Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep
In a similar way as his father of one
And actually, also my father did too
Of those bitter, big cancer scourges
Which always come in unexpected
In this short enough life, a bit early

I've known him ever since first, when
We were knee high to Dad's shotgun
Throughout our small neighborhood
We would all roam to see and look
For ***** toads and such other fun
Without any known end in our sights

We often, came all together, at once
In his parent's, little Clovis back yard
In the under ground, in our deep dug
Wild little clubhouse of our new pride
Approved by our jealous Dad's stare
Made all by ourselves, with great care

Eight by eight, with three feet of deep
Shagged carpet floors, walls around
And places to hide stuff with those
**** magazines we wished to remain
Unseen by our parents, although they
Surely lived through similar wild times

Black lights , fluorescent mod posters
Fans to cool, while there in the deep
Kept the place comfy, from several
Hot summers in New Mexico's heat
Staying nights over, in conspiracy we
Came colluding, while hoping no fame

This place was our place, of known
Refuge from all of the big crazy, with
Frightening world still yet to come
Giving us our youngest freedoms
And also so much being in trouble
As kinda neighborhood hoodlums

Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower
One of us in care would climb
With binoculars to see the dark night
With our pair of walkie talkies held
Warn the others, carousing around
Of any plight, in appearing headlights

Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith
My other brother by another,  Buddy
Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris
One other member, as second cousin
Who actually, was my very first kiss
When it was hard to aim, lips to miss

All bound as one, by made up signs
And part of something called PSO
Which, if you don't know well, what it
Truly means, then you were definitely
Not a part of the so very high bliss
Which we suffered through so often

Kevan's true nature is clearly proven
Finally, most completely, at his end
In the nature of his wonderful loving
All his family, who also so loved him
And all those other parties to trouble
Who also so loved, really all of him

©  2017 Jim Davis

He waits in the park for a date.
A bus full of los Angeles Models and photographers
talk through walkie talkies.
He walks around spying through his peripheral.
pretending he's James Bond trying to scope them out.
He wonders if he seems suspicious, or if he's going undetected.

A Beautiful girl passes briskly by, looking curiously around.
She long dark bangs, fall colored scarf, flirty skirt.
She sits on a nearby bench.
He no longer thinking of his date.

"oh my god."
"wait, no."
"what if she showed up right when you started flirting?"
"be respectful."

A vibration in his palm.
"I'm Here"
he looks around
the only woman to fit the profile is perched on the bench.
"no way."
He walks over to the girl.
"you walked right past me, beautiful."
on his face is a smolder
the gas mask used to hide all sorts of jumbled feelings in the past.
Today. it's hiding a tiny jumping boy. feeling like he just won the gorgeous girl lottery.
This is his Date.

They go to Dobra Tea,
She takes a sip.
"It tastes like peaches" she says.
"Peaches come, in a can." The boy starts.
"they were put their by a man" she adds.
they screamingly harmonize a bit too loudly for a tea shop
"In a factory downtown"
they shush each other.
giggles erupt out of them as they collapse into the tiny pillows.
they get quiet.

the girl explains she puts her "bad pictures" on tinder
so people are surprised to realize she's beautiful in person.
stricken by her brilliance.
He applauds the flawless strategy.
as it clearly worked on him.

They go on a few more dates.

First She takes him to a graveyard.
They talk about their Jiminy Cricket's
Shared demons, so familiar some
creep from behind gravestones.
push leaves from their path as they stroll along.

Then He bring her to lighthouse.
A thick cold fog.
they switch between belting 90's pop hits
and laying peacefully up at the sky holding hands.
Music.
sound of bleeding hearts rubbing against each other.
bow and violin.
how soon they flint and steel.
spark too hot, too real, too soon.

later, in bed.
His heart leaks something.
He wonders if he looks suspicious, or if he's going undetected.
when she pushes "did you just say you love me?
Tired, and teary eyed, He says:
"Peaches."
It was their safe word.

As she starts in, Clearly not satisfied,
"C'mon, I know I hear-" she interrupts herself.
"oh... you said peaches."

See, he could have said yes,
It would have been more honest.
but this was only their third morning waking up together.
even though his heart wanted to say it again.
his Jiminy Cricket doesn't care if he loves her.
it knows he can't take care of her.
Jiminy knows that when he goes home tomorrow, she's a poem.

So He says peaches.

i.
your teeth chatter and the wind hits your face.
you can no longer feel your hands or legs.
something about frostbite floats around your mind.
and while your head is screaming, go home
your legs are screaming, left, right, left, right.

you remember walking this way from school.
when your sister would pick you up and walk with you.
or when your "best friend" would make you take the long way
so you could walk her home.

you remember trying to climb that tree
to impress a couple of kids
in hopes that you would become friends.
you remember falling
and the shrill laughter of "never never friends"

you remember sitting in that field
and writing poetry
about the dogs that passed.

you remember playing in that park
with a girl you thought
you'd be friends with forever.
you remember sitting on the swings
while your mom talked to other moms
about what it was like to be a mother.
you remember sliding down the slide,
playing in the sand,
and the reluctance to go home.

ii.
you find yourself in His neighborhood.
you still remember the exact way to His house.
how could you not?
you are still smoking.
you imagine the smoke hitting His face.
He would be shocked, if only He could see you now.
what He made you.

you stop by His house.
you remember the path across His house that would lead you to school if you followed it.
you remember the tree next to His house where He poked a wasp's nest.
you remember His backyard, how you would build forts and He would always win.
you remember His living room, blanket forts where you would tease you until you cried.
you remember His mother and her patronizing smile.

there are christmas lights.
you wonder which room is His.
you wonder if His house still looks the same.
you wonder if He remembers what He did to you.

how He touched you
even though you said no.
how He told you that you wanted it
even though you said you didn't.
how He told you that you needed him
even though you knew you didn't.

He is a ghost now, just like the rest of this neighborhood.
and you know if you stay long enough
the ghosts will take it as an open invitation
and come out to play.

iii.
you keep walking.
you put the cigarette out.
you think you're lost until you find a familiar looking building.
you walk towards it.
you realize it's the church across from your elementary school.

ah, elementary school.
remember how they broke you?
remember how they called you names?
remember how you tried to **** yourself?
remember all the friends you didn't have?

you can see the ghosts, now.
the school is filled.
your legs are moving towards it.
you remember the nightmares you had about this exact place last week.
you take pictures.
you try to catch a demon on film.

you have lost all control of your legs.

this is where you told ghost stories about the old lady that lived in the forest behind the school.
this is where you made a pact that you would be friends for life.
this is where that kid told that teacher he was death when he meant to say deaf.
this is where you sat under the playground and laughed so hard you peed.
this is where you showed them the scars on your wrist.
this is where they rolled their eyes and called you "attention seeking".
this is where she told you every lie they'd ever said about you.
this is where you sat when you told them you were going to **** yourself tonight.
this is where you bled and everyone saw.
this is where you broke.

this is where you became who you are today.

iv.
the anxiety is killing you.
you light another cigarette.
you hear voices and a bark.
you make a left.

down the road is the fence you kicked your show over in the second grade.
you wonder if you should thank them for returning your shoe or not.
you don't.

you walk towards her house.
the last time you were here was halloween in grade nine.
you were dressed as the mad hatter.
being chased by some guy dressed as michael myers.
trying to figure out who you really are.

she became someone completely different less than a year later.
she had been telling people she wished your best friend would **** herself.
she got into drugs.
she was always too good for you, anyways.

you want to knock on her door and ask how she's doing.
you wonder if she remembers you.
you don't.

v.
you walk past His best friend's house.
he has bright, shining lights, too.
christmas spirit.

you wonder if he still lives there or not.
you remember the way you went to daycare together.
the three of you.

you were never close with him.
he was into hockey and more attractive girls.
by the time He transferred out of your school, he had no reason to talk to you anymore.
he forgot all about you.

he started dating girls in grade one.
he started cursing in grade five.
he had kissed a girl by grade eight.
she thought she was in love with him.
he had no idea what love meant.

he still plays lacrosse with Him.
he talked to you about Him, sometimes.
he told you how He was doing, how much he hated Him.

at least the two of you had that to talk about.

vi.
you are almost home.
you check your phone.
four missed calls.
three unanswered texts.
where r u?
you turn off your phone and put your hands in your pockets.

you're walking down the same path you would during school.
you remember the way the boy you had a crush on would tease you as you walked home.
he lived on your street.
he would call you names.
you told yourself it was only because he liked you.
he didn't.

the two of you used to be best friends.
you played in the park together.
you had matching walkie talkies.
he came to all your birthday parties
and you went to all of his.

until you weren't cool enough.
and that was that.

you still see him sometimes.
you don't exchange a hello or even a smile.
you act like he doesn't exist.
he does the same for you.

you wonder if he feels as guilty as you do.

vii.
you are home, but you are not alone.
you've returned with your own ghost.
she is whispering in your ear how you have become
everything she would be ashamed of.

she wanted to be a veterinarian.
she wanted to be thin.
she wanted to be pretty.
she wanted to be smart.
she wanted a boyfriend.

you are unemployed.
you are overweight.
you are ugly.
you are dumb.
you have a girlfriend.

she is dead and you are the only one to blame.
because you killed her.

So often
Going through the day
Minding my own business
and people feel the need to intrude.

Smoking outside my building
Just want silence
One of the local talkies comes over
Going on and on
Sciatica pain he says
On and on
and on and on

“Probably emotional” I tell him
He did not like that
Most people don’t
When you suggest there is something
more going on
Than they are willing to face.

But I have decided
If they want to intrude
on my solitude
I don’t have to chew it.

What is artistic expression how do put my soul on a page
How do I stroke my aura’s color if I can’t see it  
How do paint my humor and intentions
How do I draw my unbalanced chakras back to balanced and write the energies surging through channels
How do I chalk out my thought process when I am reminded of you

Walkie talkies hidden ontop my chalkie chakra blocked like telephone lines hit by drunk drivers or blackouts during storms
Sunshine burning mustard seething weekend breeding burnouts coming out of retirement like

My soul color bleeding rainbows with big blocks of grey in between Needing the contrast Needing the depth and blurred complications the world is not black and white we all bleed the same rainbow sparks into the same riverbeds breathing and exhaling with the time ticks of our existence of light reflected on the glitter trickled surface of the vibrations of our soul speaks ricocheting through galaxies for eternity.

Can’t phrase anything right
In come spiraling thoughts stories of me stories of we can’t help but trip I fall into thee mother Luna romanticizing the waves of the sea you rub my jaw with your hipster b

Crown king we’re being free
We’re trying queen
Forgot the beauty in the cold
Blackened hearts should walk boldly
Frozen on mountaintops trying to keep our souls warm
Broken and torn plastic bag in the wind escaping entities that block their flow

Exhausted on faking
Keep breaking from trying to make it
Ain’t no fun to be around
I keep all my words in my mouth
The devils got my tongue
I’m feeling numb
All my existence is to ***
I can’t get up out of the ******* ground
Years go by
I’m not feeling myself
Tears come out of me like a leaking spout
No drugs can bother me
My head belongs in the clouds

Spy Kids (the original)
A 5 dollar matinee with your mom
A box of Bunch A Crunch
Or a plastic sack of
Dip N Dots

Ninja Turtle walkie talkies
Flare denim cargo pants
Bobby Jack zip up hoodies
With blue Fla-Vor-Ice stains
And hide and seek

Now That’s What I Call Music
Volume 17
Playing from a 10in x 10in
Silver box TV
And high frequency noise
To accompany
Akon’s latest bass line

A razor scooter
The foot powered kind
When the Preacher’s Daughter
Has a shiny blue one with a motor

Weeping to Secondhand Serenade
Because your mom won’t let you have
A Wii
And your crush checked “no” on the
Note you gave them last week

Detention after pre algebra
From shooting a girl two seats over
At “close range”
With a hornet
And she was unfamiliar with the school wide
NO SNITCHIN’
policy

The words
Beastly
And epic
Used to describe what your
8th grade field trip is gonna be like

A phone call from your best friend
About finally finding Ben Franklin
In Tony Hawk’s Underground 2

Now
The OK symbol is your most used emoji
There are too many guys with long hair
And beards
White girls all have a weird obsession
With house plants
We’re all at least 50 thousand dollars  in debt
And I think we all
Just really hope Donald Trump
Isn’t our next president

Make me bleed,
dig in,
shards of ancient revenge,
words of Christmas mints,
eyes of cellophane.

If I scream,
tell me I'm the last of my kind.
Sympathy is a joke,
the fire is stoked,
my misery is going for broke.

Make me believe,
the love in your eyes is earnest,
stamp it out with your apocalyptic brows,
tell the four seasons
have not been cruel enough to me.

If I bite back,
muzzle me, baby.
Tell me I'm a silent movie lost in the era of talkies.
I'm in your woods, traveling with a broken walkie.
I'm the prey your hungry mind has been stalking.

If you don't destroy me,
how will I ever create?

I don't know when it became
Such a game
To just communicate
With you
Some power play

But dang I'd choose
Cups and strings
And walkie talkies
Over this "thing"
Any day

“Can you hear me?”  “Can you hear me?”  …. “Come-in”
Boys with “walkie-talkies”, walking and talking, squealing and squawking
The girls were chalking – on the sidewalk
Range, one quarter mile.  More over water, the box said

If all you hear is static
Run some wire in your attic
Or tie it to your gutter
“Can you hear me?”  You may utter

Copper wire strung on a fence
For Russian signals the pretense
Every beep, buzz and whistle
Was that to do with someone’s missile?

A weather fax for steaming ships,  “doodle doodle” sound
Deadly tips!

Vacuum tubes soft-lit for me
RCA, Westinghouse, and GE
Their glow-warm magic casting a spell
A hook set lightly - I could not tell

Gizmos, and gadgets, in crate after crate
Rolled into the business - helped shape my fate
War surplus it was, "truck's in" they would holler
Purchased for two-bits on the dollar

So thank you Dad – the hook you set
grew into a job, my needs were met
A needed change, a needed change

Courtesy, Machinery Exchange

as I come into someone else’s own, I agree to meet my brother at a clawfoot tub I hope is still there.  I fill a bucket with water and leave it with my wife for good luck.  I walk from the house in mild weather and become plain to you.  I pass the mud my father’s eye goes without.  I tire.  I come to in my brother’s arms and his badge has left a mark on my cheek.  sleep is like a slug I can’t overtake and then it is my tongue or in its privacy.  brother roughs me into the tub headfirst so I can hear the highway.  he preaches and they were followed by two sets of footprints until the footprints had to rest else they’d be too fat to die.  these parts you're money or hush money.

If our love was like a movie
it will be a cheesy 80's flick
where we're at a party
and you make your way to me
from right across the room


It could set in a timeless 50's feature
where I  could be Audrey Hepburn
running around idyllic places
doing things I  pleasure
while being with you


Maybe we are like the 20's  
where we star in the talkies
A fascination, an innovation
a breakthrough, a classic
just like me and you

I've heard the creak of the stairs
as she passes over them
for the eleventh time today,
laundry basket wrapped around her hip,
its soft plastic shape
molded to the curve of her
from the number of times she's held it close.

I've heard the silence of a muted television
when he lets the flatscreen lives pass by
as my sister starts in on another story,
laughing about children he will never meet
and looking into her
to remember how much of him she is.

I've heard the warmth of two voices joined into one
from the telephone pressed closely to my ear
both of them sitting in separate rooms,
a different receiver in each of their hands,
as if our living room is the size of this whole country
and the arm chairs in it are rooms
in which we each sit,
the phones walkie-talkies we've made
a part of this game
of pretending that we are all together,
conversing across the fireplace
of New England autumn and
the blue carpet of Lake Erie.

Looking for a plan
to homestead with honey
You find the land
and I’ll bring the money.
Start with 8 hens and
then get a rooster.
Sunlight and dirt are
the best immune booster.
community grown
no, you won’t be alone
walkie talkies instead of upgraded iPhone.
remain lean and fit
use up every bit
for excellent compost mix in chickensh!t.
swale in the roots
of a filtering lily
irrigation to grow
what I’ll use in the chilli
weeds in the cracks
seeds in the snacks
a little help from the axe
and the *** makes us stacks.
And I’ll spin what I comb
from the fellows who roam
on the sod in the loam...
All we will need is
some land and some money,
a pocket of seed,
and true love for honey.

The music was much more,
When you had nothing to say
So, whether I read or not,
I interpreted anyway,
Such a thrill it was,
Amazed I sat in the dark
So many shades of gray!
Then talkies broke our hearts

BLCostello©2021

After getting off the phone with you at night
I’m reminded of when we were kids
using walkie talkies to communicate
we were supposed to be sleeping
but we stayed up watching Adult Swim
sharing our jokes and observations
until one of us would invariably fall asleep
and then the other.

Even though the calls are less frequent
I’m still interested in your favorite shows
What are your favorite scenes?
Who are your favorite characters?
Is Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood still cherished?
Sometimes I forget you’re just down the hall
and get so engrossed in my own experience
that asking about yours slips my mind.

So feel free to ask me if I’m still awake
and I’ll check in between episodes
because I’m afraid one of us might fall asleep
and the calls will stop coming entirely.

What's a bird that doesn't have boots
Looks like a flamingo that flocks
And keeps it's feet up
What's a clock that doesn't tick
That radio can't relate too
That's we look for Radio Free Europe and daylight savings
What's the paper without a President
Counting days when he leaves, ticking time bombs
The bombs' without a clock
Hey Bob meet Charlie
Meet Tango and cash in your walkie-talkies
Cute meet between people who think, it takes two to tango
What's an avian bird that doesn't congregate
A gourmet meal
What's an eagle without the snake's shadow
A prey to the Sun and Moon, the nocturnal death
The snake sleeps with his head in the bagging
The sagging berry that doesn't taste sweet
What's a bird without wings
Is the imagination of the intelligent intellectuals
Looking for talent among ambitious, some have mirages of migration
What's the boot without the footer
A shorter foot, with a missing boot of homeless beggar
What's a barber without a cut
A devil's haircut for the witty purging fearful man
In loathful Vegas lost in its insipid disease
Trees and the malls, the Palio that looks the same as the Patio
Sounds like Caesar's Palace in a word salad
What's rubber with a tip
Some pocket full of things
A change of style, and wallet of wads of cash
Paying for the dinner and the present commitments with the lady in the bleeding ceiling
What about the lights, the gumboots shine in these muddy fishnets

Most stylish walk
Most effective way to talk
Knew it all
Even before the talkies were to start


Made The Big Trail
With Raoul Walsh
On 70 mm and the film flopped
Career took a drop


Waited for 9 years
To be cast by Papa Ford
Ringo Kid in Stagecoach with Claire Trevor
Was born the greatest International Superstar

Westerns  War Drama and Sports films
All genres suited him
Topped the box office 4 decades
23 times made the Quigley list

A record yet to be broken
It needs another Duke Wayne
Kept audiences happy
Quality films he delivered yearly

Every movie now a classic
Revisiting them makes one nostalgic
50 year career
Ended due to the villain called cancer

In our hearts forever
Immortal in his fame
The only and only
Marrion Morrison who became
Duke Wayne

Here in India
All his movies
Sold out at the Box office
In their hearts built his edifice

My father a huge fan
Didn't cry when his parents died
Shed tears when he read that John Wayne had died


A great Patriot
Proud to be an American
Loved the American way
Dreamt the American dream

Most enviable filmography
One Classic after another
Overflowing box office receipts
Dedicated fan following one of the causes

An idol for the common man
Always in tune with his fans
Three generations of a family
Liked the Duke for different reasons naturally

Decades at the top
Found a place
In millions of hearts
For life and beyond

Everyman' tries to copy
John Duke Wayne s personality
Impossible to mimic his life
You can try and stop with his walk

Won an Academy Award
Playing Marshall Rooster Cogburn
True Grit with an eye patch
One more of his conquests


Also turned Director
Westerns and War the genre
Wore many hats with dignity
In his dignity lies his beauty

Started his Banner
Every film a surefire winner
Called the company Batjac productions
Launched many newcomers giving them  a new direction

Default favorite of millions
Had fans across beyond definitions
Always a Republican
Controversial views never affected his reputation

The name John Wayne
Stood for Macho Integrity and honesty
Saddled up for a cause
Whatever the opposition he never paused

Ford Hawks Huston and counting
Auteurs at the top
Colloaborated with the Duke
Their vision in film manifested

Professional to the core
First to come and last to go
Passion for his profession of choice
Made him people s number 1 choice

Am a great fan too
Not his fan i haven't seen two
God bless him his fans and  family
With great reverence i write this solliloqy

I went talking to people
Talking to people from everywhere

Even if the world was run by muscle and war
Lies and corruption
Even if it was unjust and wrong, founded by animals
Even if the people were separated, afraid and cynical of each other
And even if everything was instant and unnatural
We still went looking for the soul of man
Like looking for angels in your soup

I left home and came back
And I said I couldn't find it
There was disappointment in my sister's eyes
She spoke in many places, races and faces
Was I still looking for the soul of man?

And the stress grew
The world got harsher
More separate
More afraid
And still the newly conscripted in their already worn gear still bright
With torchlights and walkie talkies
And dreams strapped across their chests
Went looking for the soul of man

Like an eye is meant for seeing, a mouth for speaking
You can't escape it
Everywhere I went
People were looking for the soul of man

from the nickelodeons
to talkies; to technicolor
to Cinema-scope to 3D
to CGI to IMAX to VR;
the screens gets bigger
& then smaller & then
bigger again until it is so
large we are walking on
its surfaces unawares &
are being watched
& listened to by the dust

Music is in the air
A few decided to share
The sounds they heard playing
Gave it a name called composing

They were magicians
Knew all about instruments
Instructing the instruments to play
Gave it a name called Music

Rhythm Melody and Harmony
Texture Timbre and Dynamic Aspects to create the basics
Scattered pieces put together Gave it a name called Musicians

Stirring the Souls
All they require is a note
Making our hearts to move
They do it with a tune

Orchestration to give form
Final music in their heads
Playing in order already
Sharing their inner beauty

Providing the Score
To our lives
Each unique to each person
Musician s original profession

Every form of emotion
Played in the device
Of their choice
Reflection of  our feelings captured with poise

They speak through their chords
Greatest linguist amongst all
Expression their art
The most gifted lot

Verses and refrains
Points and Counterpoints
Sections and Instruments
The Musical oxygen

Life has its music
Only that we don't hear it
Too busy looking good
Ignoring the music making us ignorant fools

Life without the music
Silence is a tune
Silent movies had music
Music came  before talkies

Speaks no language
Communicates  to the illeterate
Doesn't judge worthiness
Gives it as delivarance

Alone with the self
As 2 with another
The 3 paths to salvation
The 4 Noble truths
The 5 elements
The 6 senses
None exists without the musicians take on it

Doubts about creations
Theist Athiest or Darwinian
Questioning the limitations
These can be set to music
Says the all encompassing Musician

Lullaby or  Dirge
Every stage of life is forged
Open your hearts
Feel  the chorus in all

The only world without borders
No visa or passport required
Has already achieved the impossible
Making humanity as one with his Music