Another Friday night
And he’s sitting at the bar again
drink at hand
If you caught him after
Three
Six
Nine
He’d look – is it his eyes or his hands that stop the shakes??
You’d hear him say
It’s not the drink he thirsts for
It’s a life of purpose
Somewhere he feels he lost himself
Or his way …
Now,
She makes her rounds
Cigarette in hand
She welcomes all the men from the city
And there’s a band on stage
Reminding you we’re all doing what we can …
And there’s the chosen golden few
Who smoke or drink outside
Believing they are somehow separate and different
But between the bars and the chord change
They feel their wheels spinning
As if to say hometowns and sin are something we all have in common
Like the broken artist
Writer
Poet
Bleeding out into his drink
To anyone who will listen
About a life he could have had
If he just had courage
And if we just had hearts
——-
Now we are rushed on time
Trying to get ahead
Only downtown
it’s already flooded
——-
My hands are tied
I need to get away
To the water
To the mountains
To a place in mind
Where I remember growing up
Though the memory isn’t too clear
They muddy the water
And the water keeps rising
I wish for more time
And I get sick in the gut
From writing the lines
Me me me
I and I and I
What is courage my son
But to eat when you are hungry
To sleep when you are tired
To know the Lord when you are hurting
To know the heart is right
If the heart is right
You don’t have to worry about the rest
But the holiness inside of us
Somewhere we forgot who we are
We don’t build and we don’t repair
The old places are in ruins
What an opportunity to rebuild

She said I am two different people
And she can see between the lines
God said the walls are coming down
And we are out of time

-E
Regardingsamuel.com

What is poetry?
It is your beginnings …
It is understanding….
It is empathy for your brother and sister…
Not pity but empathy, a silent understanding and knowing…a shared experience that comes from living…
What is poetry?
It is your mother handing you a Bible and asking you to go outside and read a psalm and a proverb because you’re in a bad mood…
It is the way the dirt, the earth turns to powder (not dust) when chickens have scratched it there…
It’s gardens in the summer
And carrying buckets of water and fertilizer for the tomatoes and the handles cutting into your hands because they are so heavy…
——
Poetry is your beginnings
It’s the stories that make us – us
It’s the love letters in the beginning
And the fights at the end
It’s the knowing when love arrives and when love has left the table
It’s struggling to make it
And it’s finally having enough bread …
It’s the food banks
It’s telling your story
And listening and watching for others story…they are always telling.
Poetry is your beginning
It’s the courage to continue
It’s humanity framed with art
It is us.
It is you.

-E