"Blood of the Lamb"

you try to sleep while i type
but
you say you can hear me making sounds
in the night
the click of the keys the computer brain
working working overtime.
all the non-stop time
you are my lady, my sleeping beauty
my soul kiss

my heart hears mind music in the night,
when it is quiet and everyone
is wherever they go when they sleep.
outside the daily pains.
away to that place of peace
never worry, my love.
i will always come back to you.
where i never left

the piano of the keys beneath
me writing sounds in my head
so many running there.

swirling sad silly sentences
in the china dark.
sometimes i wake you with my noises
(i forget how loud i play the music)

so
go back to sleep.
i'll be there soon, and we'll go together
to our dream place.
our special private
fantasy

that dimension on the other side.
of this side
or inside
outside
get a little on the side
side of mayo
side of fries
california mudside

we have been youth,
and we have made it
so much farther
than the police said i would.
i owe you, for not just shaking you head
and walking away

i mean...you shake you head
but you don't walk away.
you just pull the covers up
and patiently
wait

and
i'll be there soon
because i love you,

you sweet,
hard lovin belly rubbin',
foxed out madwoman,

you!

I go to bed to sleep, perchance to dream
Ah, but therin lies the rub.
To dream of you so far away.. makes my melancholy heart
Begin to beat faster at the thought
Of you inside my arms.
Your eyes sweet light to rest on mine..
Your soul shining through that pastel blue.
God worked such kindness in your face.
Sweetness there for all to see.
But there is only one who sees the all of you.
That one, sweet love, is me.
Not long, not long, my precious one,
The space between us will be gone .
We'll hold each other in the night
And smile until the dawn.
We'll love so hard and laugh so loud
That God Himself will smile
To see the beauty of his gift.
the Vegas Moon that shines on both of us this night
makes souls like ours embrace each other.
May you sleep the gentle sleep of lovers..
and know your heart is safe.
I love you.
Truly,.. madly..deeply.. and always...

Never miss a chance to keep your mouth shut.

-Robert Newton Peck

If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.

-Meister Eckhart

New Hope, Pennsylvania

Once upon a time there was a little town in a nice green valley where a river ran clean and cool and some farmers raised their families and crops. Everyone was very happy and content with things and went about their daily lives with serenity and grace.
Then there was an awful war and some of the farmers and their sons were killed but when the war was over the ones who hadn't died came back to the valley and life returned to normal. You see, farmers live with lie and death every day and know that sometimes the crop is good and sometimes it is not. They accept the things they cannot change and do not think about them much.
But in other places in the land there were creators of things or "artists" as they are sometimes called and they were unhappy with the way things were, what with people fighting wars and all. They wanted to know why things happened like they did, and they thought all the time about questions that have no answers and where a straight line goes to and noticed things like dewdrops and wrinkled faces or the shape of shadows.
Some of the unhappy artists went looking for a place where they could be creative as they called it and where it would be quiet so they could think and where there were not so many people to remind them of how many questions they hadn't answered yet.
Now the artists found the little town in the green valley by the river and they liked it very much because they could be themselves and even if they did things very differently the only people watching were he farmers and they would only shrug their shoulders and go about their business.
Well, the artists told all their artist friends about this new and wondrous place and pretty soon there were quite a few of them, painting and writing and sculpting and singing and photographing and they would get together on winter nights to laugh about how poor they were, and share the warmth of friendship.
Then one day some people were out for a drive in the country and they saw an artist sitting outside painting and they stopped and looked at the picture and liked it very much so they asked the man if they could buy the painting. Now, the artist did not know what to say, because he had just been painting a picture of a question that had no answer, and did not know what kind of price to put on that, as he had made it out of love. But, the people seemed quite nice and he was a little hungry so he named a sum of money.
Well, the people thought the price was very fair for they they could see the man had made the picture out of love, so they quickly paid the artist and drove back to the city, telling all their friends how lucky they had been to acquire the piece of art and the artist told all his friends how lucky he had been to sell the piece of art to people who hadn't even asked him to answer any questions.
Pretty soon a lot of people were driving to the little town in the hope of seeing an artist working and all the artists were very busy selling their work and they weren't so hungry anymore. Things went fine for awhile until so many people wanted things that the artists did not have time to think anymore so they started creating anything and they found the people bought it anyway because it was very crowded and they, too, didn't have time to think.
You can easily see how confusing things got, for pretty soon lots and lots of people were coming to the little town without knowing why, and lots and lots of artists were creating things without knowing why.
The farmers by this time were beginning to move away because there were so many people around that it frightened them. You see, they didn't understand why all these people come to town and paid money for things that had only made the farmers shrug their shoulders. and anyway, their cows would not give milk with all the noise on weekends.
Now that was sad enough, but then one day a businessman from the city noticed that the little town had no place for people to eat so he opened a restaurant and pretty soon he did so well he left the city and stayed in the little town. In not much time at all there were lots of business people who opened more places for people to eat, and places that sold souvenirs so that the people who could not afford to buy the artists work could still prove to their friends that they had been to the little town and walked around.
Now the town was crowded all the time with people buying souvenirs and grabbing bites to eat, and going back home without knowing why they came, and the artists were all very busy selling things that didn't ask a question any more.
Finally, the little town had an "Arts Festival" and, although thousands of people came, there weren't any artists left who cared about where a straight line goes to, or noticed things like dewdrops and wrinkled or the shape of shadows or making things with love.
So the businessmen started selling hot dogs and soft pretzels from rolling carts and paved the farmers fields and shuttled the people back and forth in little buses pointing out the places where the artists used to sit and work.
You see, the artists had become unhappy with the way things were and started yearning for a place where it would be quiet so they could think and where there were not so many people to remind them of how many questions they hadn't answered yet. And they found a little town in a nice green valley where a river runs clear and cool, and some farmers raise their families and crops. And they get together on winter nights and laugh about how poor they are and share the warmth of friendship.
But, I'm not allowed to tell you where it is.

The Walrus

"The time has come,

"the walrus said,"

to speak of many things.

Of sealing wax and sailing ships,

of cabbages and kings."

"The time has come," she said to me,

"to speak of going home.

Of packing up and letting go,

and leaving me alone."

"The time has gone,"

she sadly said,

"when songs were always sung.

And words were true, and eyes

were kind,

and you and i were young."

"O.K.," i said, "It's no big deal.

We've already said goodbye.

Our lips don't kiss, your eyes are cold,

and you never even cry."

She said,

"You know, i guess you're right,"

and just hung up the phone.

The walrus never had the answers,

i'm in Wonderland alone.

Chicago Cold

She had never been so cold.
She remembered when she was a little girl in Kansas. The time when the bus let her off and she had walked the mile home only to find that Mom was not home yet and the door locked.
She had been cold all day. Her hands had begun to hurt and her breath was frozen to the wool cap she had pulled down over her face, waiting. When Mom finally came home, she was very glad to see her and get inside the warm house and into her mother's warm arms.
It didn't seem to be as cold as it was over 75 years ago and her memory wasn't so good. The television had talked about how the city was frozen in the January sun and she remembered feeling sorry for the poor men who had to go out in this weather to fix things like electric lines and to clear the streets. She wondered if their families sat at home like she was, just waiting for things to get better.
That was two days ago, but the TV had quit working not long after that last weather report, and then the lights had dimmed and finally gone dark. She would be all right, she told herself, but she did wish she had a phone. It had seemed sensible to let the bill go unpaid until they finally turned it off. After all, there was no one to call and since old Mr. Ramson had died, there was no one who might call her either. That extra money every month bought food and she had to make her money last.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. "If I just concentrate, I can get warmer. It's just mind over matter." She had always had a strong mind, and now was no time to be weak just over a little cold. She concentrated on the warmth of summer. She told herself that it was just around the corner and then remembered the best summer of her life. She had been 16 years old and her boyfriend's parents had invited her to the Jersey shore for two weeks. He - (she lost his name for just an instant) of course, Gene. They had laughed, laid in the warm soothing sun and played on the beach. She laughed at herself for forgetting his name, because she had loved him so.
She thought of the necklace he had given her. It was a gold chain with half of a heart inscribed, "May the Lord watch between thee and me, while we are absent, one from the other." He wore a necklace with the other half and they would walk out on the jetties and sit on the beach while the tide was out and nestle just where the ocean gently broke against the rocks. He would take the two halves of the heart and put them together and tell her he loved her and they would make plans and laugh and kiss for the longest time. He had made her warm. She wished he were here now to hold her. Her hand reached up and touched her throat where the necklace had laid warm in the sun, but now she only felt the emptiness and how cold she was. She really was very cold.
"Maybe if I eat a little something," she said, and slowly got off the bed and made her way across the room and went into the kitchen. She walked to the sink and even though she knew nothing would happen, she turned the faucets as she had done for the last three days. Sighing, she sat at the table to gain her strength and wondered if she could make the trip down all those stairs, but she knew she couldn't. She rubbed her legs absently while she was thinking of the stairs and how hard they had become these last few years. When she had found the apartment five years ago they hadn't seemed so steep. She had to stop on each landing and catch her breath, but it had been her "exercise" and she had even felt proud of herself every time she had conquered them. She hadn't felt that way in a long time, not any more, and especially not now. She was too tired, and she was cold, so cold. There were times, like this, when she would feel angry at nothing in particular because her legs were no good, and she couldn't do things like stairs anymore. She knew that ninety years was a very long time for your legs to work but it still made her mad that their strength had deserted her, along with the world in general. Her legs had been so strong. "The rest of me wasn't too shabby either," she smiled at the thought. Her mind rambled for a while, now visiting familiar memories and faces, sometimes hesitating on the details of a special moment or whether it was she or a girlfriend who had done such and so. Mostly she remembered warm sunny days of summertime, the barbecues, and how warm someone's hands had felt. Her eyes closed and for a time and she let herself drift through springtimes of sun. She was cold, so very cold.
"Eat!" "I need to eat." She got up, but to do so she had to lean so that most of her weight was over the table, and then push up with her arms to help her legs. She got to her feet and slid each foot forward a few inches, not really even a shuffle, more like an inchworm drawing her whole being up before making another five inches of progress toward the cabinet. It took her seven minutes to go the four feet from the table to the counter beneath the cabinet. She paused and realized she was suddenly exhausted from the effort.
"I really do need to eat," she persisted and reached up and opened the cupboard. There in front of her were two cans of Sunkist tuna she had found on sale, one can of Campbell's Tomato Soup (her favorite), and three cans of Nine Lives Liver and Kidney, but they were only good heated up.
She reached for the can of soup at the same instant that she said, "Damn!" No power. No. No electricity. Electric can opener. There was just a dot of time, a frozen second, when she thought that if she just put the can in and pushed down on the handle that it WOULD WORK! The instant passed and she stood for a long time, trying to deal with this. She knew that she did not have the strength to open the cans with the regular can opener (if she could even find it). She knew she was getting weaker and very hungry and she was cold, so cold. Her mind seemed to splinter.
"Silly," she thought, "after all these years"' A thousand emergencies, and she had handled it all. Now, she was just empty, and it didn't seem to matter. She realized she was in trouble of some sort but she wasn't sure what the trouble was. She thought of the neighbors down the hall but immediately thought better of it. They had trouble of their own and besides, it was such a long way down the hall, she didn't think she'd make it.
She leaned on the counter for what seemed like a very long time, not having the strength or the inclination to return to the table. Her eyes began to film, the light inside them fading, settling softer, like a kerosene lantern being turned down ever so slowly.
She suddenly turned toward the bedroom. Knowing what she needed to do stirred her consciousness. Once again she made the great effort to move. It was much harder now as the cold weighted her limbs. But she struggled on, determined (she had always been determined) to get to the bedroom. She leaned against the wall and watched a mist of breath stream from her mouth. She tasted something warm and realized that in her exertion she had bitten her tongue. Somewhere in the back of her mind like a faint little song she heard her mother's voice: "Bite your tongue, young lady." She started to smile but her lips cracked and with the quietest of moans she resumed her journey.
She felt a tinge of fear go through her as she approached the door to the bedroom and realized as she turned into the room that it was getting dark. With no lights inside or out she knew the dark would fall quickly. But she was almost there, so she just hunched her shoulders and hugged herself, inching the last three feet to the bed. She tried to move herself to sit on the edge of the bed but this last effort, 90 years, and all that cold finally defeated her and she felt her legs slowly give way.
They mired her down to the floor, where she knelt beside the bed. "That's okay, old girl," she whispered into the covers. "You did good. You made it." She lay her head on the blanket to rest for just a moment.
When she became aware again, she noticed that the moonlight coming in the window was sparkling on ice crystals that had formed on the floor and the corners of the windows, and the edges of her robe. When she tried to move her legs and realized she couldn't, she took an incredibly deep breath, raised her head, entwined her fingers, and gently laid her head down on her folded hands. Softly the words came. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." As she repeated the prayed over and over, slowly slipping away, she realized she wasn't cold anymore.
She was sixteen, the sun was deliciously warm, and someone loved her.