Monthly Archives: December 2015

Mermaid Queen

Mermaid Queen
Momma, momma,
 come back to me.
 Daddy tells me
 that you are a
 mermaid queen,
 living beneath the
 blue, blue, waves.
 Daddy says
 in the ocean you’ll
 live through all eternity.
 But momma, can’t return
 ever for an afternoon
 to be by my side?
 Momma, hold me in
 the breakers tenderly,
 rock me as the water
 rushes over my head.
 Momma, momma,
 come back to me
 or carry me back
 to the deep kingdom
 you preside over,
 with sitting beside
 your golden throne.
 Momma, momma
 come back from the sea.
 Daddy says

you’re a mermaid queen,

but you’re my momma too,

 come be with me.

I Remember

“I Remember”
 The man was old and wizened, stiff of joint and knobly of limb. His this body was overwhelmed by his black suit and black rain coat. Tufts or wire white hair sprung out from beneath his knitted black tagagon. He walked with a simple, laquered walking stick over the uneven rocks and pebbles of the New England shoreline.
The day itself was grey as wet stone and cold and bitter as the darkness of the grave. The sun was dim and distorted behind the grey clouds that covered this barren island. I drew my own coat tighter to me, and bowed my head against the salty breeze that blew off the choppy, dark sea and stung my blushing cheeks.
The old man, whose name was Abraham, stoppeed once we were within sight of the statue. His breath was ragged and he was tired, but there was a smile, warm and pleased on his thin, colorless lips, and a bright gleam in his eye.
“What was it, your friend had said…….uh…..”
“Jacob! What was it your friend had said, back in town, about the mermaid statue.”
“‘He didn’t get what all the fuzz was about.”‘
“He didn’t understand why it’s such a big deal. It’s so small and out of the way. He doesn’t think it’s worth it to come all this way.”
“Yes.” Abraham said, sighing and looking away at the endless cold waters, sad for a reason I couldn’t understand. It didn’t seem like he was angry at what my friend had said, or that he thought he was a punk; he was just disappointed by it, hurt.
Abraham caught his breath and we started walking again. The mermaid statue on the big, craggy boulder that lay out about 10 feet from the show, was a dim and dark metal, worn by the constant sea salt and wind. I was struck by how beautiful I found it. She was sitting, with her tail drawn under her, with long hair that framed a waifish face. She looked out into the endless and empty sea.
We sat down on a somewhat smooth rock. I wasn’t sure why Abraham had brought me out here, but I wasn’t bored, or antsy to get back to town. I feeling something, some….energy…..or…..I’m not sure, something that drew me here, to this old man, to this statue, to this island. I didn’t know why I was here, but I felt whatever the reason was, it was something momentous.
“I was a boy here, in this place. I’ve lived here all my life. The only time I’ve been more than a hundred miles away was back in ’44, when I was shipped to the Phillipines, during the war. I feel connected to this place, to these people. I’ve always been content with my lot her. I had a good childhood, was able to support and raise a family, and have seen my children and grandchildren go on and make their own way in a way that makes me very proud.
“Yet, we all, I think, have things that haunt us, even if they were beautiful. Especially, if they were beautiful.”
I was looking at the old man, trying to read his face, what he was feeling. He wasn’t looking at me at all, and his eyes were distant in some far away place, as looked out across the waters. There was some strange sentimental spell on him, of memory and joy and sorrow.
“When I was 16, I came here once on my own. It was warm and bright, at the edge of summer, before chill and change comes down. I came here just to be alone for awhile. I had 8 brothers and sisters back in our small, one story house, and sometimes quiet was something you needed.
“So I came here in our little boat my father sometimes used for fishing, and I came here. Why here, particularlly, I couldn’t say. I wasn’t really thinking of where I was going, just to be somewhere no one esle was at. But I could have easily have followed a trail in the wood or gone to the meadow in the stream a little ways behind our house. But, I came here.
“I tied up the boat on the little dock that was here, and got out, and stood here on this shore, looking into the blue, spotless sky and all the calm, shimmering waters. I sat down and just took it all in, just let the beauty of it and the light and the warmth of the day wash over me. It was like a spell, an enchantment.
“And then, somehow, I felt her eyes upon me, out in the waters. She was there in the shallows just off of the shore. Her hair dark and inky as the depths, her eyes as blue as the waters in which she swam, her skin bright and aquamarine.”
“I stripped out of my clothes, down to my drawers, and walked into the waters towards her. I felt such heat and desire blooming inside my heart, like a flush spring rose. She smiled and swam towards me. I reached out to her and she took my hands in hers. It was the first time I’d ever touched a girl in such away, with intesnsity, with tenderness.
“I fell to my knees, there in the water and looked into those blue eyes. I saw such wonders there.
“She pulled me close, and wrapped her tail around me, like she was taking poessesion of me, like I was already hers. Then she splashed back into the sea, taking me by the hand. We went down into the waters, into such a kingdom as men rarely ever know. A kingdom with ebony spires and strange treasures and secrets never told.
“And we sat there, at the bottom of the sea, in a seaweed forest, in the spikes and dancing sunlight, dreamlike under the water and the waves. She held my hands in hers, and she looked deep into my eyes, and I saw such things, such miracles, as she pressed her lips to mine and we kissed.
“As the sun faded and the moon came out, she brought me back to shore, and I stood in the golden light of day fading as I watched her dive beneath the waters, and disappear.”
The old man paused then, obviously overwhelmed with his memories, and wiped a tear from his eye. His breath was harsh, almost a bark. And, in that moment, I was enraptured by his tale, having no doubt of it, having no dounbt of him.
“After I was discharged from the Army in ’46, along with making my trade as a worker in a machine shop, I also became somewhat famous locally as a sculptor. I was always trying to capture something ineffable in crude matter, and to hear what I was told then, maybe I did.”
Abraham turns then, to the statue of the mermaid, the weight of years and of bittersweet memory on his thin shoulders.
“I made that statue for her, Jacob. I made it for her. Of course I never told anyone, just said stuff about a dream and sharing beauty and a testament to the sea. But i made if for her. I made it for her.”
“Why?” I ask.
“To show her I remember. I remember.”

The Cold Men

We were children, innocent.
In a garden, our days were spent.
Under the honey sun.
No sorrow in anyone.
Hand in hand and full of mirth.
Children of a sweet earth.
Naked, without sin in our eyes.
Nothing broke our loving ties.
The cool streames flowed.
Nothing to be owed.
We were children, completly free.
There was no forbidden tree.
The light was ours, and we were clean.
There was warmth in night, day, inbetween.
But down from the sky,
came men, dour and cold, who sold a lie.
Said there was a man up in the clouds.
He demanded we were black shrouds.
That much us ashamed in our bare skin.
Told us were shit and full of awful sin.
Shame overtook us, and sorrow filled us.
Shame a demon that broke us.
No longer were we happy in the garden.
We must work to gain god’s pardon.
The night become black with sour doubt.
What the cold men’s stories all about?
The cold men, made us hurt.
Put us in jean and skirt.
Filled us with sorrow, and fear.
How they feasted on every tear!
They had come down from the sky.
Told us we were broken, and to god cry.
Finally, we pushed them back to the stars.
We’re still left with heartbreak, unhealed scars.
We were children, whole, innocent and free.
Missionary with selfishness ruined our destiny.
Salesman looking for notches in their bible.
Of such cruelty they are always liable.

Would You Go?

Would you go, take my hand into the meadow
that lies beneath an ever golden sun,
here in the wilds of my mind?
Where I hide from the sorrows and loss,
and where I dream of holding you,
and feeling your peace.
A shard of Eden, a place of wonder
where there is still summer,
and I can be the man I want to be.
Lay with me here in the cool grass,
in this sacred meadow, hold me close,
let me feel your peace beneath the ever golden sun.


 This was a secret world, among the thick green and tall grass, a lush little grotto by the clear, silver creek. The sounds of the highway and the shouts and noise of the people in the town did not come here. It was a shard of Eden.
Gabriella was leading me by the hand. That hand was small and warm, and felt so light and strong in my own. We did not talk, as this was sacred.
The branches and leaves of the trees hid even the twilight sky, though honeyed gold lit us in robes of flames. She pulled her hand away and faced me. She smiled, then placed her hands on my shoulders, signaling me to kneel in the dirt.
I did.
Her smile grew brighter, and she did the same.
Her fingers brushed my cheek, and she looked me in the eye, locking me in her light, which was grey like starlight, and as ancient. Her eyes were the color of the water that was the only sound, deep and resonate and without blemish.
She kissed me, softly, tenderly. Her fingers curled into my hair.
A light began to emminate from inside her chest, crimson and pulsating and rich, the color of blood and life and birth. She put her fingers into that light, and pulled her chest open.
The ball of crimson light came out in her hands. Our sacred place was like an unshed womb, dark with nuturing flesh.
On her face was a shy and intimate smile, the light in her hand she was handing to me, to my hands that waited and trembled, in this most intimate moment, our most delicate bonding.
She was handing me her soul.
I held it, and it was heat that did not burn, a dream that did not wake, a wound that was cut and healed at birth.
I felt the light of her, the essence that had drawn me to her, helpless against her wonder, was in my hands.
We were one, this angel and me.
And I felt all the sweetness of my life return, untarnished by loss and the fall from grace, I felt the times the light of heaven had poured through me like the river crashing in white capped power down the mountain, washing away all else in it’s past.
If I had been unworthy, we both would have burned away.
And in that fleeting eternity, that sweetness of her glory, she knew all there was in me, and all I could be, that I would be, for her, for us.
And I returned her soul to her , and slipped back into her silk and soft flesh that closed around it, and sealed in the light.
She looked like a young woman again, hiding her power and beauty.
Again, she reached out and touched my face, stroking my cheek.
Again, she gave me a soft, tender kiss.
The tears wracked me then, unable to absorb all that had happened, that we had shared.
She drew me in her arms and kissed my head, sang me a song from some happy land.
I cried, then slept in her arms.

Princess of Pittsburgh

Do you ever stop loving someone completely,
even when you know it will never be what it once was
and you’ve both moved on, that your lives have gone on?
You’re married, raising his sons and your own daughter together.
A house and all of that, all that a good life can bring.
You are happy, and I’m happy for you.
Up above the city, in the mountains, watching the lights glow
of all those people living their lives, and I wonder what I’ve made,
what have I done, what does it matter that I’ve ever been here?
Some part of me, will always care, always hurt, always wonder
what could have been. Sometimes things don’t go the way you want.
No one’s fault. Just not meant to be.
Maybe under those autumn gold lights, in this little city,
someone is waiting for me, and I’ll belong and build something good.
Maybe one day, I’ll have love a life to be proud of.

The Sun Is Here

Cold morning light, washed out colors against a silver sky.
A cold bottle of beer open in my hand, head spinning.
The morning has come, another day has come,  I’m alright.
Nights seem endless and the wires of fire tear my thoughts.
Where is there to go when the demon comes, lives inside?
Where is there to go, when she’s gone, never to come back to me?
Yet the sun is here and I am here, and a cold morning is precious.
A swig of beer and, for a moment, my mind is calm in the wind.
Another day and I am here, and I will go on.

12 Hrs 12th Chapter

12 hours to Rochester, on a snow two-lane highway.
The women with the star crown, great with child
is chased into the night by the Red Dragon.
The Red Dragon after the child, and after me,
in this cold in my heart I try to fight,
try to burn away with her a cherished one’s devotions.
The woman with the stars, great with child, has a place
made for her in the wilderness.
My cherished one waits to take me in.
12 hrs just begun, the woman with the stars runs
and I run like her into the night, into the wilderness,
to make it to the santuary, the safe place of love.

Our Daughter’s Eyes

I hope our daughter has your eyes,
cold and grey and all seeing jewels.
Eyes that saw the demon entwined
and choking my heart and bled it out.
Eyes that saw the shivering child still there
and called down the moon to kiss his wounds.
I hope our daughter can see the light
that your winter eyes find in this world,
and in me, the once lost soldier of fortune
and still seeking paladin, without faith and dreaming.
I hope our daughter’s eyes will  see the same shine
that you saw in me all those years ago in bitter January.
When I hold her for the first time, in this lively winter,
her small warm and swaddled body cradle against me,
will her eyes see all that I can be, and love me, even
if I am broken and put together with dried blood and silver?
Will she love me, and put her faith in me, and trust me?
Will she know I will always belong to her, from then on in?

The Morning After Christmas

It’s first light, weak and watery as my eyes.
I did it though, last night, gave a perfect surprise.
Such love in your eyes when you opened my gift.
For a moment, there was peace, no broken rift.
I shake you awake, and you smile, get up to shower,
scratch your ass in holey panties, angry at the hour.
I try to hold onto the feeling of you close, your body there,
in this old bed we only in Christmas and summer ever share.
I’ll drop you off at the airport, the high of good times already fading.
I know you’re going back to Denver and I have to stay with death’s parading.
Your voice on the phone, your quick e-mails, the jokes I send to cheer you.
Is it as hard at a mile high above me, is it hard to be seperate for you?
Dressed in denim and jacket, I just threw on jeans and hoodie, we go.
I cling to the happy girl who chrerishes me, not the angry one I’ll never know.
You’ll kiss me goodbye, and then you’ll be away until the middle of June.
Your love will not chase away the demons in the cold. For that, I have no spell or rune.