Knowing there is not a dime to be had, not even enough to cover the monthly bills, or buy presents for others, Christmas around the corner, Mangus thinks, Better to pull the curtains and nest in my books and the remainder of coffee and keep still until this all passes.

Mangus shuffles from room to room like a toy with batteries fading he sees the soft of morning blue and the days first clouds and reminds himself they are there for him too. Like his books and music, the he is outside with his dogs now, their tails wagging, bundles of perpetual love. Not so bad he thinks as one washes his hands with his tongue. Mangus saying, Thank you, out loud, eyes filling up at the same time, moved by the animal’s kindness.

Looking at the dogs he thinks, sometimes you’re so poor you want to hide. He goes back inside.

Nothing but sweet talk times are long gone by

No sandcastle dreams on the horizon for this man

I’m singing soft beat rhythms in reality’s house

Striding true and steady in dreams come true

*

Setting pen to paper here and my brother

Michael writing reality’s truth over there

We’re from the backstreets of hard times

Tapping out our words in reality’s house

*

Not worrying now about tomorrows

Cause  tomorrows are bound to come

And when don’t no more for me my friend

I’ll have lived my time real in reality’s house

*

So all you dreamers keep on dreaming

But don’t miss the magic of the day you’re in

‘Cause the magic’s here for you and

Your life living real in reality’s house

I suspect I am not alone in being a writer who finds comfort in knowing the page is always there. Sometimes intimidating, sometimes welcoming, it is ever present, and that, for me, is a good thing.

I’ve been riding the page for a long time now. Through good times and bad, times of gain, times of loss, new beginnings and gut wrenching ends, I keep riding the page,  a promise unbroken. 

On this page I can visit and leave, smile and frown; flip someone the bird when they’re letting me down, and so it goes when I’m riding the page, the promise stays unbroken.

The cuts from some expected and some not get cast to the side when riding the page because here stand the borders to me, the perpetual motion of thoughts to be said and feelings to be spoken.

Always the page, no matter the broken, always the page for dreams to be spoken.

*
Breathe

I’m saving my life these days

You listening

I’m saving my life

Hope you’ll hear my moment

Hope you’ll hear my breath

*

Breathe

I am the anger sheathed

With no bullshit

The blistering wide open

It’s my concrete scrape

It’s my bent neck

*

Breathe

I am neck up blind

But for my child’s face

Shifting in the darkness

In this carved blood moment

The struggle wrenches full

*

Breathe

I am saving my life these days

In know that bullet

Cracked me open

I knew I was gone

I get it

Breathe

*

Joy

That morning cheek to belly press

The coffee smile tossed gently over

The top of your reading glasses

I’ll tell you joy

*

Joy

When the chocolate covering

On that ice cream bar fractures

For the teeth just right

I’ll tell you joy

*

Joy

That walking through the door

Moment and your face is there

Pulling me warm home

I’ll tell you joy

*

Joy

Making the words carve

Me a new world on the soft

Side of a hill somewhere

I’ll tell you joy

             Just told you mine

*