Smudges, Smears, Stains and Stories

Tony Vassilion

Published by Tony Vassilion at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Tony Vassilion

"I used to be a heart
beating for someone."

But
Now that I have decided
To bury my emotions
Under piles of dry leaves
I must get used to the dark
And the sound of footsteps
That threaten my thoughts
As I discover the secret
Of the white paper and
The black pencil
That trembles as it travels
Leaving behind symbols
For those seeing to cipher
And to believe in them
That anymore writes

I ate the cherry
I discovered
Between the cushions
Of your Mother's
Living room sofa
Which most likely
Fell sometime Sunday
So soft and sweet
Please forgive me
I kept the quarter
I found there

Half of the world cries for Love,

and the other half, just cries.

In the shade of the door,

I shout for lost Love.

But Love is frightened,

And does not stop.

It waits for the cries to cease,

Then again silence surrounds it.

Between the ceiling and the floor,

A lonely world exists.

A drop of hope,

As water from a wondrous tap,

Falls to my forehead:

A sweet kiss to fuel the fire of desire,

A reminder of paradise to come.

The Before

At times I pleaded to the Prince of Peace
Who through the Alpha and Omega sees.
No consoling did I ever receive;
I began to wonder what to believe.
Many around me said, “You must have trust,
Even Thomas felt where the sword was thrust.”
Others professed to live by the holy code,
And all around them the bombs explode.
Still, I am seeking a personal sign
To help me put a confused life in line.
It does not seem so very much to ask,
For God it should be quite a minor task.

and the After

When your spirit did first seize mine,
I was overwhelmed with the power.
I lost all sense of space and time,
And a second seemed like an hour.

I was drained of all self control,
Till left a lump of well wet clay.
As with an artist’s heart and soul,
You began to mold what you may.

With firm fingers you formed my eyes,
And your image I did behold.
It took no time to realize,
Your beauty shall never grow old.

With such care you gave me a nose,
Your aroma was arousing,
Like the fragrance of a rose
Inhaled upon first arising.

With hands cupped you made each ear,
No longer did silence surround me.
No sweeter sound I’ll ever hear,
In your presence, a symphony.

With deft skill you designed my mouth,
I sampled what was before me.
Nothing could compare north or south,
From you flow rivers of honey.

You breathed in life and made me whole,
I felt warmth in your tender touch.
In turn I was given a soul
To desire you so very much.

Before you a new man I stand

I will embrace and draw you near.
As sand through the fingers of my hand,
You'll not slip and disappear.

Dearest Lina and John,
I have given you oral instructions over the years on how to handle my transition to the next world. However, I felt it necessary to write them out. One’s thinking can become quite clouded and confused when overcome by grief. So, here is the plan.

With the inevitability of
My evential death,
Our bodies simply wear out
It is built-in obsolecense,
This is how to handle this old heap
When it’s time for the heave-ho.
As you know it did not come with instructions;
None that I ever understood.
But I’ve got a plan!
My father always said you have to have a plan.
So, pay particularly close attention.
When I close my eyes for the final time,
And squeeze out that last tear
For the sake of "humanity",
But, between you and me
Since I have always been prone to self pity
It will be for myself that I cry,
This is what I want you to do.
Mind you, I’m traditional not cheap.
Remember that as you manage my transition.
If the local ordinances require a box,
Make it thin plain pine please.
Better yet, carry me home to Happy Hollow.
You know the spot.
As for the hole,
A very shallow one please.
Make sure the site is far away
From the run off paths.
The rains can be quite unsettling!
Shroud me in Satin,
And provide a pillow for my head.
Most importantly, after you tuck me in,
Above me place a tree.
A fruit or a nut tree please.
Do the research!

Plant whatever will flourish,
Probably peach or pecan.
As the roots push down and through me,
And I’m drawn up and through it,
A little part of me will be deposited in each pit.
I invite you,
And please, pass this invitation
on to others,
To come and partake of the fruit you find.
Do this in remembrance of me.
Just take what you can eat.
Allow the remainder to fall,
And become food for the worms
To wiggle and wind through.
For there within you,
And in the belly of those worms,
Another life waits for me.

Daddy

Hey Mama…

I was just thinking about you, so I thought I’d give you a call…How are you feeling?
You sound great. What are you doing?
Is it okay for you to eat French fries?
What do you mean you’ll eat anything you want to eat? " 'Splain that to me Lucy."
I hear you…Lucy made me laugh too. She was so silly, and she used to get herself into so much trouble. I sure miss watching the "I Love Lucy" every afternoon when I come in from school/work.
Speaking of shows that I miss, how about The Three Stooges.
Curly was my favorite also.
I read that the side of his face was actually callused from being slapped so much over the years by Moe. I’ve also read that Moe was the boss on and off the camera.
I agree, Moe did kind of look like Adolph Hitler.
Yes they were brothers for real, Moe and Curly anyway. Larry was not a brother.
Yes, I did hear that Larry had a gambling and sex addiction.
What was that other brother’s name, you know, the one that was in some of the shorts before Curly?
That’s right, Shemp. You could look at Shemp and Moe and see they were brothers. There was such a strong family resemblance.
How does that make you think of your brother Gussie?
I can see that in my mind's eye…you and Uncle Gussie leaving the Saturday Matinee, walking up Fayetteville street still laughing from the Stooges Short or the Abbott and Costello feature you had just seen.
You’re right Abbott was hilarious when he would get excited.
I know you still miss him.
I kinda of figured you were talking about Uncle Gus and not Bud Abbott.
"They" say there is special, strong bond with twins.
Yes, I remember the show, it was called "You Bet Your Life." Groucho was such a clever whit. He was always so quick with the comebacks.
What do you mean? I thought all of the brothers were funny.
Well, you have a point, Zeppo was kind of boring.
I’ll tell you what though, that Chico could really play the piano and Harpo, when he played the harp it would almost make me cry. I wonder if he could talk in real life, I’ll have to look that up on the Internet.
Yes I do. I still watch those shows from time to time. Did you
Know that when it was a radio show, the cast was all white.
Good question. I’m not sure of the reason why none of the episodes are shown on T.V to this day. When I got into the mood to see the show, I had to order the complete series from ebay.
Yes Lord, the show can still make me laugh. The Kingfish was always trying to who-do Andy. You remember Andy don’t you? He was the stout guy with the derby, remember, Andrew Hog Brown.
I hear you. It should have been called the "Kingfish and Andy" show instead of the "Amos and Andy Show".
Oh, Amos was the cab driver, the guy who wore the cap and who was always telling Andy that the Kingfish was trying to cheat him.
Yes, I remember the Kingfish’s wife…her name was Sapphire. Ruby was the Kingfish’s mother-in-law.
You know she did look like Aunt Despina! At least according to Uncle Jim.
Word! That Uncle Jim, he could always pick up on someone’s unique character trait, or physical feature and blow it out proportion like a caricaturist.
Sure I do, It was always so much fun on those Sunday mornings when Uncle Jim would come by for coffee and he would start mimicking people. I wonder if that was how he got his nickname, Mimiko. I smile just thinking about him.
I agree, I can’t understand how Red Foxx and "Sanford and Son" were anymore acceptable than "Amos and Andy."
Mine too, especially when Aunt Ester, Fred's sister-in-law, and he would go back and forth with those scathing remarks.
And Lamont, he was such a great straight man.
Yea, Daddy did enjoy Redd Fox. He would go to see his shows if he were in Las Vegas at the same time…and if he could tear himself away from the tables. Daddy told me he wouldn’t get too close to the stage. He was afraid Red Foxx was going to single him out and blast him…which Foxx would sometimes do with people in the audience.
I have been thinking about Daddy a lot lately. I even sometimes see him in my dreams. He is always so thin and weak.
Daddy use to talk about how Don Rickles would pick on people pretty badly during his Vegas shows. I understand Rickles is making a comeback.
I don’t know, he must be at least in his eighties. I use to love to watch him fill in for Johnny Carson on the "Tonight Show."
No he isn’t too pretty, but he sure can make some of the funniest faces. Now, he is someone I’d be hiding from in the audience. Oh, I mean, he could be merciless.
You know who else I used to like to watch: Rodney Dangerfield. What do you mean it would make you nervous to watch him?
I understand. He would shake those legs so hard it did look like he was going to fall down.
No, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t sick. I believe it was just part of the act, his shtick. He was hilarious when he would get rolling with his, "I get no respect" routine.
Well, I’ve arrived at my meeting place Mama.
No I haven’t worked though all the steps yet.
I’m still on step 4, taking a personal inventory.
Yes I still get strong compulsions, but so far I’ve managed to
maintain my resolve….one day at a time.
It’s been nice talking to you.
Tell everybody I said "hello", and give everyone a kiss for me.
I’ll call you next week.
I love you too Mama.

Don’t Look At Me Like That!

Your youthful eyes hypnotize,
And my defenses corrode.
It took no time to realize,
That it’s much too much a load.

Your rehearsed air of innocence,
At once seems all so clear.
And my body begins to tense,
As from some forgotten fear.

Displays of child like candor,
Which time has let trail behind,
Are now tempered with the splendor,
Of joy from Eros defined.

Playing a game of Blind Man’s Bluff,
Leaves me in too much despair.
I was not blessed with quite enough,
And my emotions I can’t spare.

Maybe I am just lost in lust,
Or loneliness has been renewed.
My perceptions I can’t trust,
When by you I am viewed.

Whose House Is This?

After much to drink

I tumbled into a restless sleep

Still hearing the words

As they spun hardly audible

Over the roar in my head

"I am going no where

And any where is a

Better place to be"

A sudden clap of thunder

Found me frightened

And quickly to my feet

Dazed and confused

I wandered into the dark

Raised my face to the night sky

And washed my eyelids

In the cleansing rain

My head and sight cleared

I had a vision of myself

The familiar stranger

Passing through the doors

Into the hearts and homes

Of many gracious people

Their tables prepared

And their arms open

After making a mark

On each empty plate

That had been set for me

I slipped away quietly

Before the food was served

And the festivities had begun

When the rain stopped

I slowly lowered my head

I stood before the Great Entrance

The sound of celebration

Could be heard from

Within the closed structure

Humbled and alone

I meekly knocked

On my Father’s door

Koko is a domesticated gorilla who has been taught to use human sign language. She has been taught over 1000 signs.
The monkey on my back, that still enjoys a spin on the dance floor, has a much more limited vocabulary. Unfortunately, it's message is quite clear. Truly, it has been a long dance.

The Death Drop...

From a cuddle position, with a circus grip, the flyer leans forward and falls as far as the grip allows, which is not very far. Then the lead slips the cuddle arm out and the flyer falls again as far as the grip allows. Spotters should be under where the flyer's head will go.

Koko bounced off my back
Then onto the floor
Took me into her arms
In a death grip of sorts
Step…one…two…three
The band played and we danced

"It takes two to Tango"
She whispered in my ear
"You know you still want me."
Step…one…two…three
What a familiar fatal comfort

As she grew stronger
I became weaker
Then my will gave way
To the Dark Night
One…two…three…dip
Into a fetal position I fell

That’s how you found me
Balled up and broken
As the band played on
You picked me up
Step…one…two…three
We began to dance

You carried me until
My rubber legs could
Respond to my will
Again I felt the hot breath
On the nape of my neck

"It takes two to Tango"
Was the whisper from behind
"You know you still want me."
One…two…three…dip
And the band played on

A Reflection

I am only a reflection
Of where I’ve been and what I’ve seen
Look closely at my face
And I’ll tell you a story

I released my higher power
Whom my Father had defined for me
As a result of a lingering illness
Spiritual Anemia
I began the search for a replacement
One of my understanding
The first and final force
The divine spark that ignites the flame
That fuels the fire that burns
In the under-belly of the universe
A golden thread that sews my essence
Into the infinite web of creation
Whose location was planned for me
With Him I shall share my burden
To Him I will pray for Divine Intervention
For deliverance from all of my obsessions
Shelter from the storm that rages
Which began as a mere tempest
In the teapot of my mind
And which has now become
A hurricane that beats and batters
The shores of my sanity
And threatens the totality
Of my existence
Wait
I see Him now
He calls to me
He is at the top of the steps
There are only twelve
I will go to him
But as I climb
Another power prevents me
I advance
One….
Two…
Then I’m pulled back
I must keep Him in sight
I shall try again
Surely I can make it
There are only Twelve Steps
One….
Two…
Three..
I am tired and weak
I will stop here and rest
It is late
I have made progress
I will continue my journey
Tomorrow

My Dearest Friend

Bathed by the sunlight
And Surrounded with the smell
Of Confederate Jasmine
Again I was blessed
With your presence
I was lost in a search for serenity
When you came to comfort me
Emotionally speaking
My mind maintains a delicate balance

That day the delicate balance was a high wire act
The circus strong men were holding each end
Laughing and swinging their arms
As if playing jump rope in the park
I was in the middle dangerously swaying
The nets below in desperate need of repair

Then I heard you call
Your voice wrapped itself around me
I was drawn to you
I could not control my actions
Any more than I control my emotions
Our spirits converged
Wrestled wildly
Merged into one mass
Then collapsed into a heap
There was nothing to say

And So my friend
At the end of this tender reflection
Again I feel the calming serenity of your presence
My only request is that when I need you
As again I surely will
And I summon you
You will come to solace me
On the wings of a butterfly

And The Beat Goes On…

Come and take some tea
With me
At the Barnes and Nobles please
We can sit
Take a sip
Chat if we want to
As
The Gestapo goosesteps hopscotch on the sidewalk
The crying children crouch in the bunkers
From above screaming silver-bellied birds
Defecate clumsily on a pretty patchwork quilt
And
If the crowd there is
Too large
We'll slip between the shelves
There we'll wait
With Will Blake
And Walt Whitman
As
The few the proud take giant steps on the sidewalk
The voiceless children shout for shelter
From above silent silver-bellied birds
Defecate tidily on the torn and tattered quilt
And
Very careful we
Must be
Not to disturb the symphony
Sweet and low
Soft and sad
They will still be singing

On My Fifty-Fifth Birthday

I am approaching another landmark; I am entering my 55th year of life. Funny how when we are young, we measure our lives year by year: 1,2, 3,..........30. Then we start skip counting by fives 35,40,45,50,55 going, going, and gone. I'm feeling a little sad, so being the kind of guy I am, I felt compelled to spread it around… It is often said that, "Misery loves company." I hope after you read my little scribbling, you'll feel a little down also, because in my opinion, not only does misery love company, but misery loves miserable company!



A Reflection
The sad man sitting on his throne
Grows fat and old
As time moves on he loses what
Once he did hold
A control he believed would
Never be gone
His eyes glisten as he says these
Words all alone

"I'll drink slowly from this glass of wine
And at the bottom may I find peace
Peace from all my suffering divine
From all the grandeur given by lease
For as this nectar might ease my mind
This world shall eternally leave me behind"

The sad old man so tired with thought
Has to go on
It is his lot to live a life
Chained to a throne
That once gave him all the control
He so needed
And as it began to slip from
Him he conceded

Drink then old man from your glass of wine
But at the bottom peace you won't find
For we are cold men, statues of stone
And will soon forget you and your throne

My First True Love

You’ve a look of child like candor,

That’s not very far behind.

Just tempered with the splendor,

Of joy from Eros defined.

My crushes on Wilma Flintstone and Ginger, the movie star from Gilligan’s island, were mere puppy love, although my heart felt like it was going to explode every time I saw them on my 9" black and white set, compared to my first true love, and the woman by whom every other woman I met was measured… Bette Davis. From the moment I saw her in the Petrified Forrest, my life was never the same; I was her Leslie Howard, minus the whiney voice, her "knight in shining armor," as Mick Jagger so aptly phrased it, "Coming to her emotional rescue."

I remember like it was yesterday, rushing home from school as fast as my short adolescent legs could carry me to watch the afternoon matinee, which usually included a Three Stooges or Spanky and Our Gang short before the movie. I always hoped for either a Bowery Boys, Tarzan, or if nothing else a Bomba the Jungle Boy movie to watch. However, most of the times, I ended up watching either and old gangster or western movie, but I loved them all.

On this particular day, not unlike any other day, I rushed in the house, put away my books not to pick them up until the next morning when my mother bullied me out of bed, and turned on the TV. It was like opening a box of Cracker Jacks, you never knew what the prize was going to be. I always watched the credits very closely. I could usually tell if I was going to enjoy a movie depending on high up on the list of actors was the first actresses’ name. I either liked to not see them there at all, or very low on the credit’s list; I was not a "girly man." On this day, I was in for a surprise.

After getting over the initial disappointment of the unfamiliar name of Bette Davis listed under another name I had never heard of, Leslie Howard, whom I assumed was a woman, and knowing on the other of the only two stations we could receive was a soap opera, I almost picked up my school books to work on homework. However, I decided against it; fortunately for me. I had never been so mesmerized by a movie in all my life, and afterwards my list of friends would never read the same.

It was the story of a Burned-out British intellectual Alan Squier (Leslie Howard) who wanders into the desert service station/restaurant. Alan finds himself an object of fascination for the daughter of the owner, Gabrielle (Bette Davis), who dreams of moving to France and establishing herself. Gabrielle's gas-jockey boyfriend grows jealous of Alan, but the penniless, self-indulgent Briton has no intention of settling down; in fact, as soon as he mooches a ride from wealthy tourists Mr. and Mrs. Chisholm, he's on his way out of Gabrielle's life, or so everyone thinks. Later that same day, Alan, Gabrielle, Jason Boze, and Mr. and Mrs. Chisholm are huddled together in the selfsame restaurant, held at gunpoint by Dillinger-like desperado Duke Mantee (Humphrey Bogart) and his gang. Alan seems indifferent to the danger, toasting Duke as "the last great apostle of rugged individualism." Sensing an opportunity to give his life meaning, Alan takes Duke aside, begging the outlaw to kill him so that Gabrielle can travel to Paris on the money provided by Alan's insurance policy. When the police converge on the restaurant, Duke announces that he intends to use Mr. and Mrs. Chisholm as a shield in order to make his escape. Alan tries to stop him, receiving a bullet in the belly for his troubles. "So long, pal," growls Duke fatalistically, moments before his own death, "I'll be seein' ya soon." Alan dies in Gabrielle's arms, secure in the knowledge that, alone among the film's principals, she will be able to escape the trap of her existence.

From the moment that movie ended, my life changed; girls were no longer just a target for my spitballs when Mrs.Gauldin was writing on the board, they became the target of my affection. There was an overpowering desire in me give my life purpose, and always at my side, my Bette Davis. Now entering into my 55^th year of life, I have seen it come full circle, and I was able to escape the trap of my own existence. It has been a long hard journey, however, in the end; there is no bullet in the belly for my troubles. I am able to sit back, relax, and watch an old Black and White; life is good!

The Paranoid Schizophrenic Blues

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close you eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of paradise.

from Kubla Khan,

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge~

Odysseus, the hero from Homer’s epic poem, The Odyssey, tells how adverse north winds blew his ship off course as he and his men were rounding Cape Malea, off the southernmost tip of mainland Greece. These winds drove his ship for nine days, and on the tenth day, they reached the land of the Lotus-eaters. In Greek mythology the Lotus-eaters were a race of people from an island near North Africa dominated by "lotus" plants. The lotus fruits and flowers were the primary food of the island and were narcotic and addictive, causing the people to sleep in peaceful apathy.

Odysseus and his men landed their ship to take in fresh water, and the crew took their midday meal, after which he sent three of his men to explore the island, and to discover what if any inhabitants there were. These men soon found themselves among the Lotus-eaters, who did not hurt them, but gave them fruit and flowers of the Lotus to eat. The plant was very delicious, and soon the men stopped caring about home, and gave no concern to return and report to Odysseus what they had found; they just lay around munching on the lotus with the lotus eaters.

Odysseus located his men, and forced them back to their ship where he confined them and imposed a fast on them. He told the rest of the crew to go on board at once, so that none of them should taste of lotus and brush aside their goal of reaching home. They took their places at the oars, and continued their long journey home.

At times in our lives, many of us have been blown off course and find ourselves in the land of the Lotus-eaters. Most of us find our way back home, and others of us are held captive in the land of the Lotus-eaters, never to return home again!!

I’ve got the paranoid schizophrenic blues

And a crack fit knocking me out of my shoes

My dog just rolled over and died on me today

I sat and watched without too much to say

The clinic doctor said I got the herpes bad

Probably from some parking lot lizard I had

My boss man has really become an S. O. B.

He looks over my shoulder as he makes me pee

The paranoid schizophrenic blues aren’t cool

It can turn you into a baby or babbling fool

The Ecstasy has almost destroyed my brain

At times I feel I’ve been rolled over by a train

I had to sell my best friend’s ring yesterday

My supplier told me no more if I don’t pay

Don’t get the paranoid schizophrenic blues

Or all of your precious life blood you will lose

The Ride

I was on a road trip, not thinking about much at all, when I noticed a spider hanging from my steering wheel at about a 12:00 position. I had a strange thought… I wondered if the spider was steering or me. Depending on perspective, we both appeared in control. Actually, the spider seemed to have more sense of purpose, and was much more focused in a single minded sort of way. I set the car on cruise, and we continued up Highway #1.

You there small spider

Suspended from the wheel

By a single strand of silk

Are you in control or am I

The captain of this ship

The hopeful monarch

Of all I see and survey

Should I defer the helm

To a higher power

As I struggle strength gone

To navigate this ship

Though winds and waves

Of a turbulent sea

That tosses and threatens

Changing the course

To a sure and certain end

I must learn from you

Who are so confident and

Capable to guide me through

Oh Captain My Captain

A Bit of a Bio

My father emigrated to the U.S. in 1947 from North Africa. He was born of Greek parentage in Ismalia, Egypt. My mother was born in Raleigh, N.C. to Greek parents who arrived with the great waves of immigrants around 1915. I was the third of four children born to John and Margaret V. in Raleigh, N.C. on August 19, 1954. At the age of six months, I was baptized into the Greek Orthodox Church.

The church in Raleigh was a small community made up of primarily first and second-generation Greek families. The Priest I knew as a child was Father Stephanis. He could not speak English well, but he always had a pleasant smile for me each time I kissed his hand. Because there was such a strong social bond, everyone was considered family. It was not until I was in adolescence that I was able to clarify the relationships. The church was as important for our cultural identities as for our spiritual needs.

Tradition played the most important role in my religious development. The church service, known as the Divine Liturgy, I experienced growing up was much the same as it was 2,000 years ago. Because of the makeup of our church, most of the congregation being from Greek speaking families, the Liturgy was delivered in Classical Greek: the Greek of the New Testament, of which I had no knowledge. It was an ornately beautiful service, but because of my lack of understanding, the basic faith required for a strong religious foundation was not instilled in me.

The Divine Liturgy is believed to be a Heavenly service on earth. It is a supper, the table of God's love to believers, where Christ gives Himself as food and drink, "that we might live through Him". When Orthodox Christians participate in the Divine Liturgy, they do not merely act out something that happened about 2000 years ago at the Last Supper; they re-live the Last Supper as if it were the first.

The most vivid childhood memory I have from church took place during an Easter Week, the most sacred week on the Orthodox Calendar. I was attending a Liturgy service, which culminates with Communion. I was a fairly stocky kid, and we were not allowed to let anything touch our lips before Communion. During the service, there are long periods of time during which congregates are expected to stand. During one of those times, I became very dizzy and fainted. As I came to, I heard voices shouting, "Get him water!" and others exclaiming, "No, he has not taken Communion!" I was helped to the altar, given communion, and then taken out front for water and air.

Many of my adult thoughts have been dominated by questions concerning my spirituality, and my relationship with a higher power. It was during a time of abstract contemplation that the following lines were written. It is a defining moment from the past, which contributed spiritually to where I am presently, and will continue to influence future metaphysical reflections. I felt, to make it more comprehensible, that this autobiographical preface was necessary.

Heavenly incense incite my senses,

I am stripped of all strength.

Battling for breath and heart racing,

The floor breaks my fall.

Hands push and pull at me.

Voices void of shape and substance,

Fill my semi-consciousness. 　
Struggling to stand at the Royal Door,

I begin to regain awareness,

As yet another's hands join in.

These are so soft and smooth,

They hold a chalice and spoon.

I kiss those kind and caring hands,

As they protect and provide for me.　
Over and over I return to this place,

As　the shadows of fall shorten,

And chilling winds of winter blow.

Once more I hold those gentle hands,

Now withered and lined in gray,

In my hands and kiss them,

Never again to lay them away.

Wednesday’s Walk

It was just another afternoon walk. The rain had broken the sun's hold on the hot June day. Streams of steam were rising from the road. Heaps of household trash were arranged checkerboard fashion for Thursday morning Leapfrog by the city sanitation crews.

I saw her! She stood tall… a Guardian Angel. Her head held high above the pile of rubbish she protected. Even with a wing missing, she remained the Plaster of Paris beauty I remembered. My thoughts wandered back in time to when I first saw her.

It was another mundane moment at the Wal Mart in the garden section. Two gardeners were discussing which rose was better suited for our region: the Old English or the Hybrid Tea… I listened casually. Then suddenly and loudly, the beseeching cries of a child an aisle over captured my attention.

"But Mama, I want it!"

"Where would we put her?"

"Beside the gold fish pond Daddy made for me"

I eased over to see the object of their contention. There on the shelf, adorned with childlike innocence, was the Angel. On her face a demure smile, suggesting a peaceful place and time.

Now, she is damaged goods. The fallen angel was placed with last week’s trash, and other former treasures. A broken wing had caused her fall from prominence overlooking the plastic pond. And there, at the pond where she once stood, her replacement: a ceramic toad who is destined to wait for a fly that will never come, purchased on special for $9.95.

However, the Angel has found a new home, in my heart watching over me, and there she will remain forever.

Wednesday's walk, peaceful and plain,

The evening rain broke the sun's hold on the day.

Heaps of household refuse placed along the road,

A reminder of responsibilities that lay ahead.

Oh beautiful, blemished angel amidst the rubbish,

From whose garden were you banished?

Was your broken wing justification for your fall

From prominence beside the plastic pond?

Now where you stood, another stands shiny and new,

As

The proud gardener looks and leans on his John Deere.

It’s Showtime

According to the latest research from Pudue University people who watch forensic and crime dramas on TV are more likely to have a distorted perception of America's criminal system...I agree!!

There is no "Law and Order" in America today. I have been "CSI"ed "Up the North Road" in Miami and New York by "Bones" with "Criminal Intent" "Numbe3r's" of times "24" to be exact. My "Glory Days" vanished "Without a Trace" when I was "Chase"ed by "Dexter" with piano "Wire." "Homocide:Life on the Street" truly made a "Monk" of me. "All Worked Up" I hopped into my "SVU" crossed "The Bridge" headed to the "Navy NCIS" commisary to buy me a "Cold Case" of Bud. I wrote my own "Closer" for this "Psyhe"d out drama. As we learn "Six Feet Under", it's all one long "COPS" re-run.

The actors form on the left and right
A stage is set without any light
People arrive not having a care
The curtains rise they’re in for a scare

It’s showtime!
The same time each night
It’s showtime!
Let’s give them a fright

Sweet Mary enters without any clothes
Her body’s painted from head to toes
As John passes he asks “Should I dare?”
Then says “Why not she has a nice pair”
It’s showtime!
They’re in for a sight
It’s showtime!
We will but they might

The children ask “What has happened here?”
There lies Mary soaked in blood and beer
The paper said “That makes number five”
Will the next one make it out alive?

It’s showtime!
They better sit tight
It’s showtime!
There’s no use to fight

John then goes to the church of his youth
He enters the confessional booth
And tells the priest what all he has done
Shedding tears he turns and he runs

It’s showtime!
Now don’t get uptight
It’s showtime!
It’s not always right

John sits alone his head in his hands
Thinking how to carry out his plans
The priest sneaks up with hammer in hand
And he puts poor John’s life to an end

It’s showtime!
The same time each night
It’s showtime!
Let’s give them a fright

Uhm…I Wonder

In a world without wonder

We are trained to seek answers

With eyes focussed through lenses

On the ghost of a burned out star

Still visible in a transient sky

Aided by computers charts and tables

We examine an existence

That has no essence or soul

However eternity is within us

As infinity is without us

It is a culmination of

The collective human experience

Unearthed on a peaceful excursion

By way of a hidden highway

Into the depths of our being

Where an eternal fountain fuels

The imagination that interprets

The reflection of a vast world

That is better seen with eyes shut

Now, what in Sam Hill is that suppose to mean? I meant it to be a statement on things unlearned; how we are closer to the Godhead before “necessary” facts and formulas are introduced into our lives. We are taught to categorize and classify, the unknown and the unusual, by means of a "proper education." In spite of this, there is hope of finding the road back, though obscured by exposure to the insanity of the modern experience.

That is all a bunch of BUNK! Actually, I am just trying to show everybody how Intelligent I am by using the shock and awe method…string a lot of seemingly complex ideas together in an articulate fashion, say it with much conviction, and people are apt to believe it! Do the math, If A=B and B=C then A=C. But, as we learn on the train of life, 2+2 does not always equal 4… 2 apples + 2 oranges = 1 fruit salad.

Now, this is where I need your help. I seem to have tangled up a perfectly good idea in the web of my insecurities. It is a thought that I believe can be salvaged. However, I have lost all perspective, having immersed myself in a pool of self-doubt, and am not capable of transforming it into a concept with any socially redeeming qualities. So, after you read this, if you have any suggestions or personal observations on the subject please phone 1-800-EAT-SAND.

((*Y*))

Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-22 show above.)