Memories And Photos
Someday I will fade
Just like a photograph in one of those books you keep:
A distorted memory; there but forgotten.
Memories and photos look at me from a stack of old books
Brought to visit by a new and dear friend
Who provides things needed that I dare
Not ask directly for
Like Vitamin D and new surgical scrub pants
Which I quickly make old
In a hot and busy kitchen
Where I give my daily pound of flesh
And pints
Of blood sweat and tears.
Someday I will fade
Just like a photograph in one of those books you keep:
A distorted memory; there but forgotten.
I imagine old Browning and Kodak Cameras
Set in wide dirt streets,
And stuffy portrait studios
Where the men and ladies
In Sunday finery sit still
And uncomfortable
As a man
With his head under a cloth
Slowly counts the seconds
And minutes
Of picture perfection.
Someday I will fade
Just like a photograph in one of those books you keep:
A distorted memory; there but forgotten.
The old dirt roads
And dusty streets
Are horse-hoof pounded
And wagon wheel
Pounded into my imagination
And somewhere in a distant memory
A few words from Pete McKenna
Try to wander to
The forefront of my mind,
But the truth be known,
I was a poor student
So I don’t remember
Streets and dates
From 8th grade history.
Someday I will fade
Just like a photograph in one of those books you keep:
A distorted memory; there but forgotten.
I try to focus
Like that old photographer
Holding up a pan
Of flash powder
Ready to capture your magic
In one beautiful portrait,
But I am only left
With blurry slides
And images
That keep slipping away
Like the ice
In the corner of a
Sun warmed puddle
Or the tears
Slowly drying…
Someday I will fade
Just like a photograph in one of those books you keep:
A distorted memory; there but forgotten.
Kimberly Williams
As a muse you are beautiful and endearing.
As a person you make me sad
And I guess I just need to make the choice,
Because God knows I don't need to be sad.
I was sad for years and years.
Sometimes life hands you misery
Then God hands you a keen axe
And lets you think you have battled
Alone through hell and back.
I am never super sad anymore,
As long as I cry when no one is looking.
I break down for brief moments,
That's about it though.
I convince myself I wield my own ax.
I don't have to wonder
What keeps the blade sharp and clean.
Good thing that in your weakest moments
You are still stronger than me.
In your weakest moment,
Stronger than most, it seems to be
Kimberly Williams says she still loves me
Like an old poem, poorly written
Upon dog-eared paper; no Poe for sure.
I still love her too, though admitting
Sometimes dulls the concept of God Axe;
Double-bladed and infallible.
On a North Dakota day,
I still wish times were simple;
I once lived two frozen trailer lots away.
If I only had a broke back single shot 12 gauge,
I could cure this addiction,
But my laptop is dying so I must bid you adieu!
Thank you for the company
But as a shoulder provided,
These old memories provide more pain than solace.
I have miles to go before I sleep,
Dreams of a past without futures,
And axes to grind that I must keep...
Dakota 2011
There is a little red flag
hanging from my dirty screen door.
When the water went down
the FEMA man said
I couldn't stay anymore.
I'm turning lights out
as I light out it seems
to the never promised land;
of broken American dreams.
The creaking slamming door
of a rundown camper
defies my thoughts and musings;
smiles and sun to hamper.
I arrived at this dream
before I awoke yesterday in this land
of too many tomorrows;
kindness destroyed by a shaking hand.
We saw the water coming down rivers,
over earthen berms and dikes
and through the city streets.
A rain hammer doesn't care what it strikes.
Flood predictions came and went.
The final bell tolled as the gavel rang down
and still more water rolled in,
surely the city would drown,
"...dead...yes dead...and it shall be not proud..."
There is a little red flag
hanging from my dirty screen door.
When the water went down
the FEMA man said
I couldn't stay anymore.
I'm turning lights out
as I light out it seems
to the never promised land;
another broken American dream.
Kimi told me to try
sitting with bare feet in sand
drinking wine and watching the moon
painting oceans and land.
While children sleep dreamlessly
in the peaceful breeze of the cooling night,
we plot survival and salvation
bathed in a painted Dakota twilight.
Remember when we let
our mind wander to the places
Faulkner and Hemingway drove us
with smiles on their faces.
Some concepts can only be felt on nights like this;
back sore from removing drywall
and tearing out floor joists,
fearful of winter's early fall.
There is a little red flag
hanging from my dirty screen door.
When the water went down
the FEMA man said
I couldn't stay anymore.
I'm turning lights out
as I light out it seems
to the never promised land;
another broken American dream.
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