T his time every year, rich memories stir my soul, perhaps coaxed by the warming breezes of spring. Memories filled with the smell of leather, oiled in Neatsfoot. Maybe its the clatter of wooden bats in a canvass bag, the rattle of metal spikes on concrete, the snug feel of the ballglove, or tuggin’ on the ballcap, with the bill rolled just right.
Perhaps it’s the smoothness of the cowhide sphere, my finger grip on raised seams, that stirs in my warm recall. Or the click and clack of the catcher’s gear, as he crouches, giving me the signs. Maybe it’s my right foot on the rubber, just before my leg coils for delivery. The “hey batter batter” chatter from my infielders, just before the loud pop of the ball in the pocket of the catcher’s mit — me waiting eagerly to hear “steee-rike threeee” ring out from the ump!
Or is it your arm around my shoulder, the pride in your eyes, as I step down, entering the dugout, after retiring the other team. “Nice job pitch”, you say. “Thanks dad, I mean coach” is my reply. Your were my Little League coach, and you helped make me a helluva hurler — which carried my ball career all the way through high school.
It is every year at this time, that I think of all of this, that I think of you dad. How you wanted me to try pro, and how the scout felt I had the arm — but it is the path I didn’t take. I chose music and the arts, and you never made me feel sorry for my choice — one that you supported as genuinely as you did my sports. It is you I think of this time of year, you I still miss so. You dad, are these memories, and I love you deeply, now in this tearful moment — and always. Thank you for coaching me, and for loving me!
vivid white chalk stripes
laid neatly on soft tan dirt
dad’s gift of baseball
Yesterday is money spent
a corner turned
the choice that’s made
the tear that’s shed
the sentence spoken
the breath exhaled
the fuel consumed
the life that’s lived
all gone to ash
today is influence
momentum moving
the raindrop falling
hands on the wheel
the river flowing
the voice that’s singing
it’s life breathing
it’s face to face
it’s real time
tomorrow is the land of dreams
it’s the great unknown
the wheel of fate
it’s the far horizon
the dawn approaching
the planted seed
has no guarantee
yet it’s full of promise
and it’s full of dread
yesterday was once today
today likewise was once tomorrow
tomorrow will be yesterday
but first it must become today
this is the strand continuum
how we see it through our eyes
it stretches from before awareness
and far beyond all that dies
are we essence — riding it timeless
or being — to but wonder and surmise
as we watch it passing by — so helpless
P assion
let it flare fire red
red as the shuttered windows
of Paris rue du limuze
that conceal the carnal
intertwined
on a starburst night
in the throes
of steaming conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless passion
white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the lust
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire
there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar
when you hear
the hushed whispers
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the lithe loins
of the skin slaves
fully aflame
behind Paris red shutters
“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery; Ride and live today” Steve McQueen
Fueled by the freedom of the open road
racing away from routine’s grasp
leaning tightly into curves
wind whip’n long hair
the knees tucked
head bent low
motorcycle
rockets
loving youthful revolution
living in the moment
not counting time
not worrying
just being
free ¥
”Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.” Leonard Cohen
Your clarity
blazed bright
a flame of logic
a vivid light
pierced the darkness
of ignorance
its radiance
sparked inquiry
your blazing light
turned to ember
then fell to ashen
but you still ignite
those who remember
your philosopher’s passion
we stir to fire
your dark wisdom’s desire
you’re moved on now
but you’re not gone now
you’ve taken manhattan
you’re no longer
the bird on the wire
but your true soul
was not extinguished
on your funeral pyre
those who heard you
we now bear you on
you’ll never be gone
I remember you, as the spring blooms erupt
you felt winter, made them wait long enough
those gorgeous mavericks, always lifted us
new wildflowers, crazy colors blowin’ up
I remember the beauty, you saw in those weeds
for you understood, how a wild heart bleeds
to grow free, but as were their untamed needs
indiscriminately, they dispersed their wilding seeds
I remember wildflowers, embracin’ hills n’glades
hundreds o’brightly hues, and many stunning shades
n’painting steepen’d slopes, in color rich cascades
I remember you so loved, those raucous renegades
I remember you, in our special park in May
in the cool Spring breeze, at the end of day
on the silvered beach, of the white-capped bay
ever so especially, along our moonlit waterways
I remember sunny days, as it was growing dark
reclined on the soft matt, of fallen aspen bark
to the day’s final song, of the lilting meadow lark
oh — I remember you, in that wonderful arbor park
I remember you my love, by the ivy’d garden wall
on those crisp and heady days, of the waning fall
laying languidly embraced, on a golden leafy sprawl
in the dappled shade, of that weeping willow tall
I remember you, sitting by the old oaken mill
‘neath autumn’s changing trees, high on that grassy hill
when we would make sweet love, in the early morning chill
I remember with joyful tears, our wild lover’s thrill
how we’d embrace, and laughing, run wildly downhill
free as those wildflowers, I remember you still
your bright eyes flashing, as tears of joy spill
even as I leave you love, you know I always will
~ Last Lines ~
New wildflowers, crazy colors blowin’ up
indiscriminately, they dispersed their wilding seeds
I remember you so loved, these raucous renegades
ever so especially, along our moonlit waterways
oh — I remember you, in that wonderful arbor park
in the dappled shade, of that weeping willow tall
I remember with joyful tears, our wild lover’s thrill
even as I leave you love — you know I always will
