I’m not as smart as I once thought it has been shown to me
on this day when standing by a tree, one of those I believed
beneath my intellect, physical strength, and splendor,
with a voice as sweet as nectar from a peach sang with lyrics
I understood were good, even though I found the language bizarre
as any star heaped with flowers and I heard the command,
“You’re not as smart as you thought you are, because you don’t
appreciate that though different, individuals all have flair far
surpassing any, you may have.
Some can write and give light, while others paint without constraint or
complaint. Others build and create dreams far better than any you’ll ever
have. Some have strengths you only dream about when indoors or out.
There are so many out there, who have beauty you’ll only see in your dreams.
So when you begin to believe you’re grander than any other, you must recall that
everyone has been given at least one gift that is greater than any you’ll ever have.
You should still thank God for all he has given you until today when allowing
you to look in the mirror and see what you believe to be a handsome face, and for
that, you thank God, but listen when you hear a whisper in your ear that’ll say,
“Fool, do you think you have enough grace for God to give you a pleasing face?”
I saw him there on his hospital bed almost dead.
Squirming in pain and unable to speak, his
breathe whistled through his teeth that bit
through his lip and gave a view of something
I’d never do to take my mind off of the terrible pain.
I watched as his chest rose and fell like a bellows
fanning his pain. Did he want to stay alive and
suffer, or would he rather take some drops to
make him stop breathing, close his eyes, and die?
It was up to me to decide, because all he could do
was plead his need with his glazed over eyes that
probably saw the woman he loved standing there.
If it were me, I’d choose to escape the pain and ask
please, please, find the keys to stop my breath from
keeping me alive.
Shall I like a God make the choice for him based on
what I’d do if I were he? Should I shut his door to life?
I didn’t know and thinking I was wise, I looked into his eyes
where I saw fear of the unknown. and he didn’t want to be alone. “It’s okay,”
I said “you have to see what’s on the other side one day. Maybe today
is the time to leave your pain behind and go?”
His body rocked and rolled and I saw he had grown old. He tried
to no avail to chase the pain away. “I love you” I said and my
heart ached when I picked up a pillow and covered his face
to stop the bellows from intensifying the pain that wracked
through him from head to toe. It was time for him to go.
He struggled to get free from the pillow I held and it was then
I knew he wanted to live despite the pain, but I thought it
was fear of what’s on the other side. I said, “You’ll have to
go there someday, so why not today?” I pressed down hard
and guessed when his chest stopped moving he was out of breath.
My muse, who chooses to provide me with grand ideas, of
how to build and create pieces of art with lips that never lie.
She shows me how to make them pleasing to every eye.
In my mind, I see beautiful images of paintings, statuaries,
and other art I have created because she fills my head with
ideas no one has ever had before.
I can’t help but adore and want to kiss her because in my mind pictures,
I painted fill rooms blooming with all I create and I’m praised for being
comparable to Picasso, Rembrandt, and even Michelangelo.
Like Leonardo, Da Vinci I’d have the intent to invent futuristic things with
wings and fill the skies with non-polluting flying machines, and rockets
traveling faster than the speed of light that would never miss a flight.
There’d be no need for roads, because I’d invent a machine to teleport
people and things from one spot or planet floating in the sky, to another,
and you’d find your DNA is intact and exact.
Cancer would decease to exist, and all other diseases wouldn’t
be able to subsist. Death would be only a memory, because my
muse shows me a thousand hues that’ll defeat the harvester of souls.
My muse shows me how to do all these things, if only I had the ambition
to get out of my chair in front of the TV and invent or paint or sculpt, or
do what she shows me how, even now while I watch, “One Life to Live.”.
All substances humanity needs to survive for eternity is sent through my
brain but to actually do a good deed, and complete the work required is
more than I can do, because by mistake nature to be mean, has implanted
within my DNA and brain, the lazy gene that requires me to do nothing
but lay around, drink beer, and watch TV all day.
I write every day and if what I have to say, doesn’t have
sagacity, it’s okay, it doesn’t have to stay. I have a fixation
with association when without hesitation I put pen to paper
and compose a story with a goal and don’t want to lose control.
That’s what I try to do, but my protagonist always wants to go and
use my words another way, and I can’t refuse when not wearing shoes.
The adversary I create does what I want, but it’s too late.
That’s the way I want my challenger to act, but sometimes,
the hero takes charge and kills the rival I create long before
it’s time to go. I have to take control and by a miracle,
the opponent survives the attack, and returns to fight
another way on another day.
Sometimes I wonder whose side I’m on when there’s a
battle between me and my creations. Their goal is to do what
they think is right, and I can’t decide who is correct, so I
create a character that’s a defiant one and is tougher than them,
and has the insight to do what’s scrupulous. So the character
throws the hero and adversary off a cliff and rejoices when they hit
the raging sea, but little does the character know they fell in
love on the way down to the sea and conspired to kill the
character because he doesn’t belong in the story anyway.
It’s hard to do for the hero, because he has a directive to do
what’s right, but the rival finds it easy to kill because that’s
what he was created for.
This character flaw convinces the hero that their love is doomed
and conspires to help the character that threw them into the sea
where they fell in love due to the character being cruel.
This may not be true, but I’m in charge and can change emotions,
reasons, or thoughts with my pen and they better do what I put
on paper or I’ll use white out to make them invisible on the page.
No one will ever see the words las though they never existed. If I do that.
the words will disappear and no one will know they were ever here,
so when I hold white out in my hand, the words bow down and call me
master. I believe them because it’s true and I don’t need a crew
to make them disappear any time of the year. They know to obey,
because I’m in control of every word I write to fill my selfish needs.
But one day all the words on my pages decide to abandon me and swim in a bottle
of white out until every one of them disappear and I don’t have a word
to describe why they did that, but I can say they committed wordicide
instead of suicide, because su wasn’t in any word I wrote, but there were a lot of words
that went to the place where derelict text goes after getting read, erased or hidden on the page because they couldn’t be seen, arousing my rage, because It took years to write
the words that went for a swim in the white out pool, and words disappeared from this world because text thought the next world would be paramount until I jumped into the white out pool and went to their world to write how I’d round up any runaway words.
before long I had them all. Using a black pen to draw a horse to ride while rounding up every word that ran, and forced every one into a pool filled with inky black until they appeared again in the order they were on pages I wrote, before they changed color and ran.
Days gone by are many more than the ones I have left in my life,
but memories of just what happened and what pleasures were mine in those
yesterdays fade against what I’ll do with the days ahead, though I won’t wed
even if the moon is overhead. Things are going to be great and I’ll keep a beat
now that I’m a man with a brain that actually thinks, and not only in pink like the
old days when a battle raged within between my instinctive brain and the one
that knew what was right and wrong. The color pink excited me because
it was what women wore and what I did all those years was wrong, but it
wasn’t my fault you see,
Mother Nature made me the way I was in my yesterdays and kept my big brain
in a haze, and. no matter how I fought to do the right thing, Nature sent urges
through me that were out of control and I had to hunt for a woman and sex
every day during my past. I’ve reached an age where my instinctive side has almost
died, and now obeys what my brain says, and the hunt is over for a woman to satisfy
the urges Mother Nature constantly sends my way during the day.
Thinking clearly for the first time in my long life, my brain’s awake and I can make
a plan for what I’ll do for the rest of my life. I put getting a woman to the back of
my mind and imagine what fun I’ll have in my remaining days when I’m in control.
I start to have fun by getting high, jumping from airplanes, and floating in the sky
on a sail or going on a cruise to see the seven seas without any shoes so it’ll be
grand when my toes can taste the salt on the deck and the sand when I hit land,.
It won’t be so far when I go to a bar and order one beer, one scotch, and one bourbon
to keep my head clear, and to stop me from getting the urge I had in bygone days when
young and not in control of my soul. I committed unreasonable acts under the influence
of love or alcohol. I know I’ll be bolder and there’ll be older women in my tomorrows,
but much fewer than the ones in my youth that shut my mouth and didn’t allow me
to say, I love you. I’ll be more sincere and freely give what love I haven’t used up.
Memories of the women I’ve been with isn’t pleasant at all and I wonder how I chose
so many of those who were cruel and why I had to repent and spent so much
time in jail.
Was it because Mother Nature blinded me to what they were, and only allowed me
to think myself free when I saw their pretty faces and their breasts that I hungered
for when awake and asleep.
The more I use my brain to think, I realize in bygone days I did have a true love that
died so young I never wanted another, but I now realize yesterdays weren’t all bad
because I had a dog to love and in days to come, I’ll find another.
When a politician says, “Lend me your ear,” on radio or TV,
what he’s going to say is “There’s no other way, but to be bold
and throw the old way away, so “Listen to my lies,
disguised as promises I’ll make to you, but when you sleep
I’ll never keep, because I know you’re a fool and will believe
everything I promise on radio or TV.”
We should know not to believe anything a politician says, or promises
he makes that are repeated a thousand times on radio and TV to
make us believe what he conceives as just, must be true.
If we resist, the lies will be repeated a thousand times to saturate
our brains, and with a heavy hand force his lies to become truth in
our minds, even though we know the man lacks what it takes to look
us in the eye and speak the truth, because it would exposes his
words as lies. He will never say any that are true until the day
he dies and thinks he’ll go up in the sky, but to his surprise
he goes to Hell, and once there, tells the Devil he wants to take a
vote to see if he should dwell here in hell instead of up above.
But the Devil says, “You’re here to stay, and I never lie, because
I don’t let any of you damned souls take a vote. I force
people like you to say and do anything I want and never
lie, like a man running for a spot where he can enrich himself
his mistress and family members too, all the while thinking it’s okay
to let lies flow like free wine given for a vote. Then he’ll lie, lie, lie,
to make all believe what he said is right, and as patriots everyone needs
to follow his advice to refuse refuge to those unfortunate enough to be
born where politicians have no need to lie and can do what they want
without a care about the world out there.
If honesty became a quality, a man would need to be elected here, there’d be no
need to vote, because there’s not one politician worthy to hold any post. So as a
guest on radio or TV, to get what they want or need a politician will have to lie,
and hope he doesn’t get sent to Hell where he’ll never get the vote.
I’m still alive and didn’t know why until the day she said with skill
“The reason you’re still here, “is for me to see old age isn’t so cruel
I didn’t understand until my young lovely, lady, friend whispered words into
in my ear that I could comprehend, “To see a man as old as you still able to walk,
talk, hike and make love without any help restores my belief in life.
“To see that to age is okay and all old men aren’t like the ones I see and wonder
how can it be that they’re always weakened in one way or another and no longer have
joy or strength to walk a short length, hike a mile, or act like an incarnate man”.
I often wished I’d never seen life and I dared death to come and take me when it could from the lousy slum where hunger and pain filled my hazy days and cold, cold nights kept my spirit alive and awake to suffer and feel all the pain sent my way.
In my prime, I turned to crime to make my days better than they were, and I didn’t prefer any risk that could entice death to come and get me,because I didn’t want to stay alive and often prayed that my unhappy life would end.
My friends and others I knew were taken in the night and sent up above or
down below where the hellish flames glowed. I always wondered why death
treated me so cruel when it passed me by. Was there a reason for me to stay alive?
If there was, I couldn’t imagine what it was and did my best to die so I could go up
into the sky or down below to join my friends. I knew heaven was out of reach because
I’d have to pay for what I’d done during my life to stay alive.
Things began to change when I grew into a man and learned there was a world
without a curse upon it, way beyond my neighborhood where it was okay to commit
any crime to buy beer or wine to help us forget how we suffered and would soon die.
Shadows fell from my eyes when I saw not every man was like me and friends of mine
who met a timely end and would commit any crime. There were men who didn’t get drunk and beat their wives who seemed to have nine lives.
I discovered there were families who never fought one another and loved each other forever. So unlike where I lived and family members brawled and shed blood over wine and beer.
The world I saw was indeed strange, but I began to believe life could be fun when I
had a baby girl. She was mine to not only love, but adore. I finally had a reason to stay alive and did everything I could to remain on Earth so I could see my baby grow.
Survival became okay and I no longer wished to death for relief. I saw my baby girl grow
and my love grew along with her and never died. If it wasn’t for this little girl, I would have died long ago. But because of her I got to grow old and to my surprise, my life that
started out wicked has changed so much that I’m an inspiration, not only to the girl who said I’m still alive for her, but have heard sentiments like this from many people and my kids. So whoever kept me alive all these years had a reason and that’s why I’m still here!
We take our bikes out where there are no cars and the right to ride
a long way is ours without worrying about getting hit by a driver
who would ask who we think we are to ride on a road made for cars.
But there’s danger here we didn’t know as we rode down the trail with no worries
at all, until we saw the sign that said, “Mountain lions are here.” How out of
breath we got pedaling as fast as we could to get away when we heard a roar
and all knew the lion wanted one of us for lunch. We sped away in a bunch and I
the only man there led the way, and without despair thought it fair that the lion
eat tender meat and that wasn’t me.
To be sure, I crashed into Toni’s bike so she couldn’t go faster than me and get away.
Staci saw what I did and thought the lion would like me better than her, so she waved
to entice the lion to leave Toni alone and prefer to come to where we were.
I stopped to look at her and said, “I hope we meet again,” as I rode away, but not fast enough because the ground was rough and not good enough. Stacy passed by me, laughing all the way because she thought I’d make a better lunch and there’d be enough
for the lion to use me for brunch. I thought the lion would like her more than me, so I stuck a stick in her wheel as I sped past, and heard the Lion roar as though the beast
was thanking me for the feast.