An unguarded moment let a memory unlock a door....
a place we had agreed we wouldn't visit anymore.
In the center of the room a lone rocking chair...
memories swept through me , a chill in the air.
The chair began to rock and a familiar perfume...
I was taken back to a place..me and you.
The softness of your hair,the lips, the touch...
oh how I remember what I miss so much.
Daggers of pain pierce my flesh...
all of this memory I have worked to forget.
The chairs' rocking tempo spins out of control..
the air in the room is uncomfortably cold.
I try to leave and resecure the door...
this memory  must be left...I 'm not  reliving more.
The eyes I swam in , how they turned to coal,
the warming touch that went icy cold.
Those lips that spit those final words...
I spin with these daggers..never healed from the hurt.
The demons that invaded our lives of one,
I could have helped you fight but it was not what you want.
My mind is now on full alert...gather the stength..one final ****.
The door slams shut, I find the lock...
Silence  envelopes me...the chair final stops........
One tiny scratch behind the door..I hear the pain daggers drop to the floor.

When men were men, Mountain men, they would shout out a small greeting to those approaching, some were very discriptive...here is mine:

Born in a blizzard, back in a grizzly's cave,
drank wolf milk, use a knife to shave.
Can out spit, out run, out shoot any known
man alive.
Can fight two or more men just to keep it fair,
now get down from your horse and tell me
what the hell your doing here!

Man I tell you I was born in the wrong century.
Open land, cooking outside, trade my furs for a good woman.
Shoot guns, drink whiskey...hell it don't get any better then that.
Course I would change a few things, like..I would need my toilet paper,
that corn husk thing , well I'm not for all that.
I'd have to figure out how to put a heater and windshield on that horse of mine too.
I'd **** sure would get me a better rifle then that Hawkins( mind you it was the rifle of its time) just to even up the score when them city slickers start trying to sneak away my whiskey.
Ah, yes just rambling. Anyways back to the real world.

I sit..... my face melts into my coffee cup....
self pity demons raise  up from the tablecloth
and slam my head on the table top..again..and again.
My heart kicks at the chestwalls that keep it from its freedom.
I am out of here it screams!
Why am I still just siting here?
A whisp of freedom promise is still ringing in my head....
wonderful words she had said.
Slam..slam , the demons smash my head on the table top.
Are you done yet? Are you still siting here?
We can do this all day. Move, say something!
Self pity is not your path...your the mover, the motivator...
the one who always has the right answers to someone elses happiness.
Why not you this time?
The heart quits kicking at my chestwalls..either it is tired or it feels me
mulling over the questions.....perhaps a chance, perhapes one more go around .
I see images in my coffee cup of couples holding hands, young and old alike....so happy, so together, so....in love?
Still other images emerge...families still doing things together... camping, fishing, movies...so real...so like I planned it....
slam! Slam!   The demons are not letting up......Ok , I know what they want.....but first I need a fresh cup of coffee, this one has too many memories  floating around in it.
Perhapes I should make that call, write that letter....just go.

There, surrounded by her handmaidens, under the mystic mint leave,
lies the last of the great guardians...dying.
Born years ago , far away,  a magical birth  created from two dust dots from the Wishing Star, the Last Wish Star Guardian came to be, here to guard and priorities all wishes made by the Humans.
Dying.... her mystical powers draining from her ever so slowly. Her handmaidens weeping and confused. How can this be? A Guardian never dies. What is wrong? What has upset the mystical powers in the Universe?
Slowly the Great Guardian rises...... speaks, in a mere whisper...yet speaks.
This day is happening to me... to us....to the Universe because someone has stolen the Sacred Parchment. This  document which I have been intrusted to guard, protect has all the names and wishes that I must account for. Without it...I have no purpose...no life...no powers. It must be found..soon or I will perish and with me will die the powers of the Wish Star.
Word rapidly spread throughout the magical land and a hero was summond to take on the quest to find the stolen parchment and to save the Last Guardian. He had to be true of heart. A believer and most of all ...... in love.
Of all the the requirements, the last was hard to find yet finally the handmaidens found their champion and the quest was on.
Why did the champion have to be in love you ask? Well the answere is truely to simple for that.
LOVE CONQUERS ALL!

Im in the arms of an Angel,
not for my eternal rest,
the heart beat of my Grandaughter
keeping a rythem on my chest.
Eyes that shine brightly,
new paths  to explore.
In the arms of my little Angel
I have alot to look forward.
Somewhere up in the Heavens,
a roll count is being  kept.
I am sure they will come up short one......
she's  cuddled on my chest.

Your arms reach out for me, still unsure of the touch.
Your eyes search mine for confirmation,
could there  be  love this much.
Every day of your being has made it harder to be apart.
Not one to fall so easily yet I have surrendered to you my heart.
I make no false predictions, no blind eye to what lays beyond
I promise only my committment to be beside you until you say Be gone.
My strength will be your vessel. My love your guiding star.
My patience there beside you.My wisdom to  to steer from wrong.
Again your arms reach out to hold me, this time I  guide them in.
It is a new found feeling,  Love..... let the new journey begin.



I dedicate this poem to my new granddaughter  Sophie. Sep 24 2010.

In a window of an old pawn shop, you stood there looking back at me,
I could tell we both had some hard roads, two of a kind it seems.
So I went in and asked for your freedom, seemed the right thing
to do at the time.
We have traveled a many back roads, yep we are two of a kind.
Your face carries as  many scars as I have of my own.
They say it  is a note book of the lessons learned the hard way,
on the road we travel on.
We've seen the insides of most bars, back allys
and a ditch or two.
Guess there really aint much we haven't done, two of a kind, us two.
Yep I get  a new stich here and there, you get a new string or two.
Back together on the road, singing, telling, writing.
It's what we  were meant to do.
Some would say  this is crazy, the thing we  have at this time.
I say let them think what  they want. We are buds, pals...
two of a kind.