take a break today (with this song)

…….i love simon and garfunkel.  their music is poetic and timeless.  but this song,  “bookends theme” is unforgettable. it’s been running through my head today.  with all the bad news circulating in today’s world, we must find a calm within the storm.  it’s a very short song, but the songs meaning is forever. theres another song, “old friends” that acts as a prelude to bookends. so if you haven’t heard this song(s) before, i highly suggest taking a five minute break, and pull yourself away from the news, and take a listen….  BGW

…..”Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories;  They’re all that’s left you”……

simon and garfunkel,  bookends theme

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wishing you were here

. . . . . .sitting, with brief episodes of walking, pacing. there i was, right by the riverfront.  there, majestically stood the city.  a heavy curtain of  fog was starting to lift,   as the daylight broke,  giving the city an overcast illusion.  good morning.  and there i am, possibly sitting in the best seat in the house.  not because of the town i was standing in, but because what stood before me, on the northern bank of the ohio. behind me, the mile long freight train whistle blows. and as it’s crossing the old iron bridge, you can hear  the click clack of the wheels hitting the rail joints.  a deep breath, i sigh. i look around, american football autumn day, i’ll come back,  baseball springtime game.  the water has a calm current today, as the small soft riverbank surf washes up by my feet. i take the short walk over the bridge.  trying not to look down through the grated floor below, i keep my eye on the passing of boats.  as the bridge walk ends, there the city starts. // window shopping for a while, passing the time,  local shoppes,  big time merchants.  in town grocer, mom and pop farmers market.  the hustle of the traffic, a distant scream of sirens. i pass an office building covered in marble, shiny metal moldings, offering me satisfaction for my hunger, all too modern.   so i left before i got into it. and i head towards walnut and find the local pub.  and as i grabbed the golden door handle, a memory snapped into mind, and there we were, five years ago.  blue eyes and all,  all other surroundings blurred.  sharing a  rendezvous  with conversations that could have gone on forever. and now they were just plain over.  i opened  the door and walk through a maze of tables and chairs, and once there,   i sat at the corner booth and order myself  an author g,  and i find myself  missing  you again.  the lunchtime crowd filters in and as quickly as it came, it went.  and like the wind in the trees, i never did see you come in. the little bit of hope dashed and disappeared. the number of times  i thought about letting you know that i was in town, never equaled to such.  memories flood, and i grab my last sip. i must move on.  leaving the scent of  fish and chips for the sounds of downtown traffic honks and loud highway parties, i wait for the walk sign to turn, i push up my cuff and read the time. quarter past one. still early,  but way too late.  i cross where the cars have halted and came across vine.  a street where a king’s court reigned and looked down upon me,  never giving them a second glance.  there, a few blocks down,  the shadow of the genus of water covered the brightness of the sun from my eyes for a moment  and  i looked up upon the bronzed statues, a breeze blows, and a cool mist from the falling water floats by.  studying the faces of all the statues, i walk around it. and i come across a crowd of people clapping and cheering around this girl, seeing that a man just proposed. and a crooked grin of  happiness came across my face. and i paused. i lingered. frozen as if i was a part of the fountain.  and there, i turn a quick pace back to where i started. and as quickly as i walk, the memories flood back to me. it was here in this city, the town i fell in love with,  i fell in love with her.  there was no real escaping her or the memory of her haunting beauty,  just like thew city,  itself.   all i was doing was looking for some  r&r  and the memory caught up with me, it wasn’t supposed to, but it found me.   back to my new  favourite  walnut street pub,  i order another author g and pull out a scratch piece of paper and jot down  a few lines.   word here, sip,  word there.  and like a bad habit,  i look at my watch again, three o’clock. early enough to where i’m the only soul in the place.  silence and room to think.   i take my drink and move to the same corner booth i had earlier.   there i sit and do some serious thinking about everything.  and as i take another sip, i glance and notice that a couple of corporate hot-shots walk in and walk up to the bar and order themselves a drink.   it’s now ten past four.   the after work crowd starts trickling through.  it’s where the corporate big timers mix with the blue collars. sharing a pint, throwing darts, we are all the same after four or five.  looking down on the piece of paper i was writing on, it is now full.  i reach in my blazers inside pocket and pinch a piece of paper out of it. and as i unfold it, i notice that it already had some writing scribbled on it.  and there, in front of me was the same piece of paper i received from you five years ago with your number on it.  i laugh at first, because i realize that i  haven’t cleaned out my jacket in a while.  finishing off my drink, i reach in my front pocket of my jacket and push in those numbers that i have come accustomed to dialing in my sleep.  one at a time, heart beats faster, doubt arises,  last number and all i need to do is to hit send. . .i take one deep breath. . . .  i freeze for a moment,  and  i hear her voice,  “hello?”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .c. 2013 BGW

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say what?

“i’m going to squeeze the thoughts out of my mind, like an orange, and let the paper soak it all up.”  2013 BGW

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the cycle of writing

the cycle of writing

just another photo, until my mind clears, and gets ready to write. enjoy.

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sunrise III

sunrise III

i love the sunrise. it’s a promise of another day. giving me endless opportunities.

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early childhood home

early childhood home

indianapolis, indiana

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sunrise II

sunrise II

there’s something about the sunrise. the moments before it gets too bright, and just bright enough to illuminate the canvas sky. everyday, different than the one before. perfectly amazing. BGW 2012

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sunrise

sunrise

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words

words

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part two : the sun peaks through

. . . . . there i was.  alone.  the truck rides always gave me time to think.  no matter if i was going down the street, or driving to get the hell away from the problem.  but this time was different.  i left, for good.  the windshield wiper’s rubber rubbing and drawing the rain away from the obstructed view of the road ahead, once again, clear view.  depending on what song that was playing on my strategic playlist, i’d flip through my ferris wheel of thoughts, usually.  but today was different.  i didn’t turn on the song for thought.  i was just driving.  zoned out on the road ahead.  numb.  //  the rain slowly comes to an end.  the milky grey sky drifts past and leaves a clear blue horizon.  on the road where i travel, the sun peaks through a crack in the cloud, leaving  sun rays painted upon the canvas sky, depicting what i like to think as a stairway leading to heaven.  i always had a thought of what my life was going to be like.  i guess, more like a dream.  not anything like i was living at this moment.  but i suppose that, that wouldn’t be realistic.  a life with no problems, no anger, never having to live from paycheck to paycheck and never feeling the pain of falling out of love.  what a life. that wasn’t mine.  //  one hundred and twenty miles driven, i start feeling  the weight on my shoulders.  what have i done?   what have i done?, other than make two people disappointed and broken-hearted.   and then i remembered as quickly as i have forgotten, the arguments and the lack of feelings we shared.   the questions in my mind start to repeat themselves,  like a madman in a padded cell.   but i cant let the feeling  of defeat win, or hold me down  in chances to start a new.  each day is mine for the taking. taking command like a captain and his ship. this is me and my day.  selfishness vs. actually putting myself first.  for once.  breaking down my walls.  it is about me.  //   the day gave into night, i stop for the rest.   i pull into the hotel’s parking lot and head in.   i ask for a room and check in.  the smell of the hotel reminds me of past vacations.  i think that every hotel smells this way.  a mixture of cleanliness,  pool chlorine, with a hint of cigarette smoke.  the lady hands me a key and tells me that check out is at eleven and the continental breakfast is served at seven.  sending me on my way.  walking past the pool and down a dim-lit hall, i find room one-forty-three.  walking  in, i tossed the key onto the side table and locked the door behind me.  i looked around and kind of laughed at the site i was welcomed in to.  there in front of me laid awful red carpet and purple velvet curtains and walls wallpapered with painted on strands of ivy.  i checked in, in 2013,  but obviously paid for 1965.   i first get ready for a nice hot shower.  i undress and reach for the towel.  i wash off the days burden and dry off.  i walk out in my towel and turn on the sports channel.  and it was then when i turned around, that, in the earlier argument and driving off, i didn’t grab any clothes.  no hair or tooth-brush, no change of clothes.  i was gonna rough it without roughing it.  so i  change into the same clothes i had on before, and ran to the local store.  grabbing some impromptu dinner and a new casual outfit, brushes for my hair and teeth, deodorant and such, i drive back to my time warped room.  i eat and relax on the bed.  lying there watching the t.v., flipping through the local channels.  i always find it funny to watch out-of-town newscast stations, when ive become accustomed to the ones back home.  dozing off during the late show, i turn off the light on t.v., and roll over to my sleeping position. the silence was deafening at first.  out of habit, i reach my arm over, trying to reach for you.  to hold on to you.  but all that was there was stiff  hotel cotton blankets and sheets. i reposition the pillows .  two pillows for my head and one that i hold in my arms, that acts as you. . . . . . .  c.2013 BGW

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