With Friends and Roads

i take a walk, down a country road

that knew my then footsteps

and i notice

the new house where the bull once stood,

and my inability to remember

where the abandoned well was

so perfectly hidden in the tall weeds

just for me to know

and this home

sprung up, that one boarded up

the pond dried up by drought, and

the big oak gone where once

i took my shade

life was younger then

and cares belonged to the

banker in town and those

that owed him blood

it's still the same road

though the bridge is new

and not crossing it

can't bring the old iron one back

i smile to what i remember

but try not to curse what i see

so it is with old friends

and long ago roads

The Angel That Sang To Me

this futile war i wage, is kind of like

shooting at jumbo jets soaring high

above the clouds, with a BB gun

while mocking laughter rains upon my face

it's bound to fail

and yet, in the end,

i'll get my ass kicked

just for the trying

i don't like mayonnaise on my burger, either,

yet that's how it always comes

and damn, oh damn! those hospital corners

that keep me from the healing balm

this game, i tell ya, is fixed!

designed to make us look like chumps

and holy, holy hell

i won't stand for it

no, not without a fight!

but see,

there's this angel, and it doesn't matter

that her feet are bloody and her hands dirty

or even that her scarred wings

don't hang quite straight

and it doesn't matter if i tie my reason

like a blindfold over my eyes

and call it sanity

or fill my ears with a rage

my mind equates and

sells as justified

all that matters,

is i hear her singing HOLY, HOLY, HOLY

over and over again and i see her there

high and lifted up beyond the congregation

she's there,

just beyond my reach

and i can't turn her off,

no i won't turn her off!

and i twist my memory

to squeeze the last drop

and my loggerhead shell splinters

into a thousand pieces of broken light

and i find there's no where to hide,

no where to run, and no way to fake my weakness

and yet, also, there's no way to reach her

as i bleed, aching for her bind

i'm not sure if it's her or her song

that wafts and echos through my night

or if it's her beauty or her tangled light

that once broke my morning fall

all i know, is that she was my angel

and as angels do

she has flown away

leaving her shadow behind,

leaving me broken

and without the cover

of her sweet tangled light

-so i cling to her song

rick

Porn!

WARNING! graphic content

OK, now that I've got your attention.

So here we are, in this graceless age that has no time for romance, and modesty went the way of the dime store. This is the age of the hook up where a fuck is a fuck is a fuck and who the hell cares.

If I were a man who looked at porn (certainly not!) I would be bored stiff-no pun intended.

It's all how fast can we do it, how drunk do we need to be, have you been tested? can your elbow bend any other ways? will we get arrested? are your kids home? and say, what were their names again anyway?

We aren't a people who need romance, we're a people who need bigger vibrators made by John Deere and cases of Trojans!

I read somewhere that there are no male prostitutes in Vegas. Who needs em! They tried it and I heard there was some pretty good ones but these days there's swingin dick on every corner and ten in every office. I'm surprised the girls are still able to make a go of it, but a lot of regular girls still won't have a threesome with a donkey. Not yet anyway.

Don't get me wrong, this is not a diatribe against good sex and I've had me my share. I'm quite willing to throw everything at the wall and see what sticks. -pun intended

Whips, chains, toys, groups, inside, outside and on the roof, as long as I don't get what magic Johnson got and it turns out his johnson wasn't so magic after all.

But I've found that something is missing. There are important steps we're skipping.

And it's. THE ART OF SEDUCTION

I remember my first kiss and how special it was, how hard i worked for it and how grudgingly she

gave it away. Not because she didn't want to, but because she knew it was special, and was gonna make damn sure I'd know it was special too.

When a boy first can slide his hand over her small heaving breast and feel the bra under the soft cotton shirt. Man, that was special! Especially if he doesn't get slapped. And after a few more weeks and a hundred calls on the only phone in the house (and her father answers every time) and after carrying her books, getting teased by friends, and buying her ice cream cones with the money earned mowing grass, he might, just might if he's lucky, get his hand inside her shirt and actually touch her bra. Wow! Now that boy's livin!

And there's no way he will dare try anything else for a few more weeks. Because she knows it's special. It's her precious gift to give and it won't come easy no matter if she wants it as bad as him.

Then a day comes, maybe with this girl, maybe with another, but still not easy, when the boy will get his trembling hand inside her bra and feel that gloriously lovely nipple on his fingers, and he'll feel it grow to his touch. Now the boy's in heaven.

And some day he will try to slide his hand between her thighs and hope she doesn't clench them. Hope she won't get mad. Awww! to feel that beautiful soft yet firm mound even through her jeans is a moment that could never be forgotten! She has given a little of herself, the hope of more, and he no longer cares how long it took.

Then another day, when she's ready and lets him know, a button will come undone, a zipper come down, a hand slide, and he'll feel those panties! Maybe she'll let him rub just a little. And then that's all he'll think of for the next three weeks, and if it isn't love, it damn sure feels like love.

Another day the fingers will touch her soft fur,(they used to have fur-didn't you know that? huh!) and another night, finally feel her moistness, later, in his bed alone, smell her on his fingers.

This is seduction. And the trick is, he thinks he's the one doing the seducing!

These steps made sex special, and often love was built in the process.

I really don't know why, as we got older in this generation, we decided we wanted to skip the best part, but I fear even teenagers don't mess with the preliminaries any more. Just too much time and what's the point anyway? Would you like to go out Friday Night has become, "Hey, ya wanna fuck?"

You want some good porn? Really hot shit? Go to the old movies. Bogey and Bacall. An Affair To Remember,-hell! even The Graduate. There's a reason Matt Dillon never got laid-no seduction, and Miss Kitty didn't seem none to happy bout it! And even in Sleepless In Seattle, the little boy had to seduce Meg Ryan cuz his dad was too friggen stupid. Ugh!

And after all, a fuck is a fuck is a fuck and eventually we'll run out of ideas on new ways to do it.

jus sayin

Rick

My Sympathies

my deepest sympathies, my dear one.

as now you find yourself in pensive reflection,

let us consider all of your loss so we may know

just how hard to cry

remember when you were young,

and couldn't believe you were pretty?

that cute boy tried to kiss you under the bleachers

and you shook your head no, though

your heart beat a wild yes

i'm so sorry

remember a few years later, when at a party

your friends asked you to play truth or dare?

you were afraid to be embarrassed and left alone

i'm so sorry

how about the time in the big game

with the score tied and you with the ball?

you knew you could sink that shot and win it

but you passed the chance away

i'm so sorry

there was that time by the lake at midnight

everyone drank too much wine-except you,

then they went skinny-dipping but you had

too much sense and kept your shorts on

and the depth shallow

i'm so sorry

and how about the college you attended

though you really wanted the other one?

and later, saying yes at the altar, though

your mind screamed NO!

i'm so sorry

that handsome man at the airport

when you felt so all alone.

why, he lifted his glass to you and smiled!

but you turned away, and when you looked back

only an empty glass remained

and i'm so sorry

then there was that time your friend

(You know, the bad one)

tried to talk you into the Rocky Horror Picture Show

at midnight after a little weed, and ain't it a

good thing you had that dentist appointment

in the morning and couldn't go?

so verry sorry

and when you knew how much your daughter

wanted that expensive gift for Christmas

-the Christmas she'd never ever forget,

you remembered the noisy clothes dryer

and got her the other gift, just to be safe

i'm so sorry

that summer your friend begged you to take that road trip out West

with $725 dollars and a clanky Oldsmobile

you wisely considered how foolish it would be

and got the promotion instead, and

she never came back

i'm so sorry

and let's not forget that night among the stars

at two AM and a quarter moon

when you almost had it together, and

you almost believed you could fly

with such a wind blowing!

but you didn't even give it a shot

i'm so sorry

now your kids are grown and out being you

just the way you taught them

and you have a fine house

and outstanding reputation as still

the one to come to for sensible advise

i'm so sorry

so my dearest, in your bereavement

i offer my sincerest condolences

at your loss of so much

and the moments that offered them

truly,

i'm so sorry

rick

Another New Horizon

i feel it again

can you feel it in me?

transition

two squares forward

one to the right

and then?

i don't know

nor do i know if capture

or kill awaits

or if it's good, or if it's physical

or maybe this time,

the whole enchilada

a fallen log, ancient of days

is a good place to rest, and

a brook to shame crystal

a good place to drink

but such places offer

no mortgage and only

temporary relief to my knowing

that this is right and good

this quaking is not in my bones

nor in my hearts blood

but rather deeper and slightly hidden

-the higgs boson of my being

perhaps this will pass

if i grate iron my denial

or perhaps i've stopped caring

but still the atoms shake

while my spirit alone

sets the sails

and as i look down to the anchor chain

rusty and barnacled

and so at home in the deep mud

i hear that song, from so long ago

don't surround yourself with yourself

move on back two squares

Still In Saigon

enemy from friend, can you tell?

or does your ability reside

in the innocence of being told?

the exoneration of fools

on a hot summer day

when the midwest spit out time

as cheaply as the katydid's song

we became Mickey Mantle

thump thump thump

the sound of boredom

bouncing as a ball off

the sun baked roof top

fall kisses in the back of an old chevy

at midnight while the hum of a distant

highway drifted far beyond the weeds

obliterating the tracks to where we've been

and where we're going

thump thump thump

and we grew without notice

as the future in perfect subtlety

raced along the yet to be written history

under the cover of lost twilight

and just like that,

all the schemes and dreams

and the silent aspirations of our youth

took a bus that never comes back

and here, there is lurking danger

in the boredom and blood in the echo

of the thump thump thump

and ever tracks to follow beyond

the tracks that can't be hidden

and how we got from there to here

is the secret never spoken of

for sadness dwells behind the door

we never should have opened

but couldn't ignore

history is written on the parchment of souls

of wars that can't be justified

and the thump thump thump

is the echo of our heart in retreat

flags risen over those taken down

battlefields grown cold and quiet

if rescue came to take me home

too much of me it left behind

too much of me, is still in Saigon

Don't Bet Your Life

i'm living a life, but not mine

mine's over there, just

beyond that great gulf

this life

has far too many blues and reds

while my life

is turquoise and lavender

but i have vision, a vision

which see's the life i sold

for a prayer of desperation

-and it's just over there

over there, the Northern Pike

run fat, mean and hungry!

i am their conductor, and

the nature i bartered away,

my orchestra

i can't see me over there (can you?)

but i see my swagger,

that grin i lost in deuces wild

to a sly lawyer with long sleeves

over there, lies forest trails

full of my treasured green

and kisses that laugh

yet still hold the power

from here, i can see

the fields of lush joy

the easy passing

of a gentle terrain

a savage sea that swells adventure,

a cottage nestled in bluebirds,

a sky that lingers in lazy,

and a spirit that never grows old

there is a boy playing there

where the water giggles the rocks

and a pirate building a ship

to ravage the harbours of spain

there are fistfuls of tomorrows

just ripened for the pick

and a rum barrel for two

that never runs dry

and so much the more...

but i live this life assigned

for once when drunk on fear

the magician played me a fool

and i rushed the fine print

this life is a shovel

with which i must dig

and the torture i must bear

is the vision without wings

In Search Of

i'm not sure that my heart is broken

but maybe stretched beyond repair

is it for love, to quantify my worth?

once, yes, but too many tracks

could be found on my lovers breasts,

and hers upon my hope

is it for the youth lost beyond the stars?

undoubtedly so, but it was mine

to spend as i wished and the warranty

is long since expired and regret,

too bitter a grape to swallow

no, life as two horrible children

stretch me like taffy

just to see where i might snap

i no longer yearn

for the moistness between her legs

nor the shadowed valley

between her soft breasts

i no longer believe

in the repurchase of yesterday

nor the racing ahead to tomorrow

my heart reaches for a soft walk,

a calm lake with gentle sound,

a mountain where time has no purpose

and the me, somewhere beyond the ridge,

i saw once in a fairy tale

then, could my heart rest,

my mind surrender,

and my youth return

to kiss me goodbye

Toil's end

drink up! drink up! you ballyhoo boys

drink up, ye worn weary men

the day now well spent, the night just ahead

let's dance to the places we've been

how freshly we drank of our sweet morning milk

it's whiteness we boldly called hope

and our plans were the biscuits we gravied in cheer

while we patted the backs bloke to bloke

we kissed the warm sunshine from the fields of bright green

while bowing our heads to say grace

our first beads of sweat spiked the innocent dew

while the doubts sailed south without trace

so drink up! drink up! you widowed old wife

drink up, ye once virgin lass

the day has run out, and night comes to call

tell the preacher he can just kiss your ass

such a raising of glory from the wisp of a dream

such a promising seed that went bad

and for what? yes for what? tell me sweet darling

was it all just a joke to be had?

our flowers, sweet darling, how fresh did they bloom!

the wine, from the vine, how it poured!

we wrote of the eagle, then painted his sky

while tucked in his wings how we soared!

but where is he now, you spinner of silk?

and your charm that once healed my way?

the night it does come, in gallantry gait

stamping truth on our fields of lost play

so drink up! drink up! while the moon is still high

drink up to what never could be

we are what we are, and we ain't what we ain't

such fools to believe, you and me