The Wicket-Keeper


Today, I learned that a lover I once cherished has passed away. Just yesterday, he was alive, and I never imagined I would feel this way about him. It’s strange how I rarely think about the rain unless it floods my drains, my driveway, or my beloved rose garden, or dampens my happy mood. Yet, here I am, grappling with a deep sadness over his death.

The tender moments we shared will always be etched in my memory, even amidst the ups and downs that relationships bring. Our past was filled with challenges, perhaps I was mistaken, or maybe he was right. But tonight, I find myself reflecting on the love we had. He was my old lover, the wicketkeeper, someone I held dear in my heart, now a distant memory that I will always carry with me.

some moments
dont come back to you --
but when they do,
they usually always
bring the laughter
you still remeber
the shape of.

and for a second,
you're there again --
happy
and full of
joy.
whithout even
trying
to be.

You just missed out on the love of your life,
Like a mirror image, a young brunette,
On a bicycle ride,
On this dead end street so summer bright,
Why am I telling you?
Cuz this world ain't got nothing for me,
And I'll gladly give you my gift of sight,
Oh man-at-arms, directing cars,
So the men can dig up this dirt,
This street hasn't been paved since before my birth,
I have no where to go, and no where to be,
I'm sorry your zeal is not pointless, it just got nothing for me,
Let the road be smooth again like at the first,
So the children can ride and shout,
When their fathers return from work,
Thus too the migrant can have this house-- standing since 1906,
Cuz I stood alone against the sky,
Repairing this sky-high chimney brick,
Fill the rooms with kids, and squabbling,
Till the silence cannot fit,
Cuz this world ain't got nothing for me,
And these many rooms alone I sit,
You can have my seat for this parade,
In back I will stand,
For any ceremony or holiday,
Cuz we both really don't give a dam,
But if you care enough to fake smile,
Then you replace the distant man,
If you have a cause, about a far flung plight,
Then speak on, I will be silent,
As the clouds at chimney height,
And if you have poolside memories,
Or a loving embrace to recall,
By all means, hang them on my empty halls,
Cuz this world ain't got nothing for me,
But to repair this house so dam tall,
I don't even think a memory will flash,
If I slip and fall,
Let this exhile leave,
His lonely foreign hill,
so love and laughter no longer is a dream,
And twilight childless and still,
From sunset being a fatherless mystery,
Like these initials under the window sill.

What is your favorite word?
A word that hugs
A word that heals
A word that thinks
A word that feels.

And if your favorite word
Is in a song
Is it so common or so rare
That you would choose
Not to share?

Big or bold
Soft or loud
Will your word
Move a crowd?

Above all words
Above the sky
Above our purpose
That will not die,
Our words should live
And stand alone
Fragile as breath
Yet strong as stone.

Immortal as a shining star
Words showcase
Who we really are.

Some folks are afraid to use
The f-word; I am certainly not.
If YOU are, then think about
What's happening, and give it a shot.

Assaults on democratic rule
In America we must deplore.
This has never happened here
To such an extent ever before.

The f-word here is "fascism."
Just watch as it undermines
Our rights and freedoms in frightening ways.
Be aware of the tell-tale signs:

A ruler who wants total power
All to himself and stifles dissent,
And one who expects loyalty
From ALL, or he is never content;

A ruler who constantly lies and expects
Close supporters to spread his lies;
Who acts like a powerful despot whom
Folks are afraid to criticize;

A country where many people fear
Going to work, to stores, or to school
Because the government hunts them down
In ways that are unfair and cruel;

A ruler who supports the practice
Of scapegoating and demonization,
And gives extremist groups the right
To justify discrimination;

A place where freedoms are threatened by
A far-right governing apparatus,
And where the ruler is elevated
To practically a god-like status;

A ruler who uses violence
To help him achieve political goals
And always insists he's right, though all
His arguments are full of holes;

A dictatorial ruler who wants
Total control of the higher courts
And tries to force the media
To hide the truth in news reports;

And one who pits the people against
One another and has his squads
Who carry out his reign of terror--
Many of whom are thugs or frauds.

People will always say, "No way!
Fascism couldn't happen here!"
And live their lives ignoring the signs
As rights continue to disappear.

“The hell it can’t!” is what I say.
Look at the signs; learn from the past.
The once-so vivid colors of
Democracy are fading fast.

-by Bob B (7-1-25)

Three yellow birds
have died in a cage
Canaries in the coal mine
kept miners from their wage
“Got to get down there
I’ve got a family to feed
That’s more important to me
than the air that I need
I don’t care about the danger
It’s too late for me
In another year
I won’t be around to see
more birds dying
on account of me
Just open up the mine
and let me be”



And put Vincent’s drawings
where all can see

All ears
done making up stories
just to forgive, unfreeze

not be left with I should have’s
hoping, waiting, it carves
“Glad I did” a gesture that loves

All scream
done holding the steam
just to hear myself, dream

stop myself from thinking
forced myself, I’m feeling
accepting, moments that sting

When the midnight oil has waned,
and the candles waxed,
puddles of sage-scented sandalwood
pooled on oaken tableaus,
the scent of sulfur and kerosene
all that remains to show that something,
anything,
had burned here.
-
When the moon has hidden his face,
to shine upon some distant galaxy,
forgetting the steady, long-loved sun,
the tides pulled out and away,
no longer holding the sand,
leaving it to shiver in the damp of forgotten froth.
-
When the camp fire dies,
and the last of the hopeful dancing embers
shrivel,
their pirouettes curling into gray streams
of unrequited smoke,
fresh logs lay dreaming of pyres,
as orange fades to black,
marshmallows piled, unroasted,
in bags that won't be opened.
-
what is left,
once everything has died,
but... to make new light.

I lay shackled
in this desolate room of mine.
Even now,
a lingering drop of a beat remains.

Even the sight of air
that resembles you—
makes my core outlandish
and unfamiliar.

Vanishing all my obligations,
as if they were only dreams.

And yet,
I ask for nothing
but freedom
from the curse that has befallen me.

I’ll wait—
I’ll long—
I’ll dream—
of the day I see the smile
on your face again.