Batten down the hatches bit tighter than before… all posts under “Crackers & Jacks” are now private instead of password protected. Doesn’t matter anyway.
I’m going down now. Sleep will free me.
My dreams take me where I cannot go, down dusty paths of memories, to places I no longer know, in bittersweet song harmonies.
A lifetime of sadness pooled in blue eyes, a well of regrets into sorrow lies, summed into one little word. Hey, heard only in dreams.
Hey, your silence screams.
Await the sun, awake the son, open eyes can see, pride and fear in old man’s hands, time’s grains of sands washed by endless seas.
His name escaped her lips between a whisper and a sigh,
Years pass in fragmented silence after friendship dies,
Her life still has no answers and she still wonders why
He slips into her dreams before the mourning dove cries.
I have two unfinished drafts waiting for me to click publish, one political and one personal, and both can wait. My mind has been on an old friend all day, with a soundtrack of Rhiannon playing in my head and I don’t know why. He was wearing a well-fitted black suit with the white artist shirt that he lost years ago, much younger than he is now, tall and slender, when I saw him in a dream a few nights ago. He smiled and nodded, didn’t say a word. I woke up feeling the deep ache that comes with lost friendship. It comes with the knowing that I will never hear his voice again. That I will never see his scrawl on an envelope tossed into my mailbox. In his mother’s words, “That’s Life.”
Then today. I spent the day online researching demolition debris. Yeah, for real. Don’t ask… will explain later as right now, I have too many questions without answers. But, that’s kind of what THIS is… it’s demolition debris from an old friendship that got demolished, smashed to smithereens, and occasionally a fragment washes to the surface. The soil of my life is contaminated with memory and emotions.
I need a Rhiannon, an old Welsh witch with three little birds… come sing me to sleep so I can wake up feeling whole again.
Fate hangs by threads
caught in a catch-22.
A misunderstanding between
financial powers that be
are eliminating my dreams.
But, who am I? Just a client.
Fruity booty wild fruit,
cowboy the Wild Irish Rose.
I’m too broke a bee for Jack
My stress is jacked, forget that
Babe, you lost me a while ago.
I have a bulldog fighting
a knight on a white stead,
and finally, a maybe resolution.
I’m singing the doxology
thinking of beading the Rosary.
But, oh my, sweet my, goodbye.
Was that the end?
Praying for extension.
Come on old man,
Can we make amends?
I miss my friend.
I always, always
frickin f****** cared
Blame the voice translator
For the frickin stars.
Be who you are…
And I am me, always me.
Still the same old me,
Fallible as can be.
I miss you, RJD.
Sweet Mother of Rose,
Thursday morning brings
complications to everything.
So I talk to walls and dead cats.
Come on babe, relax…
before you give yourself a stroke.