trust

leaving my feelings

leaving your heart

whats behind the door

will be left out

wheels keep turning

trusting in nothing

forced to leave it all

until i can fly

once more

the sound

the sound of your voice

through the walls

the sound of the leaves

in the fall

the sound of your breath

in a winters night

a divine call

that makes light

the wind over the hill

that is might

the stars up above

holding my one true love

in the night.

 

becoming

Made from a heart of stone

As cold as snow

On a frozen riverbank

Frigid to myself

And to nothing

I walked through

A land of desolation

Of desperation

With all of the shadows

Engulfing my soul

Head down

I entered into oblivion

A winter

Of no more

I say stay

I say no please no

As a quiet breeze floats

Through the halls

The room becomes still

And I grow cold

So cold

Bitterness filling my body

With regret

Loss

Sorrow

I am now to my own solitude

A thought wrapped in many

Thoughts

Confusion

Left without a decision

Gone

None has your beauty

You lay in the light of evening

The glow of the sun

Showing its true color

Changing greens to black

Changing mauves

Permeate the environment

With pigment

Until

A hush controls

Your landscape

Crickets softly caress the breeze

The moon gives forth

To a new midnight

Prussian blue skies

Sprinkled with light

From long ago sunrises

And sunsets

A moment of cool

Breeze

Floats through the air

I can no longer see you

But I know you will be there

Dusting the sky

With shades of awakened

Need not……

“Need not apply for the job that doesn’t exist.”

I was told this by my father once.

(–Or dad as I called him

Oz as his immediate family called him.

Joe as his employers called him.

Smokey by his coworkers when burning,

And Sparky when welding.)

I had started to volunteer and part time for work

He meant that I wasn’t getting paid enough

To work my ass off

Pessimist or realist?

I argued it looked good on a resume.

He countered, Ok but it doesn’t look good in your pocket.

My dad was a down to earth guy with a penchant for the ladies

Older and younger.

This got him into a lot of trouble where my family was concerned

Me though?

I just shook my head and saw him as my dad.

Did I mention that one of his arms was smaller than the other?

Some may look at this as a deformity… well I guess it was.

Many people told him as he was growing up

That he wouldn’t be able to do just about everything.

But to me he was my dad.

Did I mention he played professional trumpet?

He thought it would be an easy instrument to play.

After all it only had three buttons.

He always hid his hand and arm from view

Except when playing.

Toward the end I picked up my trumpet again.

You read that correctly.

And he picked up his from his younger years.

We played in concert with each other

Tunes of old—or as many people call them

The standards.

My favorites to play with him accompanying me?

“Besame Mucho”

“Over the Rainbow”—Judy Garland style

“This Love of Mine”

“I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles”

“Perfidia”

I could go on and on.

We always warmed up with “Malaguena”

Once, when he came to visit me,

We went to a music store on Broadway.

We got a trumpet out of the case

Pretending we were going to buy it.

Very timidly he took the instrument from my hands

And looked it over.

We played, warmed up on it,

“Malaguena” freestyle.

Everyone got quiet in the store.

I whispered to him,

“There you just played on Broadway.”

He looked down as a huge smile came across his face.

Maybe he was embarrassed.

But I can tell you this much,

He played the hell out of that instrument.

Sometimes he would stop playing and just watch me

This made me nervous

But I think he was sad

Not proud… or maybe a little of that too

But he would get a faraway look in his eyes

Like he was either seeing himself the way he was

Or seeing me for the first time

I’ll never know.

Distance meant nothing.

Sometimes, we would practice together via speakerphone.

I would play lead and he would play harmony.

The last song we were going to play together?

“Dream a little Dream of Me”.

I had the sheet music to it.

Had started studying it.

And then something happened.

We stopped playing trumpet

Why?

We never talked about it.

But I could sense things were changing.

And when he passed away?

My mom told me,

“He was excellent, but life could have been better.”

Did I mention he used to drive bus?

As a child the night would always calm me down.

My parents would put me in their car

And go for a drive.

I had every kind of illness allergy wise that you could think of.

My dad would get angry and frustrated with me sometimes.

I’d get an asthma attack if I laughed too hard.

I’d scratch at all of the rashes and hives I had.

Constantly itching and wheezing

Always calming down when he was behind the wheel.

My dad and my mom could never understand that.

And looking back on it I can’t either.

Welder, burner, and teacher of both,

He even cut some of the rails for the NYC subway.

The A line.

Because of this,

Riding the subway made me smile.

Yeah, riding the subway made me smile.

After all, nobody cares what you do on the subway.

We would drive down the highways on our many trips.

My dad pointing to the light poles—

“I made that. I cut the base.”

And he actually had.

Coast to coast.

Now I look on those highways and rails alone.

But when I drive at night?

The light always reminds me he’s actually there

And will be.

–At least until they construct new lighting along the length of route 80.

If and when that happens, I promise to pick up my trumpet again.

waiting in the rain

Rain against the glass of the window fell

Crashing to the ground

Beating its way into the earth.

Grabbing an umbrella

I dashed out onto my landscape

Fog, cold, heat, and damp

Permeated my senses

Unable to see distance

Waiting

Breathing in the wet concrete

Waiting patiently

In the rain

To go home

an open letter to my dreams

Once I thought I saw you standing across from me looking at the moon high above us.

I was wrong of course but I claim I felt your eyes.

There was no home for us I wrote to you in an old letter of imaginings.

Darkness always creeps in when I try to write to you.

I don’t know why but it seeps into the cracks that I try to paste together.

But I still write to you.

I always have and always will.

I know that you go to the places I go

I feel it

I can’t even explain that.

Maybe its not for me to know, but some other thing in the universe to understand.

I always mean to tell you something that in the end I can’t remember upon waking.

Annoying to some but when I fall to sleep I find comfort knowing you could be there.

In a fog smiling and waiting just to see me.

Just to say hi and look into my soul.

Even though I now wear glasses to both read and do just about everything, I can see you too.

I will never know your face but the eyes are always the same.

There haunting me

Leading me down a silent road to a distant land of appeasement and joy.

The mixture of emotion is always fleeting toward dawn…

This is an unfortunate event for me.

Is it for you too?

Tell me your secrets…

You say this without a spoken word.

Of course I can read your mind as much as you can read mine.

Let me pull you deeper into sleep.

Let me show you a land through my window that we can share.

Feeling this, a cool soft moss beneath my feet

Breathing in the damp evening air

All the while in the warmth of knowing that you are there with me.

Always.

Do you feel this too?

I can sometimes sense you smiling.

The moments we share in solitude.

When will you reveal your face to me??

Is this a cosmic way of telling me that you are in my fact my one true love?

Yet another question that would bring a sly smile to you.

That is if I even let you know I thought about this.

Oh to know where and when you will appear in life

It’s a yearning thought

Of course I can never hear your voice

Just a mind meld that is so often spoken of in television and movies.

Laugh as you want but you know it to be the truth.

When I feel the dawn rising

You look as sad as I feel

But I think you believe we will never meet again as you are.

This is a possible fact

There have been many smiles and secrets in my life.

All of which have no face

No name

And of course different lands to show me.

There is an innocence in all of this.

I appreciate that.

I never want that to change.

I doubt you would either.

I am writing this to you with a smile that I know would make you grin

Most certainly as much as you did last night when I tried to get you to say something verbally.

The care you take with your secrets amaze me.

I wish I had that same dedication.

I just chuckled.

If you could see me now.

Doing this while my favorite music plays in the background.

It’s now almost 3am on a Friday night Saturday morning

I have broken the chain of our promises and have chosen to explain myself to you again

In another letter of imaginings.

I send this to you.

And this time the universe too…

With all of my love.

R