what happens in vegas .....

those aren't casino chips in front of me - they're bits of my heart and soul

it's everything that I have and the stack defines me

like the truest gambler, I push the whole stack out and make my bet

let it ride I tell the man, then I turn and walk away

because it's not the win or the loss that is the point

it's making that bet that's really living!

smeared black ink

he looked at his calendar and realized the date

such a bittersweet day coming up for her

the hurt faded as he remembered her smile

he felt sorry that their last meeting was bitter

regretted that his last words were hurtful but true

to be honest he never stopped caring

even as he knew she hated him so

a walk past a flower shop sent his mind reeling

a stirring inside would not leave him alone

the rose, his trademark – white and pure

to show he thought of her on that special sad day

he didn’t give his name for the card

she knew no one else would send her a rose

but it wasn’t enough and the muse came out

he created a poem right there in the shop

it filled three cards just letting her know

how he still cared and thought of her

just deliver it as is he told the man

the poem the flower and forget my name

because if it matters she will know

and if it doesn’t there would be no point

it was delivered and left on the stoop

who knows how long in the rain and snow

did the flower survive to show its bloom

did she read the poem that piece of his soul

or was the flower frozen withered and dead

like the relationship that they once had

was the message that was born from his heart

just simply reduced to smeared black ink

A Tale of Two Ladies

A remark on FB today brought back a rush of sweet memories.

One of those memories was this post from oh so many months ago - thought I would re-post it again:


'Well, I've been here--I'll be back again
But this time really feels like the end...
We rolled out our promises
and they all came up lies
And no one even mentions one more try...'

An off-hand remark and compliment in an email started a correspondence some time ago.

Some phone conversations set off a spark of mutual admiration – common and complementary interests laid the basis for a long distance friendship.

Blogging became a way to stay in touch and in tune – side emails and calls added depth or substance to short posts.

And life went on....family and professional responsibilities, affairs of the heart, affairs of the libido, holidays, economic survival, social duties, etc, etc, etc.

'Why should love be this way?
It lifts you up--
then brings you to your knees...'

She caught on to this – sensed it from reading between the lines – reached out to make sure that I was getting through it. Fun stories, requests for my advice and opinion, and recent tales of adventures on her part always succeeded to buoy my mood and brighten my day. Her encouragement, her support, never wavered.

And life went on ....

'Why won't you stop, and please explain
What makes you think that it's so plain

You tell me--love is just a lie
But tell me--'bout these tears you cry...

Nothing's gonna change my mind
--not now, not ever
And, even if it takes my life
--I'll wait, forever'

Again she knew. She knew my silence, my blogland disappearance, and she reached out to make sure that I was alright. No advice, no platitudes, no philosophy – just an ear if I needed it.

Life went on ....

I took a last stab at it – forever can be pretty fucking lonely!

'So Rosie come out tonight, baby come out tonight
Windows are for cheaters, chimneys for the poor
Closets are for hangers, winners use the door
So use it Rosie, that's what it's there for'

I should have known this only works in the movies or love songs. I needed to shut this door. With that in mind, a road trip was in order. Visit my long distance friend and mend a little. I was excited to see her and to catch up with her life – shut my problems out for awhile.

By a twist of fate, she lives closer to my intended than either live to me. So it was with a heavy heart that I rolled into town and tried to find the restaurant we were going to meet in. She called to check on me and that she would be there in a couple of minutes.

True to her word, she arrived a few minutes after me - looking all glorious and beautiful, full of smiles and happy to see me.

As she hugged me in greeting, something happened that didn’t really strike me until we parted. Looking back, it took a few minutes to happen, right after our breakfast was ordered and coffee poured and we settled in to talk.

The whole world disappeared. I mean it, the whole fucking world – the traffic, the people, the restaurant, the noise, the concerns, the stresses, the distractions – all felt like they had totally disappeared. The whole damn load I was carrying was gone. Everything was gone, save for the two of us!

We talked, joked, laughed, and whispered for hours. Family, friends, careers, politics, philosophy, religion, history, art, education, business, child rearing, music (Danny Federici – God rest your soul), blogging, friendship, love, sex, erotica were all subjects that came rolling out. Nothing else seemed to matter around us – just each others company. It felt like we were the only two people in the world. I barely remember the drive away from the restaurant after awhile or the return – just each others company.

The hours rolled by as if they were minutes. I couldn’t remember when the last time I was that at ease, that comfortable, that in the moment. All day was just not enough time together – but that was all we had – our adult responsibilities had to be attended to.

I thought parting would be difficult, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t difficult because it wasn’t a parting – it was a pause. Life had to intrude again, had to take precedence, as it always does, and we understood that, accepted it. The parting wasn’t the Bard’s ‘sweet sorrow’ – just the opportunity for another happy reunion in the future.

I drove off, feeling better than I had in a long time – a smile on my face, a lightened mood, a new perspective. I noticed how beautiful the day was, and how fantastic the way this day was spent.

I had gone through a threshold, and closing the door behind me. Now I was looking forward to what was in front of me and I can’t thank her enough for helping me see that.

I pulled back into the ‘hood and drove around. Good memories started pouring in and I turned on the radio. The man on the radio was singing:

'We can pretend that we're old friends
wouldn't be so hard to believe
And wouldn't you like
to waste a little time on me?'

…and I remembered what she told me,

“If she could only see you through my eyes”

Thoughts on a calendar date

never knew you
always wished I had
heard a lot about you
and felt like I knew you

thought of those
that miss you today
remembered their ache
as they told me 'bout you

was going to light a candle
but saw no need
'cuz you always burn bright
in the places that count

A Glorious Failure in Deconstruction (Redux)

Sometimes, holidays can be a little rough for all sorts of reasons – and God, I have mine! But I wanted to have a good meal, a good drink, and some fantastic company. I knew just who to have dinner with!

Dinner with my friend is always such a pleasurable experience – she always listens to my latest follies, tells me hers, knows how to tell me I’m full of shit and like it - just simply a great time that always ends too soon!

Tonight, as she talked, I kept thinking about our first dinner together, and the post I wrote about it in my old blog. I meant it as a testimony to a beautiful new friend and a wonderful evening – I’m reposting it here as a testimony to my beautiful old friend and to another wonderful evening!

Thank you DH!

Exorcism in process – I realized I needed some good company. But not just any company – someone that I had always wanted to know better. I knew exactly who to contact.

I stumbled upon her blog (the pic helped entice me) some time ago and found the writing of an extremely sophisticated, intelligent, sensual woman! I think I even left her a comment (after weeks of timid lurking) that I thought she had one of the most fascinating minds on the site!

Occasional commenting back and forth on each others blogs gave way to a blogging acquaintanceship – we enjoyed each others posts and comments. The brilliant, prolific writer that she was, she continued to amaze and fascinate me with the subjects she wrote about – the charm, the wit, the intelligence, the sexiness just drew me in (well…, me and a few hundred other guys). Writing was a chore for me, she wrote with such a great stylish flair that I begged (some serious ass-kissing) to meet her to find out how that fabulous mind worked! We actually had met a couple of times in the company of others, but I had never really had the opportunity to sit, talk with her, and get to know how that wonderful mind worked.

I knew her company would be the perfect tonic for me and contacted her about getting together for drinks. Comparing schedules, we picked a night we were both free and she let me pick the location. As real life tends to do, professional obligations forced her to cancel – but she graciously suggested an alternative evening at a restaurant that she frequented. She mentioned that some of her friends would be there that night and that a friend of hers played guitar there. We could meet there early, have a chance to share a meal and talk, and then enjoy the music and atmosphere as her friends came rolling in. An offer I couldn't refuse!

She breezed in all gorgeous and confident, a big smile on her face that lifted my fog immediately. We settled in to our table for two and I subconsciously started to prepare to try and find out what made her tick.

The restaurant she picked was absolutely perfect – intimate, wonderful service, perfectly prepared food. Our conversation was able to flow easily.

I really wanted to learn more about her – and I fear I may have acted more like an interviewer rather than a dinner companion – but she easily answered my questions about her past, her present, her writing, her life – and made me feel as if I was an old friend. My brain kept working though – trying to figure out this ladies mind – when she did something that startled me.

We were eating our entrees and talking away – she was sharing a little history of her career – and I watched her tuck the hair that had been framing the sides of her pretty face behind her ears. She was looking down at her plate when she did this, and then she looked up at me. Thankfully she was in the middle of her story and I didn't have to respond – because all I could do was stare – I was speechless. Her hair like that, her face fully exposed – she was dazzling! I think I hid it well – but I couldn't stop staring.

I recovered quickly, and we continued sharing bits and pieces of ourselves – it was fun, it was intimate, it was relaxed – and inside of me, I paused in my goal to figure out this ladies mind. Dessert was shared, we continued talking all through it, and soon the guitarist arrived.

Introductions were made, conversation continued – but I started gaining a different perspective. The guitarist set up right behind me and soon started playing. We continued talking away as he played in the background, stopping to applaud his beautiful playing after each song.

At one point he started to play a favorite song of mine – ‘Guajira’. We stopped to listen to him and I turned to face him. As he masterfully performed the song, I heard some of the words being softly sung behind me. I turned around to see her leaning back against the wall our table was set up against. She was relaxed, smiling up at the guitarist, gently moving her head to the rhythm – enjoying the song. As I watched her, I came to a conclusion.

Trying to find out what made her mind tick was like taking a magnifying lens to the ‘Mona Lisa’! Analyzing the brush strokes and measuring the different textures did not mean a thing to truly appreciate a masterpiece. One just had to stand back and take in all of its beauty to truly appreciate it. As I looked across the table, I accepted the futility, and just decided to sit back and enjoy this work of art.

And the man sang:

Vamonos guajira
Vamos a bailar
Primorcito
Vamonos guajira
Vamos a bailar

The Last Rose

A neglected garden
Cold air proves
The suns promise
A saddening lie

A bud sprouts
Looking to live
To show its beauty
In this wintry grip

Will it bloom
To brighten this place
Giving some hope
In this harsh home

Or will the cold
Make it whither
Denying all a chance
To see it bloom

It makes me smile
To cheer it on
But I know inside
Its fate is sealed

How funny is it
This comedy of life
That a simple flower
Can mean so much

You’ll never read this
I know that’s true
But believe what I say
Forever…and a day

All I wanted was a coffee...

Pulled into downtown from the backside, near all of the new palaces. I got a little confused on streets that I could once navigate in my sleep. They were too crowded now with buildings that held no life. I was out that night for no particular reason, and since I had Bobbie McGee’s freedom, I went looking for other souls.

The lifelessness drained me, and I thought a cup of Joe might perk me up. Every haunt I knew had been swallowed by the palaces and my confusion was rising. I stopped to get my bearings, and took in the scene. As I studied it, an old song started playing in my head. I looked for a landmark and saw the sign in the distance. Coffee was what I needed, and the sign was pointing the way.

There was still lifelessness around me as I trudged on, and I half expected to run into the Halloween Jack.

Shock froze me as I peered in the door. Expecting stainless steel, formica and fluorescence – I found greenery, woods and soft leather. Where were the world-weary inhabitants? Where was the atmosphere that invited you in, while driving away those too faint of heart? This place was nice, and homey – and everyone was sleek and beautiful. I checked the sign again and opened the door.

I thought I was confused because I was tired, but now I doubted even that. The menu was not making much sense to me and everybody ordering was speaking a type of gibberish. I started feeling like a stranger in my own world. I told the counter person that all I wanted was a small cup of coffee, but I couldn't find it on the menu board. In response, I was given such a sneer that I haven’t seen since I arrived at Swingo’s for dinner wearing jeans and old cowboy boots.

At least now, I could relax in one of the sofas and drink my joe. I reached for my last cigarette and heard such a scream I thought we were being held up! I looked around to see what the hell had happened, and everybody was pointing at me and screaming for me to leave. A waitress ran over and pulled the cig out of my mouth and broke it in half while screaming that I couldn't do that here and started pushing me out the door. Now, I had been thrown out of better places than that (Swingo’s) and a lot of worse places than that, but never with such conviction and menace! What really teed me off was that my last cigarette was lying on the floor inside, broken in half.

I looked around the palace’s lobby and saw a newsstand still open, and he was selling my brand. At least, something was going right. The guy behind the counter was laughing, being that he witnessed my banishment, and between guffaws, he asked what I wanted.

I asked for my favorite brand, and he quoted me a price that was nearly double of what I usually paid. Wondering why I was being robbed, I asked him why it was so expensive. He just laughed at me and said it was because of the taxes. When he saw my confused look (and I’m really getting tired of being confused) he explained that the taxes were high to pay for the palaces. The fog was lifting, I finally wasn’t confused. The taxes were high on my cigarettes to pay for the palaces that were empty of souls and had replaced all the street life that I had enjoyed and now did not let me smoke in said palaces. Got it! I understood! I don’t know how, but I guess it made sense, at least to someone.

I walked out the front door to the street and lit up. Again I heard screaming! Now the newsstand guy was babbling at me at the top of his lungs and shooing me away! I finally made out that I could only smoke a certain distance away from the door. I looked to the left and only saw more doorways so that direction was out. In front of me was the street, and as lifeless as the street was, I didn’t feel like dodging the occasional bus or car. My ride was parked down the street some distance to the right and I figured that was the safest way to go. Actually, I just wanted everybody to stop being mad at me, and trudged on to my ride, aching to get out of there.

As I started out, I saw a pair of eyes staring at me from under a hooded jacket straight ahead. The figure was standing at the entrance to an alley that I hadn’t noticed before. I could only see eyes staring straight at me from under that dirty jacket, the hood put everything else about the eyes into dark shadows. As I walked toward the figure, the eyes seem to stare more intently.

With my luck tonight, I expected the worst. I started to walk with more bravado, lighting up, half to strike a pose, half to have a lit cigarette in my hand as a weapon. It was after I lit up while getting closer to the figure that I noticed the eyes change. The change was from a look of intimidation, to a look of need. I stared straight at the eyes, daring the figure to address me, when in a quiet, polite tone he asked if he could bum a smoke.

He was dirty and his clothes had seen better days. Dressed in about ten layers of clothes, I couldn’t even tell what his true size was. It was the politeness in his voice that made me reach for the pack. I handed him a cigarette, and he apologized again, asking for a light. I handed him my lighter and took a sip of my coffee. He studied me for a second, and I felt like he was sizing me up. He told me that he heard the yelling about me smoking while in the alley, and he figured that I would be an easy target to bum a smoke. I cracked a remark about being such an outcast, and he just burst out laughing! He tried to say that he knew how I felt while laughing hysterically. We both stood there laughing now, laughing at the irony.

His name was Lou, and he once lived in the old flop house that the palace had replaced. We shared some old memories of the dives and the joints that were once part of the street. I remembered some of the characters, long since pinched by LE, or blown away in some headline-grabbing fashion. He talked of the ladies, and while he talked, he seemed to grow younger. I couldn’t figure out his age, but his stories betrayed the generation he was referring to. He talked of Chicago and New York, Detroit and Saigon.

I don’t how long we talked, but my coffee was long gone and my smokes were burning up with the memories. I thanked him for the laughs, and asked him if I could buy him a cup of coffee. He looked at the sign in the distance with such disgust that I knew it was a bad idea. I lit up another cigarette, tucked an unlit one above my ear, and handed him the pack. He nodded in gratitude and squirreled it away in the folds of his jacket. I reached into my pocket for the lighter and an extra ten spot I had when we heard footsteps crossing the alley. I handed him the ten when I heard the young prince walking by say to his princess what a waste of money I was committing. I loudly told Lou to buy himself a sandwich, a drink, a smoke, or a piece of ass with it and he laughed.

I got to my ride and cranked up the stereo –

“Crawling down the alley on your hands and knee
I’m sure you're not protected, for it's plain to see
The diamond dogs are poachers and they hide behind trees
Hunt you to the ground they will, mannequins with kill appeal”

I was thinking about Lou’s last words to me. We had just finished laughing when he asked God to bless me. I don’t really know why, but for the first time in a lot of years, I wondered if that was possible.