  we toss the words back and forth,  until one  errors the ball,  and one becomes victorious.  but as stubborn as both of  us are,  we refuse to give it up,  and we make this mound into a mountain,  never even seeing the damage we are doing.   every word, like a dagger,  with holding the anger;  not wanting to fight;   i hope you can see it.    because the anger can never overwhelm the love i have for you,  the feelings are just too strong,   take it or leave it,   here i am.  we ride this wave,   hold on,   hold on;   here as we save.  the door slams and i am left here,  talking to the walls;    i need you to help me fix this ( quickly).  quietly, opening the door,   i hear your  sobs,   tears ;   there you are,  with your head in your hands.   where do we go from her?.   i hate to see you cry,  and seeing crying breaks my heart.   and the love quickly sneaks back into the temporary cloaked heart.   i stand there,   seeing you sob and i ask myself. ” what i have done?”.    to make you cry,   was never was my intention.  it was a moment where i didn’t think of consequence,  and now im paying the price,  backfiring and hurting myself in the process.   what have i done?   i come quietly,   sitting next to you on the beds edge.   i put my arm around you,    and the comfort warms,   and your head sits upon my shoulder.    calmly,  the words speak,    spoke in a soft manner,    and the environment softens.   and when the explanation rolls out like the red carpet,   we find ourselves there,   in the spotlight.  in this moment,   we become stronger.   a defeat never winning the game,   because we have a lifetime to win the series,   break out of this temporary mold,   and  there i am.   to hold you close,  tell you softly,   im sorry.   the words of an untamed tongue filled the air.   it started earlier in the day;    a blind sided punch in the face,   by invisible words and an invisible intention.   i tell you i’m sorry,    ill pick up the pieces,   a heart like broken glass,  can you pick the pieces of this heart?;

all the thoughts  and all the words;

keep me awake on  some  nights –

the pictures that are in my head

act like a short film;   keep me wanting more

wishing that you were here,  riding through this,  with me tonight

here with me,   i hold you within my arms,  whispering  the love,  filling my heart.  . . . .

the next morning and i awake from my deep slumber.  wipe the sleep from my eyes,  and i leave you there sleeping.   i return to my desk and i start the writing that has built up inside this wondering mind.   there,  i find you and i,   laughing ing in a park,  child in the sandbox;   here we all are.    maybe im the trouble,    and maybe im the paradise.    and that’s where we find each other,    in the sandy paradise,    and i reach out and my fingers touch nothing but the loneliness of emptiness,   and the memory haunts in side .  i need you; to talk to need you.   i reach out,   and my fingers touch nothing.   only the loneliness of emptiness.   haunted by the memory of your presence,   the memory;   never having  passed.   the memory haunted ,  but only sighted by these eyes.   my mind stirs and finds you beside me.  laughing once again, a laughter long since forgotten; where are you now?.   the bodies linger still.  turned to dust,  inhaled by the generations,   no longer recognizably human compasion.   and i am alone.   consumed by and consuming spirits of another sort.  accompanied in conversation by the clink of ice,   in the heavy bottomed glass,  the sloshing  of the scotch within.    i am;   the last king of the lonely.   the face in the end.    the face in the end, there i am.   i wake only in the emptiness,  and you are not there,   you are not there.  but there in the mist of the days dawn,  i come upon the face,  that is you.   oh yeah,  there you are.    but i’ve been lost, somewhere in space,  the coming back down,  maybe wishful thinking,  but here i am anyway,  and waiting, i missed the show.  come back down,  into this atmosphere,  once again, im with you.  and here you are,  hand in hand,  there we are,  giving each other our hearts,  i need you, and you need me.

all the thoughts,   and all the words

keep me awake on  some nights –

the pictures that are in my head

act like a short film;   keep me wanting more

wishing that you were here,  riding through this,  with me tonight

here with me,  i hold you within my arms,  whispering  the love,  the  filling of  our hearts.  we are complete

we are complete. . . . . .

and there, the summers air fills

dry and  unforseen.

where does that leave us?

a faceless memory

forever never saying i love you

never was in my cards,  do you see me, now

with a little discretion,

saying i love you,   and never coming out and saying it

because you already knew it,   and there i am..

trying to say im sorry,  and pretending that im ok,

when im torn in pieces,  deep inside this  heart,  can you pick up these pieces?!!

i need you,  seeking the support in you,  and never seeing you,  and now you are gone

but that’s ok,  and ill be there, catching every tear drop,  every lost  “z” in the snore

here i am,  and here you are,  looking above what we show,  and  this regret turns to promise…

and here we are…..

c. 2013  BGW

the day off, the open road and the old sofa

. . . . . . . sunday morning,  six a.m.  i wake to the alarm sounding off.   a moment of procrastination and i end up reaching over,  pushing the snooze button,  just one more time.  if only this was the first time doing so,  we’d already be up.  but this is the tenth time or so,  and i don’t want to leave here,  nice and warm,  with you.  i turn over and i wrap my arm around you.  and for the next ten minutes,  im just there,  holding you,  good morning.  i shut off the alarm,  and wipe my eyes  and yawn.  leaning over you,  i kiss you good morning,  and my kiss lingers a little longer.  soft lips and an early morning smile.  //  we wake,  and make our coffee.  a day off,   and we drive off.   we shower and dress, and head out the door in record time.  opening and closing the door,  morning air,  cool and fresh.  into the truck,  and here we go.   i’ll pick the road,  if you just tell me the direction.  picking the road,  and where we end up,  i don’t want to know.  deciding not go to the city,  and though we love it there,  but we aren’t dealing with that traffic today.   small back country road,  open and free,  you and me.  //  driving down the open road,  and a full tank of gas,  here we are.  daylights breaking straight ahead,  beautiful day.  and the pre-dawn grey is rolling away.  slowly the sun glows,  peaking up,  higher and higher.  rolling down the windows,  the air rushing in gently,  and in between shifting of the gears,  you reach over to hold my hand.   traveling down the roads,  you can smell the freshly tilled soil,   let’s get ready to plant.   driving through this country town,  you see all the elder farmers gather at the local gas station,  sipping on their coffees outside, besides their dually trucks,  tip your cap,  ‘morn.   corn field,  soy bean fields,  mixed in with the few local dairy farms.  we drive through the town,  a main street with one blinking red light,  aligned with  mom and  pop stores and  a neon signed corner cafe.   next to the volunteer fire station,  we stop at the local’s  farmers market.  there,  all the produce goods,  all natural,  never touched by the poison.  bright red,  red delicious apples,  homemade pastries,  jams and jellies.  strawberries and berries,  juices and milk, delivered straight from the local dairy farm,  and most importantly,  freshly brewed coffee.  we load up with breakfast food and coffee,  heading out, we continue.   leaving that part of town lead us to the middle of no mans land,  farmland,  and a well placed billboard or two.  an old red barn,  a shiny silo and  grain elevator,  accompanied by a grain fed semi.  horses roam the pastures , and cows grazing the grassy fields.  car games,  and  conversations,  fill the surrounding air.  and when a minute of silence came through,  the sound of the tires rolling over an occasional crack in the road filled the void.  thump – thump, thump – thump,  all in a timed rhythm.  the bright sunshine eclipses the next towns mileage sign.   but we know its coming up because there are houses up on the horizon.  civilization.  gas stations and a town square.  and the antique malls are flirting among the flea market form.  pulling over to their parking lot, restroom break.  we run in and are greeted by the smell of old history items and popcorn.  a weird combination, quickly gotten used to,  quickly forgotten.  but as i wait for you to return,  i start looking around, and get lost among the collectables and old lp records.  concentrating on looking,  im interrupted by you sneaking up behind me,  startling me , you laugh and say “gotcha!”.   booth among booth we look and look some more,  trying to justify every cool looking thing that would go great in our home.  an old seven-up metal sign, a hotel neon sign,  a fox wrap and a victrola,  laughing,  we pass it all up;  until you came across this victorian sofa,  fell in love it and gave me a hundred reasons on why we needed it.  i stand firm on my not finding a reason,  and you pull your ace out;  puppy dog eyes and a pretty please.  and  i’m trumped. why in the world would we need a victorian sofa?  and everything we own is so not victorian.  i think the oldest thing in our possession is maybe, 1990’s, not 1890’s.  but you continue your puppy eyes and pretty please pout,  and i have no choise but to cave in.  finding something so special in this couch,   you win.   you know just how to weaken me,  until i cave,  and i just laugh and shake my head.   walking up to the front, i pay.  receiving help loading it up into the truck,  you tell me not to scratch it,  but nevermind that it’s from the victorian age,  and has never been scratched once through a hundred and twenty some-odd years.   hearing my sarcasm,  you jokingly slap my arm.  after i get it all tied down,  we hop back in the truck and you beg to get back home so we can make room for your new-found treasure.   we turn back towards the way we came in,  and down the block we stop to refuel .  and once again a full tank and an open road.  car games and open conversation,  and of course the conversation turns to brainstorming on how to rearrange the living room.   as the conversation fades and  sleepiness settles in,  and you lean your head on my shoulder and doze off.   driving back through the same scenes and farm fields.  the same small town,  but all the farmers are now either eating supper or off to bed to get their early starts for the next day.  the sun sinks lower in the sky, and i need to stretch.  almost home i wake you.  up the road,  coming home.  home stretch.  i pull into the drive and shut off the engine.  all excited you hop out and run to open the front door.  and before i am even done with the first strap,  you’re back to help carry it in.  and as we carefully pull it off the truck,  i jokingly remind you not to scratch it,  and you give me “the look”.  backing it in,  maneuvering it around the corner and into the family room,  we set it down.  you move a couple of things and i put it in the spot you point to.  against the wall facing the window,  there we sit.  trying it out,  i put my arm around you and you lay your head on my shoulder.  “this place works for now,” you tell me,  as you begin  to doze off again.  i could stay here all night, sitting and day dreaming,  but you grab my hand and lead me to bed.  night time.  good night.  and as we climb up the stairs,  i tell you  that im glad that i talked you into getting the sofa,  because it looks real nice in its new home.  we laugh and change and slide into bed.  i turn over and i wrap my arm around you.  and for the next ten minutes,  falling asleep,  im just there, holding you,  wishing that the day never has to end.  but as long as i have her to wake up to,  i don’t mind facing the end of a day. 

 

 

c.2013  BGW

growing up too fast (in a blink of an eye)

. . . .  i  remember the day we brought you home from the hospital.   wrapped up snug in the warmth of the blanket,  eyes shut tight,   sleeping peacefully.   your mother and i laid you down in the bassinet beside our bed.  fast asleep,  there you are.  regardless if it was just to watch you sleep,  or if it was time for your feeding and changing,  we couldn’t take our eyes off of you.  the lying on your back soon turned to you crawling,  and your crawling soon became your first steps.   the cries became baby talk,  and the baby talk became your first words.  and soon after your six month birthday,  was your first.  all too fast.  one through four, and now, today birthday boy,  five years already,  like a blink of the eye,   the time flashes by.  the room quickly fills with the smell of blown out birthday candles and hand clapped cheers.  superhero plates,  balloons, party hats and streamers.   a small group of friends gather,  singing and watching.  what did you wish for?, birthday boy;  was it for the bike,  slip n slide or  for the baseball and glove;  can you teach me to throw and catch, dad?  and as quickly as the candles were blown out, the presents unwrapped, and cake eaten,  you and the other five five year olds run out and  jump back into the pool.   a warm spring day,  happy birthday.  kids playing,  adults conversing,  grilling,  this is your day,  my son,  my birthday boy.  as i grill the hot dogs my mind wonders,  finding it hard to believe that you’ve grown so fast,  where has the time gone.  gone by too quickly,  already.   but here,   we celebrate your birthday,   our  pride and  joy.   with amazement i  just watch him play,   cannonball and splash.   quickly going back into the moment of grilling,  thanks to your mother,  she tells me that im on fire;  and  just in time to prevent a dog catching on fire,  black and charcoal’d.   i look towards her and laugh and tell her that, for a split second, i thought she was talking about me.   as i fix another round of dogs,   we watch you play,  and we stand in awe of the gift,  that is you.   disrupted by your baby brother or sister kicking,  your mother goes and sits on the porch chair,  and by her side,   and i reach my hand over her belly,  to  feel the baby’s kicking; moving.   again, i sit in awe.  one birthday party will soon be two.  brother and brother or brother and sister.  jumping up to  finish the last of the grilled food, we serve it up and eat.  and the small group of kids and adults gather once more,  for a second lunchtime meal,  grab and go.  afterwards with a catsup mouth,  ball and glove in hand,  you ask if i can teach you how to throw and catch ball.  i smile and gladly pick you up and carry you to the front yard,  where it’s just you and me,  and green grass in  between our toes.   the peace of the front yard,  birds chirping,  the new baby leaves rustling,  and the distant noise of the party still going on, in the back of the house.  after a few lessons on catching, your mother comes around and joins us,  to actually just watch us,  and take pictures of you,  our little birthday joy.  ball cap,  glove and ball  in hand.  tossing the ball straight to the ground,  frustration sets in,  and you run for comfort in your mothers arms.  tiredness starts to creep in  and your mother carries you as we all head back to the party and say our thank you’s and good-bye’s.  sun set, sets in and the air cools.  as everyone is now gone,  and  after we finish cleaning up,  we head inside and up the stairs.  drawing a birthday bubble bath,   i sit and listen as you tell us your favourite parts of  your party, which happens to be the whole thing.   you change into your birthday pj’s and hop into bed.   after your mother changed into her pj’s,   she joins us by your bed and helps me with reading your bedtime story.   and before the first page was turned,  you were out like a light,  holding teddy tight, dreaming.  and there,  your mother and i,  looking over the angel in our home,  wrapped up,  snug in the warmth of your spider-man  blankets,  eyes shut tight,  sleeping peacefully.  just like we were,  five years ago to the day.   the bassinet has turned into a big boy bed,  baby blonde hair,  now dark brown and curly,  baby blues  has turned  a bluish green.  and our baby is not a baby anymore,  he is now our young boy,  our birthday boy.  growing up too fast.

c. 2013 BGW

a hidden pain : original copy*

* this is the original copy i wrote about my dads death,  to all readers,  i warn that it is descriptive and honest.  so please read with caution.  the other copy of  “hidden pain”  is an actual short story, and this is more in poem form.  and this will be the last i write about my dad.  thank you for reading.

. . . . i stand from where i was sitting.  the grass,  dry and thirsty.   i close my eyes,  and take a deep breath.  to feel the breeze,  the sunshine on my face,  i am here.  you lie beneath the shade of the oak.   grass,  brown and dry from summers drought.   its been thirteen years since i last saw you.  it’s our own personal drought,  sought and lost.  off in the near distance,  the locus sing.  silently,  the breeze passes by,  cooling the easy of the shade.   gently,  a leaf falls unto the ground below.  the shine of the sun peaks through the trees leaves and branches, and blocks my vision.  //  is it you that hold the answers that i long for,  as the questions pile,  as my life ages.   silence makes noise,  in my ear,  forever in my head.   your guidance,   your wisdom comes forth as the song of the birds. //   the conversation that we have,   my mind turning to that night.   what was your thought,  while you took your final breath?   eyes wide open,   you didn’t even see me try to help you.  lying there motionless,  helpless,  i felt the same.   when the desire to stop came,   it was already too late,   i just can’t imagine.   falling  to  your knees,  you blacked out,  your heart stopped,  dropping the rest of your pills all on the floor.   what was your final thought?   was it about the family who loved you?   or was it about the son,  that was sleeping,  in the room,  next to yours?   i could have stayed up,  possibly saving your life;   just by talking a little bit more,  but instead,   the words  of you liking my music and that how proud of me you were,  were the last i heard.   goodnight, son.   now,  the house that you grew up in, is now the house you died in.   i found you, dad,  in the morning as i woke.  lying in the corner, your face purple, breathless. wiping you face free from the vomit,  i try call for the help you needed,  i checked for your nonexistent pulse,  and it was all too late.  and all the memories, flashed before me,   as shock covered its dark cloak over my face.   your eyes were open, but you didn’t see me try to help.  as your body was carried out,  covered in a black bag,   again, shock covered its cloak upon me,  but this time it was on my life.   you felt alone,  but you weren’t alone.   i was your biggest fan.   there must have been something there,   that made you feel and think otherwise.   but sometimes i feel alone, dad.   and sometimes i think that there’s not much difference between you and me,   father and son.   but im not going to end my life because of momentary feelings.   if only i stayed up to talk more.  there wasnt a damn thing i could have done.   father and son. //  so what was your last thought as your final breath came?   that was what i was thinking,  as i stood from where i was sitting,  right by the same headstone i picked out thirteen years earlier.   i close my eyes, and take in a deep breath,  feeling the breeze,  the sunshine on my face,  knowing  it was you, giving me that hug,  you never were able to give me. . . . . . . .

c. 2012 BGW

paint me a new day

. . . . . the morning sun,  silently rises,  above the watered horizon.  the last of the morning clouds drifts slowly west,  across the new days sky.  a new canvas has begun.  the sunrise over the eastern shore,  softly glows orange,  hinting of  a pinkish mix.   the waves crash upon the shore,  washing up past my feet.  my feet sinking slowly in the soft sands,  around my heel,  around my toes.   the sea salted air,   breezes through my hair,   and across my face;  soft, like a lovers hand caressing my cheek.   evermore, the waves crashing ashore, wave after wave,  slowly creeping up towards the landline,  and then back down again.   sea foam gathers,  seagulls squawk.  morning time on the beach,  a solitary moment,  finding the sacred,  sought out desire of peace and calmness;  there i am.   a freightliner slowly eases across the outer most point on the horizon;  and inside the bay,  the fishermen collect the catch of the day.   the aqua blue starts to show as the sun climbs higher and higher in the days sky.  the warmth surrounds at an earlier pace than yesterday,  and so like the seagulls, the people flock to the shoreline.  sun bathe,  swim,  surf  and  parasail.  the noonday’s sun,  higher and hotter.    i run into the crashing waves,  into the water,  cooling myself.   jet-skis,  water skis,  pass by,  as i wade back up to the soft, hot sands  of land.  //  lounging in a hammock,  collecting my own sun rays,  i close my eyes.  distant laughing of people,  splashing in the water,  building castles of sand.  i feel the sun kissing my skin.  above me,  the bay’s breeze gently rustling the palms leaves,  and further out,  a speedboat races by.  as i doze off in the palm’s shade, a twinkle of sunlight peaks through, and hits my closed eyes,  and the dream of her comes sneaking back.   my eyes open,  and the crowd has found their choise of local tourist trapped foods,  and the sands before me,  once again comforts the desire for the peace within.   as the clock in the sky,  quietly tic-tocs away the day,  slowly sinking lower and lower,  reflections sprinkle on the waters.  orange, red and pink, mix later into a purple blush,  brushed onto the twilights canvas,  paint me into night.  // the  boats slowly charter back into the bay,  and the people who have a party in the sands, start their bon-fire, tiki torches and music.  the dark sky of night covers the horizon of everlasting waters.  the moon twinkled its light on the blackened waters below and the stars dance in the blinded sky.  the sounds of waves crashing and washing on shore, fill my ears.  to the right, landfall,  the boardwalk fills with people looking for a good time, a carnival ride.  magic mirrors and elephant ears.  // this is where i first met you,  some sixty-five years ago.  nine-teen forty-eight.   the boardwalk has grown a little larger from the last time we were here together.   but here,  the first time our eyes met.  but here, where our hearts and feelings collided.  our first kiss.   i’m  a little older,  and our children have all grown up,  and now have children of their own.  this day lies our anniversary.  the feelings still remain,   within my heart,  within my grey haired head,  as if you never passed.   the morning and evening walks along the shore,  are never alone.  the conversations are like you never had gone away. // the morning sun,  silently rises,  above the watered horizon.  the last of the morning clouds drifts slowly west,  across the new days sky.   a new canvas has begun.  paint me a new day. . . . 

 

 

c. 2013  BGW

after the work day is done (this is why)

. . . . . . my work day is done.  invoices, meetings and e-mails,  all left behind and the wheels of business never stop in my mind.  i crawl into my  car and  quickly take a minute to breathe and slowly forget about the work day.  and i start for the dance of the traffic ballet. stop and go, weaving in between slower moving cars.  and as i turn down the neighborhoods street, i  slow,  as i approach the driveway, welcome home.  our house stands as our castle.  hunters green wood slat siding , with stone tan shutters,  cream wood trim and cobblestone foundation  and  dark wooden stained fence outlines the backyard.   every time i see it,  i am proud.  in the front yard,  there you are playing with our son,  and he’s got that big wiffle ball bat in hand,  and our daughter is in the side yard,  jumping on her trampoline with her friend,  and the dog jumps up on the fence,  and leans his front paws up on the top rail,  looking over at me,  giving me a bark hello.  as i pull in the drive,  you stand up straight with our son in arm and wave me hello.  and as you smile,  i smile.  and a glitch of happiness starts to erase the stress,  and i park.  grabbing my briefcase and suit jacket,  i quickly climb out of the car and as i shut the door i hear our son cry out for me.  turning to him  i crouch down and reach out my arms as he starts running towards me, i set my case down and pick him up.  big and loving hug, all within.  (this is why).  as he continues to hug me tight,  i turn to yell out a hello to our daughter as she continues to bounce up and down, somersaulting in between bounces.  i meet you in the middle of our front yard and your smile becomes a kiss hello,  hug me love.  (this is why).  as we head in,  i loosen my tie and continue holding my son, who now has his head on my shoulder,  and with the other arm, my wife grabs my hand and lays her head gently on my other shoulder.  we open the door,  and it begins the evening.  i set my son down gently and he runs towards his blocks,  still scattered among the parlour floors rug.  you tell me to relax and go take a long hot shower.  and like so many times before, she can read the work stress on my face.  she knows me.  and i know her.  this is why. // i start up the stairs,  like i do everyday after work and start unbuttoning my shirt, and prepare for the relaxing hot steamy shower that awaits.  i slide open the showers door and i get in.   washing off the workday grime and dirtiness of the stress, i lean in and put my head under the gentle flow of the shower head and i stay there for a good short while,  slowly, easing of the days pressures and stresses.  invoices, meeting and e-mails.  slowly washing away,  away, all with the water, running down the drain.  after i shut off the water,  i grab my towel and dry off.  relaxed and feeling clean,  i change into my comfortable evening attire of pajama bottoms and my  cincinnati reds t-shirt.  (this is why). //   i start my decent downstairs and i smell the dinner that awaits. there in family room,  sitting there, is my wife and children with delivered pizza and bread sticks.  our son in his high chair, painting his face with strained peas,  missing his mouth eight out of ten times and our daughter snuggled in the e-z chair texting.  but still manages to say hello to me, without looking away from the glowing screen of her phone.  as i look at the delicious pizza,  you tell me that you ordered it before i got home and hope that i didnt mind.  i quickly respond, “not at all.”  and i sit next to you, and we turn on  the t.v.  and while we eat, we watch something mindless to entertain us all.  relaxing with the family, together, and this is why.  as we clean up after dinner,  paper plates in the recycling bin, glasses in the sink,  our sons face, once again,  reappears.  releasing him to continue to play with his toys,  our daughter runs up to her room as if her daily family time quota has been filled,  and now has to retreat to her four wall parent-free zone.  i retreat, myself,  back to couch and turn to the home improvement channel and i kick my feet up on coffee table.  getting some weekend projects going through my head, i imagine what i can do.  and as i jot some ideas, you walk in and sit next to me.  gently you scratch my back, as you tell me which of the project you like, and the ones you have created yourself.  your scratching has become more of a massage. relaxing, releasing the tension in my back, and you make me feel so good.  (this is why).  and as we sit and watch and relax,  my son turns and comes up to my leg and i pick him up and hold him closely, tightly,  a father and sons love.  (this is why!).  our daughter comes halfway down the stairs and tell us that she’s going to bed,  good night and she loves us.  (this is why).   my son,  in my arms,  has fallen asleep.  slowly we get up and we head upstairs to put the little one up to his crib.  as we change his diaper and clothing, we turn on his soft lullaby music and turn on the night-light lamp,  where it softly glows around his teddy bear collection and up onto the ceiling.  i lean in on the crib and watch my son sleep.  and i just watching him sleep, makes me speechless.  i am proud.  his gentle breathing,  my son,  a deep sleeper.  an angel in our house,  this is my son,  and this is why.   we ourselves head to the bedroom and get ready for bed.  there,  in our bed,  you continue to read your Hemingway book,  as i start to think about the upcoming weekend projects brewing up in my head.  with all indoor lights off,  silently,  the home sleeps.  activity halted,  waiting for the dawn of a new day.  the circle of life.  and it all starts over again.  new day, new challenges. new plans,  new ideas.  meetings,  screaming,  e-mails and invoices forgotten by time im at home.  working to live,  and never living to work.  this is why!. . . . . . . 

 

c. 2013 BGW

a poem for a winter’s day, snowed in (part two)

. . . . . .the morning broke and the sunshine peeked in through the drawn curtain.  the smell of eggs scrambled with fresh,  green and red bell peppers, crisp turkey bacon, toast browning, and freshly ground  italian coffee; it all filled the air.  i plate it up and arrange it on a tray, accompanied by a jar of raspberry jam and a glass of milk. and as i walk towards the bedroom entry door, the dog follows,  wagging his tail,  happy and hoping that he will get a taste of a human breakfast.   i ,oh-so  carefully balance the tray with the one hand and slowly open the door with the other, trying my best not to tip the tray, and feeding the dog everyone’s breakfast.  the wooden door quietly squeaks and there you are, sprawled out on the bed, covered in comforters, staying warm.  as you see me with the breakfast you quickly jump out of your cocoon and position your back on the headboard, all ready, for your tray.  i set it in front of you and the dog quickly, patiently sits besides the bed,  giving his begging eye look.  i quickly run back out to the kitchen, and i grab my tray, and carefully speed walk back to the bed, were we both sit nearly arm in arm,  and dig in our tasty breakfast.  the dog, still looking on,  raises one paw and nudges your elbow.  gently, with your morning voice, you tell him  to “go lay down”.  whimpering to his corner dog bed,  acting like his feelings are hurt,  you tell him “good boy”.  as we finish our last bites, you wipe you mouth off, with your white cottony napkins and offer to take in the dirty dishes to the kitchen, and as you do you kiss my cheek and thank me for the breakfast.  and when you are done, like a high jumper from the olympics, you get yourself a running start from the kitchen and up the hall and into the bedroom and jump up onto the bed, again, and i give you a five out of ten score, because your toe hit the corner post of the foot board,  not making it a clean jump.  you jokingly slap my arm, as a chuckle. // now that we ate, and are back into our comforter cocoon,  we lay there for a few, toes touching, holding feet.   we pull the sheets and comforter above our heads and we work off our breakfasts.  emerging from the sheets, our faces meet the cooling air on flushed flesh.  and once again our dog is sitting at attention by the side of the bed, wondering what just went on.  reaching for the remote,  turning on the telly , only to find that the cables out. so we look for movies to pass sometime.  we’ve seen them all,  and we pass on that idea.  looking down the hall i see that our dog is pawing at the door,  pleading to be let out.  we look at each other, as we both forgot the little part, to where he would be needing to go out.  pulling out the well-worn sweatpants, i slip them on,  no shirt and bundle my winter coat up to my chin.  i pull on my boots and leave them untied.  you laugh at my quick thinking outfit and tell me that “you wouldn’t be caught dead outside this cabin with me looking like this!”,  and i turn smiling, and say,  “well, it’s a good thing that we are snowed in, then?,  isn’t it?”  as you throw a pillow at me,  barely making fifteen feet to my feet,  and quickly telling  you that you must play for the chicago cubs.  laughing,  i head to the door and  grab the only local shovel around…the fireplace ash shovel.  looking at it,  chuckling and saying it’ll do.  luckily the snow really wasnt that high by the area around the door, thanks largely to the winds, drifting the snow of to the side of the cabin.  feeling like a big dork, here i am, shoveling a large area, for my dog, with this ash shovel.  after about thirty or so minutes,  a shoveled area big enough for our dog, is done.  i gently toss the shovel on the cabins floor and start to take off my winters jacket.  i make a pit stop at the bathroom, and toss water on my face and up to my elbows and dry off,  with the soft hand towel.  i retreat back to the bedroom because as i called out your name to tell you that i was done, there was no response.  i opened the door only to find you lounged out on the bed, waiting.  a foolish grin can across your face, and i quickly closed the bedroom door behind me.  i thought for sure, that if we were outside, ourselves, we could have melted all the snow, quicker than what the sun was doing.  once again we emerge from our comforter cocoon and i re open the door, and head to the fireplace.  we find ourselves in the company of the fireplace.  slipping on your pj’s,  you bring over a game of monopoly, and set it up on the table by the fire.  i return to the kitchen and quickly make us a cup of coffee, and bring it along side the games board.  as the game goes on, the light outside grows more dim, as the light inside grows a little brighter.  the dog, in front of the fire, is curled up, fast asleep.  and as i land my racecar token on your boardwalk, only with four houses, you win.  as you do a little victory dance, i bow my head, shake it and laugh.  she always wins and i don’t mind.  because seeing her face smile,  it’s all worth the loss.  there in the dimming outside light,  burning candles illuminate brighter.  we quickly grab some dinner of lunch meat sandwiches and chips and talk.  and after being together,  i still could sit and listen to her and never get tired.  the way she speaks, the calming of her voice,  i still  get nervous and very tongue-tied when i have to answer her.  and i think she understands.  and because she understands,  she never makes me feel little or unequaled because of it. //   inside, warm and cozy. there we are,  wrapped inside a mix of blankets, face to face with  the cobblestone fireplace.  the logged wall of the wooded cabin, all darkened,  all for the exception of the flickering light,  orange and yellow.  a soft glow.  a soft crackle,  a loud pop of embers.  winter night, hold you tight,  i need you.  caring, sensitive, affectionate, passionate.  lights off,  fire glow, afterglow.  the beating of one’s heart, when the other looks into the others eyes,  desire grows.  i need you. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

c.2013 BGW

here i am

here we are

with each passing minute, time silently sneaks by

the tic toc of the old coo-coo clock,  events,  moments come and go

ages grow larger,  and the children aren’t any smaller

two becomes one,  or the feeling of only,  and one

two becomes one,  where are you?,   and one is back,   but the other is leaving.

two is lonely,  looking at one.   is it you?,   or is it me?

myself,   yourself…

seeking and searching for what is lacking,   here i am

all along,   in front of you,   but blinded by the chaos,  you couldn’t see,   seek

im barely awake,  morning motions are routine,   someone,   please don’t  wake me

because there you are,   in the world that is not yet been.

needing the want,   wanting the need of mental intimacy, something that’s deeper (and lacking)

healing the wounds time threw,   becoming something stronger

here we are,   looking for answers that already have been

here we are,  with each passing minute

time silently passing by,   and here we sit,   gathering a collection of new memories,

new feelings and emotions,   here i am,  and there you are

one and one equals a whole lot,   more than what we could ever count

and here i am

c. 2013  BGW