Decades

I’ve been here for so long now

Even the shadows are years…

——

The press and the prince of peace

The rust and nightmares in my sleep

They all drink together

But I’ve still been sober

I’ve gotten over

Whatever it was …

It was lost in the rush of drafts

And forgotten notes

On my typewriter and guitar …

—-

Whatever you think you are

However far you’ve come

Just wait

Don’t be the fool at the gate

Giving it all away

You’ll surprise yourself

There’s still time to change

Just wait

——

I’ve been here so long now

Even the shadows are years

——-

They will put you in first

Pour you a glass

Pat you on the back

Hurry up kid

Join our sadness

We feel the same as you

Sorrowful clown

But the years turn to decades

Weekend for weekend

Nothing ever changes

Only

Your sorrow to anger

Your affection to addiction

You’re stuck now

——

Get out kid

Get born

It’s inside of you

The thing you’re looking for

In the world

At the end of the road

At the bottom of the glass

It’s inside of you

The change you need

The strength to shoulder the burden

Of simply living and bleeding

Walking and sleeping

Eating and loving

And if you are leaving

——

I’ve been here so long now

Even the shadows are years

You have everything you need

The worst has already been written

The best is in beginning

But the courage is in the finish …

– E

Shipwrecks

Bob Dylan

Strange things have happened
It’s all happened here before
It’s just the ghost of old shipwrecks
Passing by your doors
—-
Sleep in peace tonight
There’s nothing new under the sun
Take your hand from your gun
This too shall pass
Sleep in peace tonight
The wolves are howling
The nightmare is crawling
Over your back pages
It’s gonna leave its mark
And these passages soon will be read
The world is not falling
It’s only turning
the ghost of the past
That old hangman
That old dust bowl
That famine
And recession
The flies that nag
The dog that bites
The tempers flared
Like shots at the moon
The stars are falling
Falling over Alabama tonight
It’s all been done before
Look out kid
They’re digging up the interstate again…
This too shall pass
Keep you hand off your gun
Do right be right
Don’t take short cuts
You will short yourself in the end …
Do right be right kid …
You’re just in the foyer
The world is just beginning …
Strange things have happened
Where’s all our Dylan’s
Standing by the road …
Do right be right kid
The words will come and they will go…
The Phoenix destroyed your kitchen stove
Cut down a tree with its fist
Its words you dismissed
Don’t short yourself
There’s no easy way out
There’s only to endure and be true
And let the words come
And when they come
Thank them
And let the words go …

-E

Legacy

It takes vision
——
Only you can see it…
So you have to carry it
And cast it everyday
——-
Why’s it so hard?
Why’s it everyday?
Why’s it changing me?
Why’s it breaking me and rebuilding me?
Why does it ask so much of me?
——
Because it’s not about today …
——
Well,
You’re not getting …
——-
It’s not about today…
——-
But you should be …
——
It’s not about today…
——
You deserve ….
——
It’s not about today ….
——-
It’s about the back end…
It’s about the future…
You’re fighting against yourself
Your future self
Your humanity
——
It’s going to take everything you’ve got and then some…
Fresh fire
Fresh faith
Fresh discipline
Fresh vision
daily
To get you there …
This is about the future
Your future
——
Are you building leaders?
Are you adding value
Or are you watering down your values
Your principles
Your vision ?
——
Stay the course !
This is your future
Your vision
No one else has it
No one else sees it
Because it’s you…
Your family
Your children
Your future
——
It’s not about today…
It’s about the future …
The legacy you’re leaving behind
You’re building that daily…
Start building …
——
What else is there?
——

-E

History

There was a time not too long ago
Past this scorched earth
Beyond this social hyperbole
Of media and mass indulgence
There in the beginning
Where a poet was fortunate to survive
To come out the other side
Into the morning
To finish the ongoing line …
——
I don’t have much stomach for current things
I don’t care about skin care routines
I don’t care about influencers
I don’t care
To care ….
——
Here we are on the brink
Of spurious intellectualism and activism
Poetry has always been somewhat a self portrait and running inner dialogue …
But it’s never been so proud as to exalt itself nor its own demons
We say we’ve left the crucifixion
Yet we haven’t even experienced sanctification or much less repentance …
This turning away – from and beginning – towards…
—-
There is a driving hammer in the echo and eye of the storm…
There is a nail through flesh and splintering dogwood…
There is the suiciding
The addiction
And the manic
——
These things used to not be praised
Our afflictions
——
you can sit
High and intoxicated
And talk to change the world over
But years will pass overnight and you will be old
addictions and vices
cravings and hunger
Will hold you captive there
Repeating the same weekend year after year
——
But still
There is a tunnel ahead
It is security
144 miles a day
720 a week
50 hours
Your heart stops in the night
While reaching for bread
What are you left with?
A stale breath
——-
What are you leaving
Where are you building
Or are you only chasing …
Believing the next thing….
The next place…
The next person…

Build
Build
Choose
Always be in control of your own self

“And some from among you shall build the old waste places; raising up the foundations of many generations; and be called The repairers of the breach, The restorers of paths to dwell in.”

We are so different now
I am so far from who I once was

Control what you can control
And decide
You decide
Choose
Always
Begin
Today
What else is there?

  • E

The old places

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

Poetry (beginnings)

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