"So mum," I face her, "If I told you that I was to get married underwater, would you still come?"
"Of course," she says calmly, "I will be the one chanting for the Kraken to come get you."
"Some mum you are!"
"Who told you to marry in a watery hell?" She looks at me, blank-faced.

Poetry has well thought out a collection of words. To articulate, perhaps the metaphysical essence inside of us all. Short impulse drops of wisdom. To comfort us, as either read or write. That internal voice or maybe a poet is someone with something to say, just no one in their life to tell. Poets are either deep thinkers who cannot write out or simply doesn’t have the patience to write philosophy, romantics without lovers or have, but no soulmate, maybe just physically formed anxiety. Regardless what makes up a poet, where few had any fame and if they have, it’s normally skewed and absurd. Poets had and still do contribute a large part to humanity and have nearly the same duration of history as humanity itself has. Here is a spontaneous stream of thoughts on poetry. For me, in modern times, poetry is a high taste in high art for people in high culture, like the theatre, ballet, and classical music. A snob overtone in terms of the audience. Despite the aesthetics of it all or the poetry for the rebels and the poems full of hatred towards parts of life and humanity, constructing words of resentment, in order to master than mood.

A common trait that I hold in terms of my friends who are interested in poetry, in particular, my male friends. Is that at one point experienced an intense boyish love towards a female they knew or know in their life. It’s normally a strong take to the lust that is veiled as a fairytale. Turning to poetry to have words to say or in hope to impress them. In most cases, it’s failed. And yes, I became interested in poetry for these same reasons. If you asked Bill, ‘It’s better to love and lost than to never had loved at all’, ‘I cried because I was full of dead stars and broken debris, but you still called me beautiful.’ As Catherine Hancock would say. I’m a firm believer as far as my convictions would take me to, that only hopeless romantics die of a broken heart and that true real love that poets make a big deal about, delivers a particular horror to the human soul, devaluing anything earthly. Romance in novels, romance in poetry, love. Seems to be the constant and strongest theme in literature. But it’s an experience most of us desire for. Even in the world of philosophy itself have discussed this. A sentimental fact of mine, I do believe that each of us has a soulmate in this lifetime, that isn’t a deity or character in those romance novels. A particular person that is personalized made for us. A soulmate to experience life and love with, while knowing the meaning is in the other person that brings in contentment. And one’s own destiny lay’s solely in their attention given to you, while a hell of angst, breaking down your soul experiences when their attention is turned away. Know this now that the smile on your face, knowing that you are blessed to be somebody, and that is you are a soulmate yourself for somebody else on this earth. It’s an Angel singing when you know love inside. Brave to follow it through and unforgivable if you don’t.

Poetry is equipment of living for the living, while praises praise for the dead and a craft to help shape genius while they are here. Freedom or an attempt to touch it, poetry is. Comfort for introverts in isolation. Silence in their mouths. While others cannot shut up. Another firm belief I  have in poetry (perhaps all parts of literature), for poets and readers, is that one group of people have something to say, while the others don’t and are happy to listen. In the realm of poetry (and literature) a collection of the lonely.  I'll quote Ibsen, "The strongest men are the most alone." Or maybe, “All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.” Said by Tahereh Mafi. I hard music is what emotion sounds like, perhaps poetry is what emotion would say if it’s mixed in with thinking. Poetry for comfort in isolation, words as friends and words to cure the physical separation from society while dwelling amongst them all, perhaps poets suffer from such grief in knowing how brief this life is and undergo such a transformation that parts them from everyone. Like the heart of life. Maybe it’s them is unwanted. Pulling up reality and dressing their character with it. Unable to contain it and they vent in words of potent beauty. No one likes the harshness of life and poetry is stranded in that realm. And if I’m dying today, let me die original and society is no service if fails of it’s grappling with those who cannot face away from reality. I’m the younger, ready to put in my time.

Maybe poetry is a way to confront death because we have definitely have sinned, like the monks who follow Buddha, leading the wild ways of the hearts of humanity. It’s a sad life that avoids death. I wish to be in a state crossing over that is in poetically articulated as Atticus wrote, ‘I hope that I arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk’. In the unknown is the fear of death. To inspire me now is in reading Marcus Aurelius, ‘Do not fear death, for it’s definite, fear rather than never beginning to live one’s own life’. In a humanist point of view, perhaps there is no ethical reason to die or on how to. Like in music, poetry is here to ease everything while putting in words in tongues to articulate such fears in dying. A person's metaphysical state lives on after the physical act of dying, in such ways as memory, paintings, photography and reading poems by past poets. So far, the overwhelming held belief in life after death is either peace in Heaven, suffering in Hell or reincarnation. Perhaps resurrection. Heidegger the German philosopher, despite his writings, another point of his fame is in the translations of his works. But in his book, ‘Being & Time’, there is no reference to and of God (yes, the same of Satan). Heidegger’s analysis of death is not concerned with how people feel when they are about to die nor with death as a biological event. Its focus is on the existential significance which this certain ‘yet-to-come’ death has to human life. The use of poetry for death, I’ll leave these words that poetry can be used as a personal statement, like the rapper 2pac, ‘if I shall die before I wake. I hope I died for a purpose.’ Providing one to motivate to live now and live over purpose. Poetry can pay homage to lost ones to death, writing lines on what they meant. And if asked about the sadness of losing peers and family, ‘regret is powerful’. Or perhaps poetry can express hopes to the afterlife, whether it’s in either Heaven or Hell, maybe it is only the bleak numbness of nothingness. But still, poetry bangs out more than street fame. Though death happens, currently it has nothing to do with us, for one will die one day.
(Checkout current publications on Amazon)

Many people know how important you were to me.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned seventy.
You were a kind woman who loved to give.
I would've done anything if you could've lived.

You could no longer be my BFF, you weren't able to be my best friend forever.
Sadly, on the day of your death, our bond of friendship and love was severed.
On your last birthday, we celebrated when I bought you a cake.
Your memory is something that I won't forget or forsake.

I turned out to be a good person and it's because of you.
You raised me and taught me to have morals and values.
The doctors couldn't save you but they certainly did try.
Happy Birthday Mom, I'll love you until the day that I die.

If I told you about the fifty mile trek I took,
with ice accumulating on my beard,
and shivering to sleep in the tiny hollow,
would you believe me?

What about the time they thought I was a terrorist
trying to assassinate the queen?
Or the time they took everything away from me;
my clothes, my hair, even my name?
Would you read it as fiction?

"That kind of thing doesn't really happen" you might say,
and I no longer care to argue my case anymore.
as you explain to me how, in a modern day society,
these kind of things things really work.

I wonder whether I should care,
as I nod dumbly to your every point,
telling me why you know, definitively,
that I am lying.

This is why my poetry shall refer only to emotions.
Nobody reads emotion as fiction;
you can feel it as they tug at your own-
A broken heart, a smile, a stray giggle.

Whether I made that journey is no business but my own,
but the cold I can describe perfectly;
Not biting, but stinging, and numb in every other sense.
The fear giving way to tears, which froze on my cheeks.

Besides, if this really is fiction, if I had really
made all of it up inside of my head,
would I still lie to you?
Of course I would.

Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback. I will be building my Author page tonight (12/21/2018) and my website finished first thing Monday!

Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!
Big, Biggest Love,
        Jeff Gaines

Half a decade ago today, Dad ceased to be alive.
Five years ago, Dad died at the age of sixty-five.
He was a hard worker, he could have outworked two twenty-year-olds.
When he went to the doctor, bad news was what he was destined to be told.
He was diagnosed with Leukemia and it caused distress.
Twenty months later, he succumbed to his terrible illness.
Two days before he died, he couldn't even respond when people talked to him.
Forty-eight hours later, he met a terrifying fate that was very grim.
He underwent Chemotherapy to temporarily survive.
Half a decade ago today, Dad ceased to be alive.

Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterwards (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback. I will be building my Author page tonight (12/21/2018) and my website finished first thing Monday!

Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!

                                Big, Biggest Love,

                                               Jeff Gaines

I have two purrfect sweethearts and I'm smitten.
They are yellow and they're my two new kittens.
One of my babies is a girl and the other is a boy.
There's nothing like pets to bring a person joy.
They're beautiful, adorable and tame.
George and Peggy are their names.
I love to stroke their soft fur.
When I pet them, they purr.
They've taken a shine to me and owning them is something I'll never regret.
They're two purrfect sweethearts and they're wonderful pets.

>>> This is more "NoPo@HePo" (Non-poetry at Hello Poetry). It is a new way to share your writings here, Fiction or non. I hope you enjoy it.<<<
                                                          

________________

" ... Only time will tell ... ya think you're in heaven, but you're living in hell."
                                                          ­ -Traditional Jamaican Folk Song



  Funny, rain never depressed me before. It's pouring outside and normally I would be elated. I love it when it rains ... Everything gets watered ... The water table gets replenished ... The dust gets washed away, making everything shiny clean ... I love it ...

  But, not today. I've never felt like this, not that I can remember.

  I don't deal well with depression ... in fact; I don't deal with it at all.
Therefore, I'm usually always happy-go-lucky. Not much bothers me, and when it does, I head-**** it like the Ram that I am. I don't fear much of anything.

  But, as I watched the rain come down today, I almost began to cry. Again ... not like me. As of late, I feel like I'm being tested. I've never been so filled with anguish and anxiety. I've never felt so hopeless, not even years ago, when I lived in my car. At this moment, it seems, all that I touch turns to dust, not rust ... dust.
          
  I feel like everything that I attempt ... gets thwarted. I also feel like every time I have a dream about to be realized, it vanishes right in my hands. It's even worse than not having it ... I get to see it, even think I'm gonna realize it ... and then ... ****! The dream is just gone.

  All I've ever wanted was to be successful and have the love of a good woman. I know that I'm no angel, but I try to be. I'm most always genuinely concerned for others. I am always trying to make my situation better. I never wrong people intentionally, and above all, my heart is huge and full of lots of wonderful things. I've seen them all. Sometimes they pop out of me and surprise me with the way they make me act and react. I didn't know I could so easily feel and exercise such emotions; Compassion, unmeasurable patience and understanding of others pain. But the thing that it's filled with most of all is ... Love.  A passionate love that can't be measured. Like a Bald Eagle, my devotion can be never ending.
  
  I’ve always felt like I was a little selfish, I still think I am, a little. Aren't we all? But today, as I stared into the hard falling rain, instead of taking a deep breath through my nose and loving the smell ... I stared into the quickly amassing puddle in front of the apartment and felt the tightness in my chest and jaw. Tears tried to well up in my eyes, but, with a long deep sigh, I wouldn't let them. I'm not a quitter; I never have been.  

  I've deemed a name to this condition I've been afflicted with most all my life. I call it Charlie Brown Syndrome.
  It seems sometimes, that no matter how good my intentions, no matter how hard I try, in an attempt to do something positive, it almost always blows up in my face and, more often than not, I end up looking like the bad guy on top of it!

  In almost every situation, I also feel like the things that undo my efforts are both unforeseen and out of my control. I always end up feeling frustrated and helpless to remedy the situation. And, as if that wasn't enough, it almost always looks like it was my fault ... Or, if I hadn't tried to do what I had done ... then none of the unasked for trouble would have occurred. Like I said before, I look like the bad guy ... almost every time.

  My luck with women could be written into a comedy somewhere ... though; it feels more like a tragedy to me. I have no problem finding them, whatsoever. It just seems that I can't find the right one, or if I do think she might be her, then you can almost certainly guarantee that she either has a boyfriend/husband/fiancée, or she's just plain not interested in me. If she is interested in me, then she almost always turns out to be a liar/cheater/Fruit Loop ... with a drama card ten miles long. Eight out of ten times, I don't find this out until I'm head over heals crazy about her. And moreover, I never see it coming, Because like I said, I'm usually always a very positive type of person.

  So my heart, or what's left of it, gets smashed up again and I'm left to stand there, with my good intentions and my need to love and be loved ... bewildered and alone.
My buds tease me that I have a tattoo on my forehead that reads: "****** Chicks Line Up Here" ... I look for it every morning in the mirror.
            
  In my search for thee ever elusive “Little Red Haired Girl”, I've told every girl I've ever been with; “If you don't lie or cheat on me, you will have all my trust and faith. But, the first time you do, I'll take it away and then you'll have to earn it.” Not only have I never met one who could keep up her end of the bargain, I've never met one willing to try and put forth the effort to earn it, once they had lost it.

  Most of the close friends I once had are now off on their own adventures and, for one reason or another, I'm without them. Most of the friends I have now are, in a more realistic sense, acquaintances that I can run with and have a good time with. It's kind of unnerving ... to realize that some of the people you call friends, make faces or talk to others in whisper campaigns behind your back. Or, they stand back there, behind you, and roll their eyes every time you make a statement. All in the name of making themselves look better, by making them look like they think you're a fool to someone else. It kind of gives you a conspiracy complex.

  It's really strange though, that they are always there as your friend and they include you in all of their plans ... Seems like that would eventually make them look stupid, doesn't it? Stranger still, is the fact that they think that you don't know they do it, because you don't say anything about it so you can avoid the conflict.
  
  I just don't feel the bond with them that I felt with others in my youth ... Maybe that’s how it is when you get older ... I'm a hopeless romantic and I'd like to think that it's just not so.
  At this moment, I have never felt so alone and without direction in my whole life. I don't have a feeling to compare it to. One step forward, two steps back ... More like fifty steps back.

  " ... And then one day you find ten years have gotten behind you. No one told you when to run; you've missed the starting gun ..."
            
  I never dreamed that those words would mean to me what they mean to me now.  I remember reading them more than twenty years ago, the day my friend, Randy Reed, brought Pink Floyd’s “The Dark Side of the Moon” album over to my house for the first time. I had a turntable ... He didn't.

  I remember reading those words and thinking that the poor soul who had wrote them was feeling bad because he'd missed out on a part of his life.  I was maybe 13 or 14 at the time ... I couldn't fathom such a loss. Besides, in my youthful world, I was assured I could be anything I want to be, have anything I want to have, or go anywhere I wanted to go. Nice myths our parents' parents told them. I never dreamed I would someday look back and question what I had done, or where and most of all, who, I had been.

  I don't really regret my past. I've had an incredible life so far. I've seen, done and experienced things that people have, and will continue to, dream about doing all their lives. But somehow, I feel empty at the moment. Somehow I feel alone. Mostly though ... I feel almost helpless. Like a tiny raft in a vast, stormy sea ...

      You can't fight, you must relent ... It will only make it more painful to fight ...

  My question is this ...

  Who is it more painful for?      

  ME?  

  Or the vast stormy sea?

      Again ... I'm not a quitter.
    It's going to take a mighty big wave to sneak up and make me go under.  
  
  But lately, I feel like I don't have much besides my nose sticking out of the water. I'm terrified that the wave is headed my way. I worry I won't have the strength to endure it. I've been told that God, or the universe, depending on your view, will never give you more than you can bear and that through adversity comes strength. If this is my lesson, then I'm one strong soul. But I'd much prefer a lesson in how well I handle success or the love of a wonderful woman. That, it would seem, is never to be our choice to make. We are eternally the pupils and God , or the universe, our teacher. I love to learn, always have. It’s just that I’ve never found it so heart wrenching before.  

  The only thing that I feel like I might truly regret in my life is not having a family. I love children. So much so, that I didn't just go out and recklessly have some ... I’ve always felt that If I couldn't give them the life that they needed and deserved, then I'd have no children at all ... and that's just what I've done. I see my friend’s children and I die a little inside knowing that those kids are the age that my children should be. I feel like I'm missing out on a joy that may never cross my face ... or my heart. It seems to slip further away every day, each time I think about it, I feel like I sink a little deeper into the dark, stormy water ...

  It is probably my biggest unrealized dream ... The only football I seem to keep failing to kick.
  
  I can think of only one other thing that approaches a feeling of regret for me: my health. I'm not ugly, but I'm not the hottest guy on the planet either. I’ve been told on many occasions that I’m quite handsome. Countless women have told me that my eyes and my confidence are the sexiest they've ever seen. Still, I wish I had took better care of myself as I've grown older.  

  Make no bones about it, I am thee most cocky, confident, egotist you have ever met. But, even though I’m pretty sure some of it is an eminence front, I’ve never been one to be insecure. Like I said before, I’m usually pretty fearless. It doesn’t feel like a reckless fearless; it feels like confidence fearless. But even so, I’m usually alone.

  Not lonely …

  Alone.

  For a while, I thought that maybe it was something about me. A bit of insecurity trying to sneak up on me … but now I’m beginning to think that it’s simply an issue of fate ...

  Perhaps, I’ve just never found my “Little Red Haired Girl” ... regardless of my looks.  

  Before, my attitude has always been: "Hey, If they don't like the way I look, then why would I want them?" Typical for my normal, “Joe Cool” attitude …

  I think that arrogance, much like justice, is blind.

  I was so blind it seems, that I failed to ever notice that I usually only take interest in beautiful women. By the same token, so, so many have taken interest in me as well. But being with women is not the same as being in love with one.

  I can be such a fool sometimes ...

  But ...

  I've always had really nice looking girlfriends ...

  I guess no matter how you look at things ...
In the end ... you bring it on yourself ... mostly.
  Sometimes ... you let others bring it on you too.

     Aw hell, sometimes they bring it even when you DON'T let them!

  And sometimes ...

  It just falls right out of the sky ...

  C’est La Vie!

  Mi Vida Loca!

  Oh, good grief!

  I'm gonna go back outside ...

  I can be such a blockhead sometimes ...

  Who am I kidding anyway?

      I love the rain!




Jeff Gaines


Monday, August 23rd, 1999

Today, my cat died that I had for nearly six years.
When I found her dead, it brought me to tears.
Animals always bring plenty of joy.
I adopted her in September of 2012 and I named her Boy.
I named her Boy even though she was a female.
It was heartbreaking when I had to say farewell.
It wasn't until she died that I truly appreciated what a special cat that I had.
Boy and I went to Sneedville and spent the last Christmas with Mom and Dad.
She was very pretty and solid white.
She was indeed a beautiful sight.
It's very sad to know that she no longer exists.
Goodbye Boy, you were my cat and you will be missed.