Shattered Glass

Pins and needles,

Are what you need.

Walking on the edge,

Stepping off the ledge.

Shattered glass,

Will only make you bleed.

Drugs are smiling,

When you should.

Pop those pills.

Swallow that pain.

Happiness kills.

What’s real remains.

The doctor going to make you,

Do what the doctor says,

The doctor’s going to take you,

Because of what you said.

Smile for the camera.

You’re going to make your bed.

Smile for the nurse.

Careful what you said.

The bad news,

They can live in your head.

The good news.

They can’t live,

If you’re dead.

Pins and needles,

Are what you need.

Walking on the edge,

Stepping off the ledge.

Shattered glass,

Will only make you bleed.

Me 09/14/2017

Rev. 10/08/2017

Baby Don’t You Cry

When you’re life’s at its peak,

You’ll find bitter cold and snow,

And you’ll cling to the harsh rock,

When you look down below.

 

The door remains open,

When you reach for the sky.

You can always reach for me.

So baby don’t you cry.

 

There’ll be long walks alone,

Breathe the fresh smell of pine.

Forget the bears in the woods,

And you’ll be just fine.

 

Sing a song, sing out loud,

Like I know you would.

You have your smile to protect you,

Like I never could.

 

I’m going to build you a cabin,

In the mountains, so high.

Where no one can touch you

When you reach for the sky.

 

Never mind the trees above you,

Or the jagged rocks below.

I’ll be there to catch you,

If and when you fall.

 

Just remember the door always open,

When you reach for the sky.

You can always reach for me.

So baby don’t you cry.

Alan Wiessner rev. 10/14/2013

 

You Decide

20140725_101755

Your ceiling is the sky.
Blister or bathe in the sun.
Shiver or sing under a rainbow.
Each cascading sunset,
Defines your horizon.
What you do in the moment,
What you do in a day,
May define you for an eternity.
May erase all the love,
Or erase all the pain.
And for lack of better reason,
You live in the moment,
And that moment,
That moment is you.

Never let go…

Sunrise Bar Harbor

What’s hurting you,
Is hurting me.
That’s just the way,
It has to be.

Those tears rolling,
Down your face,
I can’t catch,
I can’t erase.
I can’t let go.

You’re my sunrise.
I’m your sand.
Walk on me.
I have your hand.

Don’t let go.

You’re my sunset,

I’m your horizon.

Set on me.

Your sun is rising.
I won’t let go.

Never let go.

Idea Capitalist

8/17/2015

In Life Too Often, It’s the Tail Waggin’ the Dog

100_0003 (2)I love the beat of Cody’s tail wagging against the floor, against the door, against the wall, against the bed he is lying on.  I’m not sure whether it will be Cody’s heart that gives out before his tail stops wagging.

Cody’s my 10 year old chocolate lab.  We’re kinda attached at the hips.  He goes to work with me every day.  He goes to work most days, I am out of town on business. I now have a ramp he uses to load up into the back of my SUV.  It is a ceremony.  He’s not fan of the trip up.  I’ve employed what is best to describe as a soft suitcase I wrap him in, to coax him up the ramp.  He’s frantic, so there’s always a treat waiting for him.  Upon arrival, and his descent, he reminds me of an arriving dignitary, including the obligatory pause for photo ops, before his parade trip down the ramp.

Cody knows when it’s time to go to work.  He knows when it is time for his 10 and 4 o’clock walks.  He knows he goes to North Park in the AM and he knows he tours the office park in the afternoon.

Most important he knows when it is time to go home.  Dinner!

If you ask him to change his routine, you meet with the stubbornness of a 100+ lb. dog, who knows who’s in charge.

He knows when the UPS truck arrives.  He knows the drivers.  He knows whether to expect a biscuit or a good rub.  The drivers know him, too.  After all, “What can brown do for you?”

You might say Cody has it made.  Even before you see his beds at home or the leather sofa he spends an increasing amount of time on at the office, but there’s a point to all this dribble. So bear with me.

Cody’s hips are giving in to father time, so he’s getting laser to strengthen his shoulders and flanks.  If it works for him, I’m next in line.

Cody now goes to bed before Terri and I do.  Both of us cracked a smile and laughed the first time he left us to head for bed.  Now we know Cody has more common sense than we do.

A former neighboring business owner had a 10 year old white lab named Jack.  Like Cody, he came to work with his owners each day.  Jack died suddenly.  We were commiserating when Jack’s owner said to me, “give Cody a good back scratch for Jack.”

When I scramble to meet a deadline, decry the political theatre, grouse over a lost order or worry about where the next dollar is coming from, all I have to do is look to my friend.  He’s most often at my feet.

I am reminded.  I have so much to live for, why not make things right in this messed up world?  The solution?

Everyone should get a good tummy rub and a nice back scratch every day.  Cody does.

The Streets of Baltimore

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Thaddeus Logan, author of Hey Cabbie, published in 1984, which describes life in Baltimore as-he-see-it through the windshield of his taxi, has came out with the sequel, Hey Cabbie II. (Kenneth K. LAM, Baltimore Sun)

I have never met Thaddeus Logan, but I can share a moment in time with Thaddeus several years ago.

There’s a great restaurant, highly recommended for its blue crab, in Baltimore.  To get there you had to leave your swank hotel and drive through the slums on the east side of Baltimore.  What I saw from my vantage point in a Yellow Cab made me lose my appetite for crab and left me empty at the same time.

 I will never forget the sight of a man, who may now own a piece of my soul, sitting on the steps in the projects in Baltimore. I have often wondered, is my soul his for the taking?

Do either of us have a choice to create a better life? If there is hope, the choices should be available for us both, but should either be necessarily more gratifying?

The experience prompted me to write this:

The Streets of Baltimore
Our eyes met in a moment.
One, sitting on the steps to nowhere.
Where hallways echo empty promises.
Where memories too often perish,
Where misery too often survives.
Ever so brief, our souls meet
On the streets of Baltimore.
 
One, just another fare,
All we shared was a glance.
A moment, no more.
One asks resolute.
Is it not too late?
Can you snub out your smoke?
Can you swallow that last drink?
On the streets of Baltimore
 
One both born rich in life,
Both born poor to circumstance.
Both bodies whole,
Both born spirits unscathed,
Both born undiscovered,
Only one is born,
On the streets of Baltimore.
 
One white, one black.
One who can’t look back,
One can only look away.
One lives on, in stark reality,
One lives on, with memories.
One lives filled with hope.
One lives on the streets of Baltimore.

 

Updated Tuesday, October 23, 2012

I’m not going to get a copy of Hey Cabbie or Hey Cabbie II.  Thaddeus Logan’s driven along those very same streets 1,000 fold and he too, understands, one can not look back.   I have a feeling  he is a good man and he has written a couple of good books that need to be read and taken to heart.

Serendipity is alive and well on the streets of Baltimore, but  I’m going to stick to the romance of sadness or even the empathy I experienced, while visiting, so as for reading his books, I’m just not going there.

You Are My Bright Stars

Live in the moment,
Or endure the past.
Blister or bathe in the sun.
Shiver or revel in the rain.
Make love or lose love.
Live free or imprisoned in self doubt.
Open or close your eyes to great dreams.
Travel the road of gods or demons.
Find peace in the bosom of friends and family,
Or fall at the feet of failure and his companion, evil.
Wherever fate finds you, choose to remember well…
There will always be bright stars in dark skies.
And you will always be the brightest star.
 Love forever and always.
 
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Dedicated to my daughters
Updated 09-30-2012
 
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