Free

The world has lost its master grip on you.

The wind, the rain, they call your name in vain.

At that—you laugh, and keep on walking through.

Your heart, your soul, they will not ‘er attain.

Dare I, then, seek your unimpeded love?

I, a desolate fool so far from pure;

You, admired by the heavens above.

Masks we wear don’t dare touch a face so sure.

Though…you know all of this to be most true.

And still, you choose to look beyond the lies.

I wish but a glimpse of your point of view!

Then maybe I, could rid my false disguise,

And hand-in-hand we can dance on the moon.

Bound by none on earth—we choose our own tune.

Sweet Drop to Swing Side

It’s a sweet drop to swing side, and everyone’s out:

the drinkers,

the dreamers,

the dancers,

all swing about.

 

It’s a sweet drop to swing side, and everyone’s out.

The girls flirt with eyes;

the boys with their mouths—

both sing and shout.

 

It’s a sweet drop to swing side, and the drinks are

f

l

o

w

i

n

g

out:

cups are filled,

bellies are full—

they ain’t worried about a drought.

 

It’s a sweet drop to swing side, and love is in the air:

true love,

fake love,

quick love;

they love without a care.

 

It’s a sweet drop to swing side, and attitudes start to sprout—

dancers show their bellies;

lovers show their lips;

fighters shown their knuckles—

all hells about to break out.

 

It’s a sweet drop to swing side, and everyone has left:

the drinkers are drunk,

the lovers feel loved,

the fighters have fought,

the dancers all danced out,

the dreamers still dream,

and everyone’s wiped out.

 

It’s a sweet drop to swing side, and

oh!—

What a night it was.

Emotions

It was late at night. The time of night when emotions run wild and free.

And my emotions were no exception; they went where they wanted to be.

Netflix was on. The show? I can’t remember. But I do recall you:

your voice was singing; your body was dancing; all right next to mine.

It was then, that my emotions took off to see your moves. They tend to follow the shine.

And baby, let me tell you. My emotions were in awe of you. You taught them something new.

You made them feel things they never knew.

To cry out of joy? To laugh, out of the blue?

These emotions you gave me.

And now I feel brand new.

Dying Wish

The thought fell upon me,

while walking on midnight’s path:

my body is withering,

and it will not last.

 

My perspective of life—flipped upside down.

Smiles, from this life of joy, are now frowns

 

Making it known, I may no longer be.

Family

fastly

falling;

falling

on wobbly knees.

 

The creaky bed, I now lie;

needles upon needles, make home in my arm.

Surely soon, my body will die.

For it is my body, causing me harm.

 

Those closest; they decide to stay.

Asking, if I had one wish, what would I say?

“What would I say?” I pause and give it some thought.

“Well, I’d watch golf on TV.

With y’all sittin’ here bothering me.”

 

Time has passed; my body brand new.

I watch golf on TV, while smiling

down

at you.

The Perfect Day

I

It felt like months since the last time the sun was out. Of course, it has been out; but its been timid, and not very sure of itself; like a…no, I won’t go there. This morning, though, the sun was a powerful force, like a sun shining on—darn it!

Out of frustration, the writer puts his pencil down, takes a deep breath, holds it in, coughs, coughs again, thinks about how he used to be able to hold his breath for almost two minutes, picks up his pencil, and starts again.

This morning, though, the sun was a powerful force. It was as if the sun knew our plans needed its bright glow. She woke up first, as she always does, and my eyes played follow the leader to hers. “Happy birthday!” I said, as I reached over to the bedside table to feel for my glasses.

“Thanks hunny.” she said with a smile that turned to a yawn; while squeezing my right hand like a gentle, baby python.

When my left hand finally found my sight—thank goodness for glasses—I was able to take in this perfect morning: Her hair was in a bun that swirled like a chocolate-vanilla-twist cone, and the sun shone at the top like sprinkles. Her eyes were emerald green with hints of ocean blue and sunflower yellow; her lips pressed together in perfect harmony, with an inviting lure, and a smile that created dimples so pure. And underneath the blue blanket, her body took on the form of a mermaid, showing off her captivating curves.—oh, and the room looked nice, too.

Not able to resist, I rolled over on my side, squeezed her mermaid-like body with my string-bean arms, and began to sing: “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you….” Midway through the song she joined in, and I couldn’t help but smile wide. Two minutes into the day, I thought, and already it’s the best birthday ever. “So, birthday girl. How would you like to start off your morning?” I asked.

“Um, well…”—she tapped her fingers to her lips as if she were in deep thought—”perhaps, maybe some cereal.” she said in a silly but cute voice that always made me smile.

“Absolutely! For you—anything.” I gave the back of her forehead a kiss, peeled off the blanket, and took off for the kitchen to make her a bowl of my famous cereal. The sun illuminated our four-room loft, and by the time I got to the kitchen I was wide awake. “What do you want to do today, Chel? I asked while cleaning up droplets of spilled milk with my fingers.

“I believe that maybe,” she was using the cute voice again, “we should go kayaking.”

“That sounds perfect!” I handed her the bowl of cereal, picked up her new scarf she opened the night before, and waved it around like a ribbon dancer.

“Go get ready, goof.” She was shooing me away with a smirk.

Not wanting to ruin this day with my amatuer dance moves, I obliged, but not before I did one more shake with my hips.

This day is perfect, I thought.

II

“I’ll grab the starburd side of the canoe!” I sad in a pirate’s voice.

“It’s a kayak.” she said with a laugh; knowing darn well that starburd isn’t a thing.

We managed to get the first kayak on top the van within minutes, but the second was a nightmare, and we weren’t exactly kayak experts or canoe experts or loading them on to cars experts; we were just two love birds trying to kayak on her birthday. “Alright, you ready to lift?” I asked.

“Oh—yeah!” she said with the enthusiasm of a high-school cheerleader. We gave each other a look of confidence; then she gave me a head nod like a pitcher showing the catcher she’s ready, and we lifted. We hoisted the miniature boat high above our shoulders, too high above our shoulders, I thought. This is too high, I repeated in my head. The kayak began to wobble from side-to-side, the wind picked up, and decided to pick the kayak up from our hands and toss it to the side like a rag doll. We gave each other a glance of disbelief; which turned into a look of annoyance, because we were still miles from any source of water. We stood there in our disbelief for a few seconds, until she began to laugh. Ah, her laugh: it’s a laugh that can change my mood in an instant. Someone could throw garbage in my face and call me a cupcake, and I still wouldn’t mind, so long as she were laughing (which if that happened, she would laugh).

Two hours went by before we had the kayaks strapped to the van—but it didn’t matter. We were proud of our heroic work, the sun was in full-force, and we were ready to adventure to a place we had never been before. I wonder if back in the day they could travel wherever they pleased? thought I. You know, with no GPS and all. I’ll have to look that up on my phone later.

So, there we were: you and I, and a van with two kayaks on top that looked like mismatched puzzle pieces. She turned on the ignition, put her small-boned foot on the gas, and away we—rat-tat-tat-tat-tat! The kayaks were pounding the roof like a jackhammer in New York City; and the faster she went, the louder they got. She glanced over at me, and asked over the noise: “IS THIS ALRIGHT?” She was so perfect, I thought. Always asking if I was alright. There was a brief pause, and instead of speaking, I just gave my incredible wife a smile and a nod. She kept driving, and I kept staring at her driving.

This day is perfect, I thought.

III

We arrived at our spontaneous kayak spot a little after an hour of listening to sounds-of-a-kayak banging-on-the-roof-of-a-van, by two kayaks: a lovely song; I recommend anyone who loves heavy metal to give it a listen. We parked on an off-road patch of dirt, right next to our lake for the afternoon. We both got out of the car. She took in the view of the lake; while I took in the view of her standing by the lake. The lake was in somewhat of a secluded area, off to the side of a back road. It was surrounded by paper-birch trees that were quite common in the north regions. There was a small, dirt shore that held our canoes—I mean kayaks—in place. About a football field away (which is the only measurement a football player knows), was a small island that held little life: just a bent over tree that seemed to be giving up, or maybe praying; and a few plants that were holding on to its last leaf—but the water surrounding it seemed full of life.

Our canoes were packed with drinking water and Chex Mix. You know—the essentials.

“Here, let me help you in.” I said, as I offered her my hand for balance.

She took my hand, and with it, I l helped guide her to her comfy bucket-seat inside the kayak. Her squeezing my hand, trusting me to care for her, filled my heart with love. “I love you.” I said.

“I love you more.” said she back to me. “Now come on; let’s go, slowpoke.” And she pushed herself off the tiny shore and into shiny, dark-blue water that looked like the hint of navy blue in her eyes. Doing my best impression of a trapeze artist, I balanced my weight step-by-step, as I settled into my kayak. I pushed off the shore like she did seconds before, and into the water that was now ours for the moment.

She kept her kayak a few feet ahead of mine. And I kept mine a few feet behind her. It was perfect this way. She, got to take in a nature that she loves so much; and I…well, I got a chance to watch my wife in all her beauty. With the sun shining down on her like she was a star on Broadway; and her audience was the world; and the world slowed down so they could watch with me; and time seemed to pause so her and I could take in every moment.

She is perfect, I thought, she is just perfect.

Suppress

I call out,

but

they don’t hear.

I smile,

but

they don’t see—

they can’t see: eyes full of envy.

Communicate, collaborate, commemorate,

they say.

So,

I do.

I communicate—

they fabricate.

I collaborate.

My ideas; my passions; my

voice—they terminate!

Commemorate?

Sure!

Now watch as I deteriorate.

I say nothing,

and they have won.

I say something

and,

I am done.

For now, my lips are even;

and I feel as though,

I’ve been beaten…

for now.

Yes!

For

now….