Reflecting

Calling upon my reserves timing

This is the first time I’m smiling

Wondering if I will become free…

Or is it impossible for me?

Like a fool, I sit there and grin

 

Looking at the ground from the sky

I don’t want to wake but fly

So it is with this fight

Surround me please, heights

For in this sleep I dream.

 

My mind is going round, round

Surrounded by this, I hit the ground

Running crazy circles in all directions

Let me rest my soul, my reflections

Like a tidal wave they come.

 

I have written down my wrongs, my soul

This death part is what I long for

When the sun comes up in the morn

Then I wish to be born

Reflected in the breeze.

The Boy Who Was My Brother

Do you believe in stories? I unfolded the yellowed scrap of paper I held in my hand. “Hey buddy, I’ll see you soon! Take care!”  It had been the last thing I’d heard from him that summer, twenty-four years ago. It had been a golden autumn, the kind that made you nostalgic for those good memories of just being young: the time for swimming, eating ice cream, hanging out, and having a blast. I know this is funny, but it’s true. But that autumn, things had been different. There had been no hanging out or swimming; no ice cream and no having a blast. The street had been deserted. It had been the year of the draft. I never really wanted to go. I remember that day the letter came. He hadn’t shown  it to anyone, but one look at his face and I had known. It spoke of dreams that would never come true; hope that was soon to be bottled and thrown away. It was unlike him to be so quiet, so mellow. He was hardly the one who was able to sit still at a party, or in a big crowd. Always the center of attention, he didn’t just want you to hear, he wanted you to know. But that day, he had just sat ate the kitchen table and looked out the front window. He didn’t even touch his dinner, just sat there, a fixed expression on his face. I remember tiptoeing around in the kitchen, around his still form, afraid to look at him. It wasn’t until I was about to go to bed, that I had turned around to take a peek. It was then that I saw his shoulders tremble. It scared me then to watch my best friend, my hero, my brother cry. It hurts me now to remember the memory. What would you have done? I had only two choices. I was only eighteen…

The day he left, I had sat alone in his room, watching the sun dance off the walls. Pasted on them was his collection of M&M wrappers. It had been his favorite candy since grade school. I had fingered the clothes he had left behind: his baseball jersey, his jean cap I had brought for him his sixteenth birthday, his wool knit sweater Mo had bought for him, Dad’s letter, the pocket watch with the cracked surface, his framed graduation certificate from the local high school. It was then that I had wished with all my might that he would come home, that the war had never started. I wanted to see his face agan, to sit on the front porch and listen to his stories. His gray green eyes would dance and light up every time he got to an exciting portion. It was like watching the sky light up with fireworks. He was always on the move, always bright and  alert like the busy ants. His brown, tousled hair would toss in the wind just like the way he liked to pat my head and mess up my hair. The girls would always crowd around him lavishing him with attention , hoping to get the honor of talking with him or just being near him. It was with pride that I called him my brother. It was with sorrow I parted with him. The night he cried was the last time I saw him. I woke up the next day to find a note on top of my drawer. “Hi buddy, take care of Mom and Dad for me will ya? I promise to be home soon. Love, BK.” He never returned.. …Eighteen and so young. I feel so lost, so alone. There’s nowhere to go. I had watched the man lying in the hospital bed; the same gray-green eyes, the same lopsided grin, yet a different person existed. This wasn’t my brother; at least it hadn’t felt like it. He had the same character, yet a difference came about him. It was hard to explain, his face was so different somehow. Sometimes, at night, he would wake up in the middle of the night, mumbling and scratching himself. During the day, he would wander off by himself for long intervals. At times, his eyes would go faraway, as if he were somewhere else. Gone were his stories, his playful, teasing nature. He had gone a cheerful boy, innocent and bright, and had returned with a part of him missing. You wouldn’t understand… not this feeling that I can’t share; that I don’t know how to share. He had been the medic of the platoon he had been assigned; all of them young bright men with prospective futures ahead of them. I remember reading from him about how “the boys” would spend their days marching and marching. “Kel buddy, you’d never imagine the to in of having to trudge uphill, downhill, through the mud for four days with no stopping… immensely painful.” I knew he was the best of all the medics the platoon could have. When I was eight and had nearly drowned in the nearby lake, he had been the one who had resuscitated me, calmly working away until I had a pulse again. Mom had said that he had  never once panicked or lost his wits. That was the part I admired most about him. If only I knew how to share this, then maybe it wouldn’t be so burdensome. To watch him become so vulnerable, so hard and cold, so unable to communicated, so shunned broke my heart. People who used to drop by and chat for a while would speed up as they walked past our house. I’d see his gray flannel cap perk up for an instance, then settle back down, with a slump of his shoulders. The days numbered and numbered. I’d consistently wake up to his cries and mutterings at night. I’ll always be you shining star, no matter what happens. Take care. Now all that remained of him was the fading memories.

Leaning down, I placed the refolded  piece of yellowed paper at the foot of the gray slab of marbled stone. Love you, BK.

Waiting

 Every last bit of Sanity left

Leaks his way into the crowd

He meanders here and there

Watching for the moment

That precocious minute where Time

Stands still and gathers wildflowers

In the arms of her outstretched heart.

Shh! Wait quietly by the outskirts of the

Busy push of bodies gathering in one

Place as if to say Yes… we’re listening

And put out your hand in a fist

Hold it up to the beating of the veins

In the depths of your flesh.

Wait for the lull that appears

After the first notes of that long due

Compose wafts up into the lobes and around

Drifting upwards; forever.

To Be

Is it possible to hold

To the endearing rock of solidness;

For the wanderer soulful there is

Something in the house that beckons

Urges the traveling wanderer to put stems

Down in the mud flails the truth.

 

Gaze; the mud from the water

Is like fish flopping inside a bowl

To have it spout from the dearth above

Have it sprout as it flings itself onto the canvas

Painting as it wields a sword and cleaves the rock

The hacked mud pies, in the hearth bakes.

Gather

Shout out towards the ones that sit enthroned

Tell them to come down and witness

The thin lines that came down and down

Striking out of the fear of something

Something so dangerous and contained

 

See the ones who sit on the thrones?

Tell them to come off their heavenly fumes

And tell them Fuck this shit

Push them towards the gap, that cliff

Created by their shameless efforts.

 

Tell them to head in the right direction.

That their eyes are merely lies;

That their mouths proclaim nothing.

Show them the wasteland they are pushing for;

That what really grows beneath their feet is nothing.

 

Raise your voice to the air!

Drifting Dreams

The darkness crept slowly as it made its way towards me

I tried to deny it the pathway to my dreams

For fear they would be encroached on by the mysterious beings

That wondered the realms.

But as I fought, I could feel myself languish

The hands began to pull harder, pulling me into utter blackness

Oh how long could this darkness last, this imposing anguish

That keeps me in that dark cell, in that scary place.

Yet those arms, that will carry me to where my dreams abode,

Seem strangely to comfort and soothe my trembling fear

I stare in wonder as they slowly carry me down the road

That wonders over the mountaintops and oceans.

And as I drift, watching the twinkling stars; the sleepy earth below,

I feel my spirit slip away slowly to the land far far away,

To drift with the starry night where the winds gently blow.

And I feel a satisfaction knowing tonight my trek is just but a mild tread.