Thoughts

Hey,
This is
Slightly more
Than ironic:

I told myself
I needed a
Break, that I
Was gettin'
In too deep.

Others didn't see
It that way, said
I was crazy to
Even try.

So I tried.
And the funny
Thing is that
The more I
Try to push
You out of my
Life the more you
Seem to be a part
Of it.

I
Can't
Not
Think
About
You, and it's
Driving
Me
Nuts.

The strangest things:
Khakis, a bad joke,
my morning cup of
Coffee, a stupid cartoon
Mouse, and of course,
Your celestial twin
Make it impossible
Not to
"THINK".

This is Tupelo

The air hangs heavy
Over all who linger there.
The soft whine of honeybees
And the curious questions
Drift over the morning like new butterflies.

The trickling fountain spills itself over
The carved marble plaques
Bearing each year of his short life.
Inside the little clapboard church
We sit,
Trying to imagine a little
Blonde-haired boy
Sitting enraptured in the very first row.

Now up the front steps
Of the whitewashed shotgun shack
Where father, mother, and boy
Shared one bed, two rooms, and three shares
Of a single piece of bread.

The floor is worn thin where many
Feet have walked, and the mirror above
The dresser is cracked and dull with age.
And in the kitchen, beside the rusted ice box,
Stands a straightbacked high chair,
Where once sat a doe-eyed, crooked-mouthed
Toddler who could not have imagined
What life might hold for him
One day.

All the other houses that called this one
"Neighbor"
Have gone, replaced by hills and trees, and
A little grove where a statue of
Their thirteen-year-old hero stands,
Guitar in hand.

The bronzed figure has been captured
Midstride,
His ever-watching eyes fixed just ahead,
Watching the little chapel
Which bears his name, where inside a
Soul can sit, rest, and wrap themselves
In the voice that echoes within these walls.

This is a place of peace.
This is a place for saying hello.
This is where I come to experience
The extraordinary.
This
Is Tupelo.

Ode to a Free Spirit

It never ceases
To amaze me
How beautifully
Happy
You are, how much
You embrace life.

And you don't see
it, because it's simply
How you are.

Your laugh breaks
The clouds above
The darkest of days.

Your heart and your love
Could charm the pants
Off of any old Scrooge.

Your strong spirit and
Your tough core act as
The world's strongest
Shield for the
Disadvantaged, broken,
Helpless people that
You love so dearly.

And your friendship.
Your friendship came to me
At a time that I needed it most.
You love me for the things
That I didn't even know were
Inside.

Thank you.

Free

I open
a book, or
pick up
a pen, and
I'm free.

I plug myself
In to Elvis'
Rich angel
Voice, shut out
The world, and
I'm free.

I dwell on
My wishes, my
Secrets and
Dreams, think
About you, and
I'm free.

I close my
Eyes, drift into
Sleep and
Give myself
Over to the
Night, and
I'm free.

Treasures

Cleaning behind
the bookshelf today
I found
Three wiffle balls
A ping-pong ball
Three chewed pens
And a tuft of black fur.

I'd been humming
To myself
Up til now, but I
Stopped then,
Potential tears
Stinging my eyes.

I stood silent for
A minute or so
In silent vigal
For the old friend
Who had
Hidden his treasures
Behind the bookshelf.

Raw

Running
Waking up to the
Copper
Taste of blood.

Breaking
Wringing myself out
So
Completely I can't
Breathe.

Singing
So loudly I escape
All
Of the hurt I can't
Face.

Laughing
So hard it feels
I
Might burst with
Joy.

Living
So briskly, at a
Pace
That fits me
Well.

Something to Think About

I weigh
A lot of things
On my mind
Especially now.

I wonder on
Hate and
Love and
How to tell
the difference.

I look back on the years
We knew together
And am
Astonished
To find that I
Feel no pain.

I ponder spending
My life
With a man who
Already has a wife,
A subject
That, admittedly,
Hurts
Much more than
The reality of
An ended friendship.

I sit
And I wonder
What if?