Closing Chapters

These stairs seem so small now

In childhood they were enormous

As tall as my Dad

The real one

They towered above the other

The ornery bastard

Smoked in cahoots

And gone

Thank goodness

Though his spouse leaves me cold

From so far away

She weaves her incantations

Trying to find that spell to draw me near

To her alleged allegiance of falsehood

And gone

From this country much as I

One supposes if contemplating the finish line

Of the new Chapter

As memories fade away

To internet sales schemes

Of bargain hunters and annoying scammers

And the rally around my butterflies

Beginning

Babies and young men vying for attention

Seekers of my already unconditional love

Building stock upon my ledger

It is me of course who wants to remember

To think this is not my demise

But a chapter of their lives

Where I am only gone

Just one minute

Why are you angry

I found a partner and found happiness

While not to our assumed plan

It is to the plan of They who matter

To be revel in joy of another

Even though gone

We technologically logically assimilate

Around small lit screens

And cameras

And we connect with the tools at hand

A love in the glow

Even though apart and gone

I love you all

My heart and body remains bits of each

For family is strongest

This is not a last chapter

This is a linking tome

Passed

And to future

We raise a glass

Pure joy

Well written say we to the Author

And amen

Dad

I will call you Dad, Dad

And my heart melted

A joy so rare

Only birth has felt so

You choose me

An honour above all

My love

My daughter

pure

i held you first so long ago

the most fearsome

the most beautiful

creature i had ever known

you fought to life

and then showed me what life is

i wept the tears of a man proud

in the new woman you had become

and you were teacher

to me and your mother

you taught love

you showed love

and you brought your husband to your fold

you make me marvel

to where you take your children

and you give to me hope

pure

simple

hope

Looking Passed

She sits in her chair

Wheeled to this spot to wait

Enforced patience

Patient or not

Her alabaster skin is beautiful

Pale and translucent

This tall woman needs no make-up

Her shoulder length blond hair

Beautifully brushed long and straight

Her rigid body strapped to her chair

Slightly angled pillows wedged beneath her side

Bright purple and red

In contrast to her simple brown coat

Her mouth held open

A forever scream state

Tongue moving to hold her dignity

No sound to ever return to this world again

There is a twinkle in her eye

A celebration of the activity around her

The children playing near her feet

The exhausted happy look of a new mother

A new father, and a new life

The sadness of the bereaved

Loss real, love swelled

And a husband returns

He kisses her fully and passionately

She is still his, he is still hers

The love in their eyes

Only for each other

Crossing all barriers, all challenges

They will endure

To the last

As life is passed

O & Xmas

I 

love you

Simple as that

No obligation, no fanfare

Today, above all, it is you I think of

Living so full of gifts, celebrating our lives

Intertwined and so far, apart the sadness grows fonder

Yet my heart is here grateful for you

My love for 

My loves

Pleasure

Can you hear the bells she says

This sound that does entreat

It prays to us humanity

Belief or non-belief

We are called by sounds of happiness

The joy is heard in all

Regardless of our place in life

The sound invades our soul

Can you hear the bells she says

This sound that does entreat

Can you taste the joy in me

Your flavour upon my tongue

Your scent the joy is taste in you

Lives musky upon this face

Your pleasure is a gift of me

The most powerful is now scent

I taste your life’s place centered here

Your place your love’s present

Can you taste the joy in me

Your flavour upon my tongue

Can you see the love in me

My eyes they do reveal

The effect the place the feel I see

Elusive to my space

You can and do remove barriers

Emotional bereft

You fill my vessel with soul food

To write my rites wassail

Can you see the love in me

My eyes they do reveal

Can you do live well with me

In this a garden of pleasure

Your self embodied heart and soul

My self so empty and so full

My art comes forth from my hands

This soul a place misunderstood

We can all understand this world

If we look at each from each here

Can we do well and live with we

Here in this garden place of pleasure

z

thrust early

and heart

broken

a lifetime

a fortnight

joy

a lifetime

agony

sadness
then

joyful memory

sWept

Norton’s Day of Discovery (part ii)

It came with such intensity.  A demon had been defeated, a lifetime of darkness and despair suddenly was laid bare.  The puzzle of the label could be solved.

It came with such intensity.  This mind was suddenly clear.  The pain caused by years of cloudy ink suddenly dissipated by clear cool waters.  Craved connection to humanity unexpectedly and easily granted.

It came with such intensity.  A warmth starting as if fused and shot from this belly exploded in this heart sweeping through this body.  Filling every recess of soul with warmth and with light and with connections.

It came with such intensity.  A release felt so little in this lifetime.  The body uncontrolled, wracked by cleansing waves of weeping.  A wonderful dirge of release.  A simple song so difficult for the label to perform.

It came with such intensity.  Again when shared and again when shared and again when written.  This elusive physical gift, paroled from deep in this soul, bringing consciousness, connection, elation, ecstasy... 

It came with such intensity.  A prayer answered.  A blessing received.

their there

He woke suddenly without reason.  Something reasoned him to consciousness.  He took stock.  White walls waiting for artistry life, simple furniture.  Window opened, fresh air flowing freely in the dark.  Birds were singing, a jungle of music of every type and nature.  The bed disheveled, he had slept restlessly.  The red light of the bedside clock red 3:38.  It was unusually quiet.  The bedroom door was closed.  The bedroom door is never closed.  And he remembered, she was there.  Her creativity, her sensitivity focused at night, when the soul noise of humanity slumbers and her mind can gain space.  She would close the door so as to shut his presence, so as to find her solace.  He understands and he will not disturb.

He woke suddenly with reason, from a deep slumber.  It is quiet, the flow of air from his open window empty of night sounds, of wildlife, even of insects.  His bed empty and unslept next to him, his reminder.  He has no bedside clock, only devices with clocks built into them.  The bedroom door is open, it has never been closed.  The time is indeed 3:38.  Her presence is out there, his dream brought her near.  Exploring her essence he finds nothing distraught.  His comfort complete his sleep he repeats. 

One day, her presence will be present and real, whoever she be.

She be...

Coffee

This heart it soars when you are present, and is sore when you are not.  The remnants of your presence surround this existence.  Memory of your voice as it sings; songs of black birds and women artists loved and revered.  Stars fondly recalled their stories growth, reverence and the beautiful.  We stare share the lawn of leaves from heights and discovery.  Shared place, blankets warm of conversation of friends, potato salad, strawberry pie. 

And coffee.

Never emptied, held warm and close.  Strength in its brackish, mine clear yours sweetened with cream and cane.  Remnants left of memory we share.  Tears and heart, your aura I feel.  

On Angels Wings

Greta was tall, nearly six feet, and slender.  At 60 years she held herself with poise and grace.  A beautiful self assured woman who one could not help feel affinity with.  Herbert was equally tall, equally slender, with a twinkle in his eye, and love in his heart.  When these two looked at each other all you saw, all you could sense was contented happiness. 

Greta and Herbert, they loved each other.

Greta was dying.

And soon evidently, so she said.  These two had prepared for the inevitable and there was peace and grace in their hearts. 

Greta and Herbert had faith.  They had faith in the peace Greta was going to find in her release from the ravage of her disease.  They had faith Herbert had the strength to carry on in life, to continue to be the stalwart of their family.  They had faith that once again they would be joined together. 

Greta had no regrets in her life.  Greta had only one wish left.  Greta wished to sing one more time with her choir.  Hers is a large choir, forty voices.  Her hospice room small.  This evening she was going to sing with them, to be one in voice, to exalt her faith, the very fiber of her soul, one more time.  With her Herbert, with her friends.

This choir is punctual.  Complete with piano they assemble, crowded into the hall and her room.  Greta standing, dressed in her choir robes, at her place, harmonious and happy.

Hummmmmm, the sections they measured themselves.  And they sang!  The roof was lifted from the building.  The sick and dying, their families, all moving to the hall to join in the beauty of song and blessing.  Harmony layered upon harmony they sang with verve, they sang with purpose.  Glorious tunes to God and Jesus.  All that is fair and wonderful in church coming to that single point in time.

God joined this choir that evening and stood with Greta holding her, giving her strength.  Angels carried voice to the halls and the heavens.  A glow of harmony, of accord came over us all. 

The choir sang On Angels Wings.  Greta’s strength gave way after one verse.  Herbert lifted her and carried her to the bed.  He covered her to keep her warm.  And while her choir sang her Herbert held her hand, stroked her hair, told her of his love for her.

Greta, enveloped by the angelic voices of her friends, whispered back, “I love you Herbert”.  And Greta passed.

Do Something

February 25, 2011, at the Starbucks, Castro District, San Francisco

My heart.  It breaks at errors in judgement, at errors in parentage. When you needed your father most I let you down.  In my confusion I took a position, a popular position.

"Do Something" pulled me from my afternoon slumber.  "Do Something" meant action and this order was only used to meter out physical intervention.

I made a decision.  A decision to "Do Something" and I did the wrong something.  You had made a decision.  Young men of all ages make life decisions, you had made yours.  "Do Something", and I blocked your way, your passage from your home. "Do Something", and I restrained you, a desperate act to stop what I believed would be a brash act, a mistake. "Do Something", and my arms were around you, a last desperate hug, a last attempt to keep you with me, with your family.

"DAD", you cried.  The most heart wrenching cry I have ever experienced.  "DAD, let me live my life." "Do Something", I was jolted to reality, your release assured, knowing errors would be made, and lives would be lived.

"Do Something", I was once again compelled.  I did something.  I stepped aside, opening your door to the next stage in your life.

I was made a coward, weak and unable to direct my young ward to a correct and proper path.  Who are we to choose your path, I thought.  Who are we to make your decisions.  You are a man, a man with all the responsibilities joined to that title.

I was a man, made impotent in the eyes of "Do Something" yet suddenly made whole and proud of my life, my blood.  My son set out to "Do Something"!

Forgive me son!

Life has changed.  My impotence turned to dignity, a chance to take charge on my terms.

A call of despair, my son is hurting.  Years of taking your path with your partner vanish without explanation, without understanding.

"Do Something", you partner compels me.  Your son, he is hurting, he needs you.  A last act of dignity from a waning love.  He cared enough for this act.

"Do Something", I come to you, to be with you, once a feeling of impotence.  This boy of mine, this man, has grown.  He is in sorrow, he is in pain.  Do I hold him, or simply listen, do I discuss practical matters? These are new uncharted waters for me.  I just be, be with you, and then leave.  I wonder, did I "Do Something", did I make a difference?

"Do Something", and we depart, our dignities intact, on a journey of healing.  We turn our outlook to our futures.  We share relationship.  We share dreams.  We share sorrow.  We share family.  We share brotherhood.  We share manhood.

"Do Something", and you have.  You lay down your life's plan.  Your stock is understood.  Your path is clear.  Your pilgrimage to the Castro reaffirms a step in your foundation.  You "Do Something", you inspire confidence, you hearten my own future.

Your life will be better Scott-free.  You are proud and assured, surrounded by family of love.  I again release you, without restraint, and with confidence, my boy a man, my son, my family, my friend.

I am proud of you son.