Joybird* fleets hearts so pure, full of hope
Nature’s ephemeral being, it disembarks,
Sings its song, tugs at the soul rope
I smile widely, Anxiety now parks

No more hunting, appetite content
Till abruptly joybird gets up and flies again
Happiness, no longer I am starkly spent
From Heaven to Hell, Phoenix will begin

Patterns all too familiar, hope is forwith broken
but time will heal all, life prior to is forever unspoken

Night beckons to strange people.
Actually, if you can accept this premise,
then the mind makes everyone strange.
And still yet, there is something specific about darkness,
I cannot put my finger on it,
that sends odd sparks of real life
on a mission to city street corners.

I hide in my car after leaving the café
with the hope of seeing, "The Pigtailed Man."
This isn't his name.
However, I need say no more to any stranger
for him to envision my character.
We objectify him and his image becomes clear
even when spotted in narrowed alleyway darkness.

He has a beautiful wife
with locks past her shoulder
of auburn and lillies,
and two wonderfully bright children
who sit on his knee when listening
to nighty-night, bedtime stories.
Their ringing laughter illuminates
the darkest corners of their happy home.
They'll never know why he needs
to go bye-bye at dangerous evening hours,
hunting sour scowls from passers-by.

He's unkempt: legs unshaven, chin covered
by midnight shadow, beer belly hanging over his
plaid picnic-basket red schoolgirl skirt,
and his face sags as if a topical novocaine
was applied generously to his chubby, rosy cheeks.
Upon seeing his aimless strut
and dead-to-self eyes, I wonder: Where does he dress?
Does he put his outfit on from plastic grocery bag
around the block from the lamp-lit looks of
the neighbors' friendly daytime greetings?
More importantly, if I were friend
and was to catch him in the act,
would I say anything?

Darkness calls out the most intriguing creatures.
We're afraid to call them "human beings,"
because being human most certainly
does not look like this.
Or, does it not look like this?
Shadows claw walls around all
because not one body projects light.
There are some who know, and some who appease.
The pigtails hang to his knees as he stares
at the mannequins of pretty women
in the window of the closed department store.

It rained a bit today,
cleared up a minute ago,
unlike the storm in my heart,

Rain can cheer me up anyday,
but as soon as its gone,
my eyes turn the darkest shade of grey,
and my heart suddenly heavy,
a storm is like a blessing to me,
the rain falls,
like the tears I know so well,
but as the rain hit the ground,
a new source of hope is found,
for the longer the rain continues to fall,
the longer I can stare into the distance,
for absolutely, no reason,
and just,
forget the world,
this is something I wish I could do constantly,

For in my world,
everyone is happy,
and that makes all the difference,

See now,
whats happier,
than a rain cloud?

The moon shone on the trees and found
The trees were paler than the moon.
The wind was a peroxide stain
That stabbed, wormlike, toward the veiled fastness of my brain
The wind that skinned me ‘til I stood, naked and raw;
The corner of my mouth cradled a pestilential sore.
My throat was lined and thin and wan
As though it held the cranium of an antique and parasitic swan.
I turned my mouth toward the origin of my demise
And said,
“ I vowed to die amongst the trees
While human hands removed my clothes, and closed my crusted eyes
And human voices stilled my vague unease
But this will do for now.”
A crow wheeled above as I keeled over in the dust and saw
The sacred steepled chapel of somebody’s fleshless body
Writhe beside me, and in hollow whispers fall;
I closed my eyes and ushered in the shadows as the night began to crawl.

You know, there's always a song that takes me back
To a year, so long before
It's not always a top ten song
That hits my very core
It just grabs me and transports me
Back in time while standing still
It might take me to a good place
Release a memory I should ****

But, my soundtrack is different
It's not just music in my mind
There's sounds that make my playlist up
Sounds of a different kind
A baseball smacking leather
God, that sets me free
Some good, some bad, some coaching
Some involve my ******* up knee
The click on every eight track
When it switches channels to play on
Brings back those early mornings
when the house cleaning was done

But, music, yes the music
makes a large part of my list
Some take me back to dances
And the girls I never kissed
The good songs stretch my senses
Make me smell things from the past
The memories still linger
While the music didn't last

Sirens, car wrecks, yelling
Have their place on my list too
It's not music to most people
It made my list though, who knew?
A sound as small as raindrops
Take me back to a morning when
I stood on line with a hundred others
Brave women and brave men

Cornwallis, Nova Scotia
rain and U2 take me on a track
To basic training on the east coast
Wow, that's 25 years back
A car crash and a siren
Takes me to when I met my wife
This was on the television
when Princess Di, she lost her life

So, my soundtrack is eclectic
It's not just music fuels my trips
It might be a golf ball bouncing
That takes me through a time warp slip
A song, that's just too easy
Everyone has one of those
But, can you travel back, oh, 30 years
When someone blows their nose?

There's more sounds that effect me
But, those I think I'll hide
I will write about them later
And I will take you on that ride
In 50 years of living
Lots of sounds have hit my ears
We'll  sit and chat about them
One day over a few beers....

I met a man at urgent care
He was my roommate for a spell
I was there for dizziness
He was there because he fell

Tom, was old and in bad shape
Dementia ruled his world
He was found beside the toilet
All rolled up, his body curled

Beside him on the other side
Another woman lay
Dementia was her trouble too
That's two in just one day

What causes this mind madness
Is it chemical or a gene?
But, the numbers keep on climbing
To heights we've never seen

It used to be that cancer
was the one that touched most lives
But now, it seems Dementia
touches more as cancer dives

A prisoner knowing nobody
A fabricated world at best
A mind not knowing anyone
Puts a family to the test

Cancer is established
It has foundations and sells well
But, how do you approach Dementia
And help the people in this hell

Today, I had a roommate
His name was Tom, and he was old
I hope the world that he created
Is one where the streets are lined with gold.

Sitting in the corner
by himself, no one around
Sat a man, all old and wrinkled
Lips were moving, but no sound
Came forth from this man's mouth,
his lips all cracked and dry,
You could stand right there and listen
And hear nothing if you tried

Each day I walked the prison yard
this man sat in his place
Never talking to another
Just staring off in space
He sat, just sat, and sang his silent songs
No one else could hear but him
The men around the prison said
"He's just Old Crazy...him!"

He was kept upon another block
Not the one where I made home
He'd been there for eternity
Back when cars still had big chrome
I dare not ask why he was here
Some things you didn't do
so, I sat there watching this man sing
And I thought "just who are you?'

He'd sing his songs come rain or shine
Never looked out past the fence
The world out there meant nought to him
It held no consequence
The 809 would pass each day
Whistle blowing in the air
The rest of us, stared dreamlike
And we wished that we were there

But the old man in the corner
didn't blink or even look
Even though as the '09 passed
The ground around us shook
He held his place in silence
Rheumy eyes and cracked old mouth
Held the secrets of his lifetime
A man of wisdom from the south

I got the will and walked on up
to where he sat and sang
And back behind the others stood
And I could hear a few say "Dang!"
I stood there, right in front of him
And I couldn't hear a word
Except the soft and gentle cooing
Like a tiny, baby bird

I realized the sound was him
It was his singing in my ears
It was soft and smooth and gentle
It was almost bringing me to tears
He looked clear on, right through me
Sang his songs but did not budge
I blocked his way upon his exit
And I said "It's not for me to judge"......

I could hear the loud collective gasp
From the crowd who'd formed behind
And when they saw me stop his exit
They must have thought I'd lost my mind
I asked him in a gentle voice,
so no one else behind could know
about why he sang so silently
Like an angel, soft as snow

He said, "You know, I have no name"
"I've been here long enough, it's gone
"My name now is my number
"Although they sometimes call me John"
"I just don't know, if John is me
"he was from another time"
"So, I forgot just who I used to be
"And I sing my songs and rhyme"

"I used to have a name, I'm sure"
"But, now I need it less and less"
"They only need it for my marker"
"I'm dying here I guess"
"It makes it easy to get by here"
"When they think you're mad as hell"
"They just leave me to my corner"
"And to me that's just as well"

I thought a bit and smiled
At this man, who'd shared his tale
And I hoped I never lost me
That my name was not for sale
I refused to be a number
Although I knew that in the end
That I too, would die in here
And it would be easy without friends

So, I picked myself a corner
One where the man and I could see
I would sing to him in silence
As he would sing to me
The old man died a few years back
But I still sit and sing the same
I think I know still, who I am
But I'm not sure I know my name...