Dandelion Wine

Forgive me, friend, I had been skipping rocks from the beginning.

Another cursed devotee from childhood.

As they say,

I have become comfortably…numb.

My yellow-brick road…stands brittle with sand and gravel.

I seesaw between what is and what has been done.

I cherish amid the drawn lines…every campfire song…sung.

Ghost tales reduced by the midday’s sun.

Our gossip, rusty from the probability of love.

Every flung red Chuck…now faint from hanging onto wire…too long.

I have sometime back, given up on…

Voodoo dolls with no style…

Holy Rollers with crooked smiles.

I have not been a perfect person.

And, similar to a child, I wear a yellow slicker around my heart.

Miles have aged what I do,

the games I have played

and the wars I have waged.

Forgive me friend, a glass of Dandelion wine begs me to stray.

Conversation with the Cat

“What would you do if I sang out of tune?  Would you stand up and walk out on me?  I asked with hesitation.

“WTF.  Are you off meds again.  I walk out on you all the time?”  hissed the cat.

“I bet your wondering…What do I do when my love is away?

“Does it worry you to be lone?  You are such a pussy.” spit the cat.

“I bet you’re wondering…How do I feel by the end of the day”

Watching the thought bubble dribbling from the Cat’s head.  I had known the answer…

“Who gives a shit?”

The Cat smirked, a Cheshire Cat smile…“Are you sad because you’re on your own?”

Frustrated and bleeding from recent cat scratches: I spoke with more authority…

“No, I get by with a little help from friends.  I get high with a little help from my friends.  I’m gonna keep trying with…a little help from my friends!”

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After the Cat took a dump in the litter box.  She strutted back…

“Do you need anybody?  Could it be anybody?”

Not feeling the love…I shouted…

“I just need somebody to love, goddamn it!”

The Cat had recently met a new, un-neutered Tom Cat in the backyard.  And, she had been strutting about the lawn…as of late.

She questioned me…“Would you believe in love at first sight?”

“Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time!”

After leaving her new boyfriend bemused and confused.   The scent of her daydream believer had turned to dangerous, frisky night.  Her next philosophical inquiry?

“What do you see when you turn out the light?”

Coming back from lighting a scented candle.  Hoping to overwhelm the cat box aroma of evil.  I settled back in the fur lined desk chair.

“I can’t tell you but I know it’s mine.”

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The Cat finally flopped at my feet antagonizing me.  Teasing me to scratch her belly! “Fuck that.  Loving and hating you…is such a fine line!”

 

 

 

Being Still with Friends

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Human beings are born into this little span of life of which the best hing is its friendships and intimacies, and soon their places will know them no more, and yet they leave their friendships and intimacies with no cultivation, to grow as they will by the roadside, expecting them to ‘keep’ by force of mere stillness.

the Rhythm of Life

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the Rhythm of Life

The people we surround ourselves with either raise or lower our standards. They either help us to become the best version of ourselves or encourage us to become lesser versions of ourselves. We become like our friends. No man becomes great on his own. No woman becomes great on her own. The people around them help to make them great.

We all need people in our lives who raise our standards, remind us of our essential purpose, and challenge us to become the best version of ourselves.

Matthew Kelly

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Sprigs of Laughter

It has been sometime, to know where I’ve been
It has been sometime, since I beheld, the house…again and again.
But only so long to know.
A poem can be the loyalist of friends.
There is no parting of ways between the here…
And, the hereafter.
Just the continuous stem of laughter upon spirited sprigs of… laughter

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The House by the Side of the Road

Sam Walter Ross

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice.
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road-
It’s here the race of men go by.
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I;
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.repair-3