A poem from the book “Portrait of a Stained Glass Life”.
From “Portrait of a Stained Glass Life” – Part 1 now online
A Collection Inspired by “Night Moves” – A song written and performed by Bob Seger. One of my absolute favorite songs ever.
Way up firm and high
Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy
Out in the back seat of my ’60 Chevy
Workin’ on mysteries without any clues
Workin’ on our night moves
Trying’ to make some front page drive-in news
Workin’ on our night moves in the summertime
In the sweet summertime
We weren’t in love oh no far from it
We weren’t searching for some pie in the sky summit
We were just young and restless and bored
Living by the sword
And we’d steal away every chance we could
To the backroom, the alley, the trusty woods
I used her she used me
But neither one cared
We were getting our share
I woke last night to the sound of thunder
How far off I sat and wondered
Started humming a song from 1962
Ain’t it funny how the night moves
When you just don’t seem to have as much to lose
Strange how the night moves
With autumn closing in
Night moves (night moves)
Night moves (night moves)
Yeah, Remember, night moves
Sure do remember those night moves (night moves)
Ain’t it funny how you remember (night moves)
Funny how you remember the night moves
I remember, I remember, I remember, I remember night whoa, whoa
It’s works, Working and practicing
Oh, on the night moves
Working and practicing….
The dumpster arrived recently
just in time for some overdue spring cleaning
And I could not help but imagine
all of this stuff and extra things
would appear inside Continue reading →
They had pictures on TV again, from up there in space. What are they looking for up there - that isn't already down here?
“The world’s trash and mutts – the whole lot of them, in ships every day by the dozen.” – Matilde H. Journal Entry (est. 1880) recording of an overheard comment during passage to an American port (NYC). German Immigrant – 16 at the time of passage. Traveled alone.
Or, personal labels I am comfortable with – by Matilde H. (1883)
My sense of beauty is Italia,
simple yet bold.
pragmatism of Deutschland
thoughtful and structured
attitude towards others of France
laissez-faire but curious
passion of Scotland
misunderstood yet strong
presence of England
conservative and reserved
pace of España
relaxed with meaning
purpose of Ireland
complicated and symbolic
surroundings are Kongeriket Norge
filled with peaceful tranquility
I do not love them,
Nor hate them.
I am with them.
All of these precious gifts from you
they consume me
and often at times like these
oh how they can confuse me
“why am I acting my way
through Christmas again”?
I know we do not have much
in the way of material things
which sort of makes
- it sting a little more.
Did these gifts
ever hold a real sparkle in your eye?
You heaped them on me
and I always knew
this was your display to me
of love –
everybody could see.
I never learned to wrap a gift
decorative bags became an indispensable friend.
Perhaps I am lazy,
or have never found the perfect packaging
for my one and only true gift
A 20-pound ball of empathy –
he is one of our marvelous creatures.
Has anything ever held a mirror up to your humanity
like an animal that loves or
an animal that fears?
we have served each other’s purpose.
They are bred in our reflection
mutts at the core, wanting to be truly known,
begging for nourishment –
*Chase — otherwise known as booter, booter-butt, chicken butt, or boo boo
A Restless Lullaby
We Came to Rest
and my monster followed closely behind,
out here in the December air;
Is this it?
Did the night air just speak to me?
The fullness of her light is dancing as the wisps of vapor energy float by –
a gradient drop of the pressure in the air.
Unfreeze my heart,
Have we located the
final resting place?
Something feels closer.
I feel it more so every day.
I Wish I Had My Mask On
An old common and tired refrain.
There are things right in front of us
that I simply