Morning youth

I wake up to the morning sky

Foggy

Overcast

Thick

Of memory

Grey and lit with shadows

Overcast dreams

Nightmares

Of wrong and write

I see the light

And tell myself everything is O.K.

Get up

Come on up

Didn’t they tell you

History is written

Remembered

By those who win?

These fading chords

Bleeding ink

Words on paper

Are just tomorrow’s memory

Did you read between the lines?

The love letters in the margins?

“Will you remember me?”

“Not like I used to…”

Come on up

The cards have been dealt

I pour my tea

I sit and write

Here inside

The morning light….

The Ballad of Anne Hall

Anne Hall

Hear her call

She lives in the RV at the end of it all

5 little ones

Everyone knows she just can’t feed anymore

If houses are homes

Well hers

it’s coming down

And winter it keeps coming

But summer is hell

But they kept saying

Anne you can have it all

If you just clean up a little

Smile a little more

And Anne

She keeps praying

She keeps praying that her kids just won’t wake up to this anymore.

The rain was thundering

The lightning crashing

Like a ship breaking through a shore

A tornado

Like the finger of god

Scorched the earth across town

Everyone’s eyes were blind

The hunger

Was passed off

As crazy

eyes of Anne

Until

One night

The rain thundered down

She came to the Emergency

The blood ran down

Like the rain against the windows of everyone’s white washed streets

Anne prayed don’t let me have another mouth to feed

And everyone met again

At the square

Now Anne

doesn’t have a dollar to pay for her pills or her bills

And Anne couldn’t make the trip

Anne Hall

Hear her call

The day they put Anne in the ground

At the back of the gate

the council met

Behind doors that locked

And children with filled stomachs

Tucked away in their beds

and a hard rain fell

It fell

And in the emergency

A new mother cries …

And even today

Everyone is quiet when they pass by

Where there was an RV at the end of it all…

30 for 30 (She’s going to make me lonesome when she goes)

October 1st

She smokes her cigaret

Stares out the dirty windows

Waiting for someone to come in

She feels paranoid

But when they do come in

She sits with them

Pours them a cup of tea

Makes sarcastic remarks

She gives them books to read

A trail of smoke follows her every where she goes

Her red hair is pulled up under a bandana

Her green eyes carry an age to them …

November 15th

Everyone that comes in leaves

With a story

For the last five years

It’s been me

We all want something

We want to be something

We believe we are making a mark

She has so many opinions

And ideas

She plays the piano

And thinks it’s funny

It being in a library

Dec 12th

I believe she is a muse

Not in the way we use it now

But in the, what is it? The original way

Muses were something that came to an artist

And helped them make art

Dec 24th

I don’t think she knows…

Jan 13th

She’s clouded

And heavy

Maybe she has been around for too long

Or for such a long time

She has forgotten

She is unhappy

Smokes more

Drinks more

Sleeps all day

Doesn’t get up

Or come sit with me like she used to

She just lets me use the library

I cannot write like I used to

I’ve asked her to go away with me

I think she is going away

But alone

she doesn’t laugh

She won’t drink tea anymore

The sunlight doesn’t come in the windows anymore

She’s going to make me lonesome when she goes…

Sept 20th

It’s been a long time since I’ve last written.

But I think I’ve carved out a way.

To just sit and work…

October 31st

I thought I saw her today

In a bookstore

It was just a moment

A flash of red

But

She looked happy .

Who knows what a muse is?

But maybe

Just maybe

They help us find our way

And our voice…

Who is to say anything is really gone?

Maybe they are there

In ordinary places

Doing ordinary things.

waiting for us to be unexpected

And

extraordinary.

Writer’s Log 22 (libraries)

I spent the afternoon at the Library. I went looking for a James Baldwin book of essays. They didn’t have it. But they did have other books. Lots of other books.

I don’t know if you’ve ever spoken with a librarian, but if you haven’t, you should. We talked about books, buying books, writing books, our favorite book shops, hoarding books.

How we can spend our entire lives lost between the aisles of books.

I always go through the 800s

These are essays and poetry…

The oldest books in the library.

Most have been here so long they aren’t even categorized… some books are plays or letters…some haven’t been checked out since 1970…but they are still here… in this shelter for knowledge and discovery,waiting.

It’s almost national library week

Even if it wasn’t

I would still write about how important I believe libraries are.

They make it so easy to access information…

I wouldn’t be writing if it were not for libraries…

Every Saturday my mother would pack us up and we would go to the grocery store and then to the library. It was the highlight of our week.

We didn’t have a lot of money

And this enabled me to get any book I wanted and sometimes even a movie. And when we lived too far out from a library, there was the bookmobile. A mobile library brought to our community.

When I lived on my own I started using the library again. It makes for an easy budget.

It’s free accessible information.

Libraries have always given us the ability to grow as much as we are willing no matter how we live or where we live.

Ray Bradbury used them

Neil Gaiman used them

Most likely every writer and filmmaker has been influenced in some way by a library.

They are safe havens for the curious and the afraid

The artist afraid to run for the exit but looking out the windows…

If you have never thought of it

Or always wondered about it

Or just wanted to donate

Here’s how Donate

Because everyone deserves the opportunity to access information.

I will never forget my first library card. The power and responsibility I felt.

With this card I could read any book in the building for free.

But I always found books I wasn’t looking for, like thumbing through a dictionary discovering new worlds.

I believe libraries are important

And should have sure funding.

I have a tattoo of a library stamp…to remind me to never forget to be kind or to donate to those magic librarians. They really are our very own Rupert Giles…which gives us a responsibility, doesn’t it?

Famous Last Words

There are some things we just won’t talk about,

It’s all in the last words

Of famous men

that’s what she would say

We are in the same room

But thousands of miles away

And what do we know

And how am I to know

The things you will never show

You’re always going away…

The papers say we won the war

But I feel as though

I lost her heart today

And all at once

I felt hollowed out

Just a lost soul

But I kept this mind

The things we’ll never know

The things you’ll never show

Can I blame you?

The blood stains the earth

The skies turn to overcast

And it’s all to shame

But one touch from her

Would end the pain

One word from her would

Send the rains

How could know?

I can’t read your mind?

We are worlds apart

I never thought I’d pack these bags

I never thought I’d be on this train

I never saw

The forecast for all the skies

There are some things

We just won’t talk about

And we spend our years

Thinking we are doing

Fine and we forget

We forget

How easy it is

To leave words unsaid

Worlds behind

with only our hearts

And

All our love

on the line

Tones

I can feel myself

In the background

Of this empty room

I guess

I am not myself

You can try to fight

With everything you have

The truth is

Everything you overcame

Can come right back

I am trying

I keep telling myself

The words you thought you kept to yourself…

All of these miles and miles

You put behind you

I keep talking in my sleep

Didn’t they tell you?

It won’t let go…

Did you ever wonder…

The colors in the wasteland

The truth is something I keep looking for every day

Why the world is on fire…

It won’t let go

It won’t let go

All the voices from the past

They keep calling me home

I guess I always thought

We would have more time

All of the photographs of you

I keep seeing you in every color of fall

The truth is

I am not myself these days

I hide it in the well

But in the nights

Alone in my sleep

I keep the words

You hid for yourself

And I

I see you in everything

I know

We all have one chance

And that’s why I know

It won’t let go

And I won’t let go

Call me

Anytime you feel the miles

You know

It won’t let go

And I won’t let you go…

The truth is

Everything reminds me of you

And I wake up

Reading

Memories of you tucked between the pages

Of everything I write

And

The nights are long

The miles are wide

but I’m all in the right

You and me

We won’t let go