Nostalgia…Meet Serendipity Let’s Hang.

It feels like it was just yesterday. Maybe because it was just last year. But pressing play on Colin Hay’s Long Way Home was all it took. I almost turned on the fireplace and made an English muffin and a cup of coffee. It would have been more than Déjà vu. It would have been a time machine. I feel it in a place somewhere between my lungs and my heart. It was nostalgia. It was serendipity. It was pity for my lost years and hope for my years that I have left. It was optimism in the moment and thankfulness for what I hold so near to my soul and it compelled me to write.

Fortunately, I call myself a writer, so this will make appropriate the mystery of this sense of morning melancholy that would perhaps bring me into a flow state. If not for only a brief moment.

The holidays are upon us and the feelings I grasp to capture and put in a bottle become far more frequent during this time of year. Maybe it is the crisp air. It could be the perpetual darkness the shut down my vision like a fog so that I cannot allow my mind to see to far. Only grounding me int h=the present like an isolation chamber or sensory deprivation tank. Whatever it is I like it.

I want to live in it, this moment forever. I want to be in touch with my present in a never-ending loop with only my actions to break up the pattern and enjoy that which is in front of me and now want for what imagine could be better if only I possessed it.

If only I could be somewhere else. Yeah, that would make it even better. Like being on vacation and seeing a beautiful landscape and darting into the nearest bar for a drink to hold. Yes that would be the cherry on top. Only to find out that the minute you complete preparations for the moment it has passed. Never to be captured.

Could I have just settled for oxygen instead of spirits?

Fortunately, I do not drink anymore. Not that I quit, I just did not continue. I always imagined that if I could stop drinking that then I would be able to enjoy more of these landscapes. Now that I don’t partake, it is no different. I was quite the party animal in my younger years. I often thought then that if I stopped these unspoken habits that I would be able to be present and feel more often this very same moment more often. This too was not was I was missing.

Is it that I needed to plant seeds of the moment so that I could live them again in the future? Like little love notes to myself to remind me that life is beautiful if only I was to stop looking here. Here being the future when I open the note and here also being the moment I wrote the note to myself long ago.

Even as it sits in front of me like a fire-breathing dragon panting hot air on my cheek and the sound vibrating in my skull, and my eyes adjusting to the breaking dawn, I am still looking upstairs to the aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Thinking to myself if only I did not have this mild soreness from yesterdays run. Yet I know that if I get up from this place I would return to a room that has been changed.

The furniture would cast a shadow in two directions. One from the fire and one from the fire of the morning sun. My heart rate would be elevated, and my skin would be flush from the quick detour.

I would re-enter this room only to find that this life was not the one that I had hoped. THe sense of presence in the moment would be like a beautiful butterfly that floats away as you reach for your camera. The snapshot would never exist.
LIke that special song before sunset. The very same couch next to the unlit fireplace. Pressing play and lighting a match. Watching the room fill with light and writing frantically as if it is about to disappear. That I was doing this very same thing one year ago to the day and by simply recreating the moment I could feel this way. Only one thing is missing.



No, it cannot be I found my moiety

Or perhaps just a paragon of shegrim duplicity

Semblance to a Sybil Akin to a dream

Unexplainable syncope Tell me what it means

Residing in my heart and never letting go

Plethora of wishes unto her I do bestow

Recall when I first gazed Deep into those eyes

I had no idea she had on A new disguise

She to my surprise was seeking for my love

Even so I was to know I had placed her high above

Sullen the years that were to follow that day

Having no clue that I was drifting away

Eternal depression I would fear the unknown

Having blood in my sweat and blood in my tears

Always seeking the wrong only wasting the years

So soon came the day I cut a bagel in half

Along came a woman with a magical laugh

Near to me vade mecuum, let me lead the way

I would love to skate into her heart starting with today

Reminding me of the daiquiri with sweet sensation of strawberry

Rendering sweet lips my pina colada tongue

The rest is history

Eating in the graveyard, but to us it was Eve’s garden

Something about her tenebrous hue makes my passion ardent

It’s no surprise that she disguise

Such an irresistible pukka pair of eyes

To her I give my works of art

All that I’ve created

Because she loves me for my heart


What has become of my guilty desire?

Over the day that you may light my Fire

Men who cast eyes whishing only for the lust

Asking why you believe such a man of distrust

Nor is it a game with seldom 2 winners

You must understand I and just a beginner

Over and over I say let them go

Under the pressure to of the point when I blow

Pure?  Maybe once you desire and the honor

Only the changes when you speak like a Connor

I myself have not filled half my avoid

So selfish and fickle other one who are toyed

On and off turn the passion of reason

Now and then wires crossed and my year out of season

Oh, it is you that hides behind the mask of shade

Using only your good so the truth you evade

Such a grand future but only half is I

Can it be she is lost like a star in the sky?

Up and over drink my blood and adore

Never to trust not again wretched whore

Try not to hit your ass out my door

Novation of Life

Never before now am I adamant

Abounding in sensuous fires

Acquired such treasure by

Sinking slowly into the quagmire

Velvet cheeks liquid lips

Shapely hips

Gentle fingertips

All of my life stopping on clouds

To get to heaven

Leaving the grapes of wrath behind

To eat time well spent

Kindred soul walking along a wall

It is ice cold and hard

So as far as his bloodshot eyes

Frozen hands scarred

Son of a man alone

The sting of the frost

No robe on his muscular back

Naked an lost

Now his feet a lacerated and

He cannot stand

Open wounds on his hands

He falls to the ground

Value filled the tenacity of his heart

Pumping blood to the world around

And begins to dig with his bar hands

Into the concrete walls

The voice of Venus

So sweet she calls

I am here traveler on the side

You’ll have to reach

Open your heart and mind

And my wall you may breach

No! He cries

I cannot surmise I shall ever see

Your eyes by sunrise

Ostracizing my fear and pain clutches the bricks

Along the wall to find a crack

Felt through his back

A flicker of hope

In a stone that breaks loose

As he digs through

Painting in red

Is he dead?

Leaping into the cave of skin and bone

And digs ‘til the hope is gone

She calls through thinner walls

In the blackness of the seventh hour of digging

Through the black, a crack, a light, a sight

He sees no more of the wicked night but a woman

Collapsing in pain trapped in a hole smaller than my own

Emotional moment as the sting of our tears dripping on our wounds

On her fingers sharing something not alone