Deliberately

Destin

May 3, 2021

Foggy Bottom Thoughts

a Mexican fog reaches the pan handle

unannounced and unexpected  so soon,

visibility dims north of the horizon

pleasure yachts lumber along parallel

to the tourist laden coastline where

motorized vehicles are banned except

for those paid to guard their investments;

a curious and consistent breeze makes its

way eastward as clouds are pushed out

to sea by an undressing sun whose

behavior has become rather predictable along

the shores never invaded by pirates only

conquistadors mesmerized by the language

and mysterious stories of alien ghosts;

muted sounds of silence are replaced by

babbling conversations of clothes styles and lifestyles

exaggerated by marketing executives who rely

on sixties music to attract an older generation

with retirement income mimicking salaries and

desire to travel is limited by pandemics;

children with body boards ignore their

elders and their body surfing techniques as

caution inhibits their watery adventures...

canvas covered wooden chairs hold the

onlookers without motivation yet have the will

power to lift cocktails to their lips between words;

moods like the weather change rapidly

and once a polite generation turns impolite

with their impatience and predeterminations

of religious preferences never questioned or

doubted against the tides of growing evidence

venturing into the unchartered living waters;

however flimsy their excuses these same believers

strong along the edge of the enchanted waters,

invited our of their chairs and into the sun to

worship anticipated suntans yet to be received...

seagulls fly against the wind as they watch

and wonder why everyone is still here.

Mental Shorelines

red flags dot the shoreline

warning wave watchers,

impending danger looms,

wet sand footprints mask

all well worn paths

through weathered dunes,

tracing ancient journeys

of our memorable past;

relocated water pools,

wind rippled movements

large and small

short and tall

under umbrellas

protecting who?

or what?

distilled thoughts

resurfaced and lingering

near and far

buried alive in a 

vain attempt to forget

present and past

warriors who first arrived

and left no signs

of smuggling inside

random thoughts;

curious memories filter

themselves through

uncertain recollections

before the dawn

and after sunset,

cascading in shallow pools

of incriminations...

selfless but personal

instinctive but logical,

pursuing the water's truth

and the shoreline's defenses;

seagulls stroll by

on thin legs

supporting large bodies

leaving one in awe,

readjusting opinions

and the flavors of ideas

soon to be forgotten

by the relentless sun

and battering waters

of the gulf

against our bodies.

Watery Wasteland

fingers of time hold not the

water nor the sand any longer

than a wisp of wind remains

around a body as it passes

on its way to another place;

broken shells collected along

the sand dunes of an abandoned

beach long after the water tides

have pushed them well beyond

their original intent...

without recourse or remorse

but with a force long since

believed to be used by the

boats of gods who journeyed

here not to fish or plant crops

but to create a race of future

inhabitants whose sole purpose

was to remember and record

display and deliver

arrange and rearrange

the sequences of life left

behind by life's fingers.

Tides

tides move in and out

back and forth

up and down

but never do they move

out and about...

tides rip out the souls

of man's fearfulness

as it strips the

weak from the strong...

tides force generations

to rethink their

reckless attitudes left

in rented rooms

in the summer sun...

tides are not restrained

nor embarrassed

nor ashamed

of their appearance and

their rituals of death...

tides live along coastlines

of our imported cities, 

waiting for us to

forget our manners

and pay them a visit.

 Deliberately

Destin

May 2, 2021

Sunday Solicitations

no longer calm the waters are

fishers gather at the edge

northern winds blow chilly

currents force swimmers outside

boats bounce with controlled rhythms

leave parallel wakes behind...

seagulls pushed off course

fly where the breeze takes them,

tourists huddled together amid

the surge of inclement weather,

aimlessly, children wander

attempting to find something to do,

empty chairs sit under open umbrellas

thankful fore the lack of occupants

taking advantage of the respite

to get to know their silent neighbors,

puffed pastries ferment inside the stomachs

of all those overfed vacationers hoping

to walk themselves thinner by

the end of their rental arrangement,

tiered excitement races along the sand

like crabs escaping the rising sun,

returning to the waters of isolation and

to the only security they've ever known.

Just Passing

only the seagulls have

jurisdiction here,

where sand and waters meet

along the coastline

of some strange land

stretching out as far

as one's eyes can see;

restless waters foam

at the points of impact

creating new formations

on the virgin soil

where sailors ventured

in earlier years and

claimed victory over water;

sharks and serpents

now roam freely

up and down the coast

feeding off less fortunate

species who do not

have the same commitments

nor the instincts to survive;

shivering birds poke the sand

in a maddening search

for nourishment until

it is time to sleep.

Sky-less Greys

grey skies overhead,

sounds from the sea

just beyond the dunes,

a steady breeze

blows northwest as it

controls flights of birds;

unseen screams

cascade through the air,

children playing

parents patrolling

as raindrops fall

then disappear,

only to reappear and

disappear again and

again without warning;

towels hang over balconies

forbidden by the rules

as owners remain hidden

and views expressed

fall silent and swept

of the door with

all the morning's sand

for the next renter.

Rusty Weather

rust drops down the sides

of baseboards stained

with aged appearances

brought about by climates

and those who temporarily

liver inside the outer shells

notice not the complaint

nor would they care

if only they knew...

only if it functions with

anticipated expectations and

a valid return on investment;

identical clones surround

the sandy ground as tenants

have careless thoughts of

unknown neighbors beside,

and why would they...

except to say a morning

"howdy do..."

a moving horizon is

barely seen over the dunes

that form barriers against

the winter's weather when

waves increase their energies

and properties once alive

become abandoned risks

due to all the flawless rust.

Reclamations

a herd mentality provides

us with protection in

the calmness of the night

while daylight delivers

constant companionship to

those who disagree with

common sense applications;

status reports due daily

diminish the need for

structured compliance

and boards of refusal

reclaim the lost territories

of the wicked who fished the

sacred waters of redemption;

nature negotiates its

own borders with life

as terminal patients

barter with their afterlife

for a few more minutes

before entering chaos...

and those with more

than they need make

pleas with the devil to

keep from giving too much

food for the disadvantaged.

Deliberately

Destin

May 1, 2021

The Return

sunrise appears forward

disappears behind,

water never changes course

stray bodies scurry underneath

never to be seen again;

children crisscross my view

elders not far behind

sandpipers hide as the newly

abandoned currents recede

into an oblivious past;

nonchalant crafts propelled

by wakes drift past surfers

waiting for the right one

getting suntanned shoulders

as reward for patience;

with consciousness, walkers

meander by the shores

occasionally letting the water

wash their feet's soles in

return for polite behavior;

poles for fishing stand idle

listening for fish sounds to

correct their bad postures

and the white sands of innocence

turn tan by the dirty green water;

umbrellas shade the passing moments

spectators sharpen their eyes 

on the young visions of beauty

strolling endlessly to nowhere not

apologizing for where they've been;

bronzed bodies boast their colors

after weeks of enhanced days

spent frolicking without clothes

except that which is legally required

on beaches not otherwise posted;

tenants in common relax in

loungers resting their fantasies

and mutual behaviors practiced

in vehicles that brought them here

remembered from previous years;

madness transform age when

time has been casted into memories

hung on the wall or carried

around on phones and retrieved

when boredom reaches its limits;

sights and sounds mix with

smells and currents mixed with

sun and sand, waters and clouds

and a gentle wind always passing.

Edge of Coolness

the afternoon heat cooled

by the morning wind

from the north lingers

in our gulf location...

waves beat against our

southern borders

much like the waves

of the east coast

gone unnoticed until

memories serve the

caretakers of the summer

and the fall fishermen

who stole the beach

with poles in hand and

covering their bald heads;

lightly baked we became

human potatoes without skins

and without the salmon we

will never catch here,

knowing the cold bears no

resemblance to our sensitivities

with which are left us;

rental arrangements leave us

confused yet unconcerned

with the future of doubts

and the peculiar way we

all seem to address the

fading of youth differently

until the salt waters are

filtered through our senses

and we are once again

reminded that youth knows

not what we have gained

nor have lost

nor have forgotten

along the way...

the way that they have yet

to endure or accommodate.

Balance of Wills

watery colors lighten their approach

dark to light with white caps

swells without waves flow freely

at the request of currents who know

no limitations...

persistent and relentless from

one shoreline to another in its

quest for dominion over land and

all the creatures carried with it;

journey's end not in sight

today nor tomorrow

nor centuries hence or

millennia previously spent

in quiet isolation and solitude

from the tears and fears of life

with its lifeless form

taking and giving as if its

passage was some form of lottery;

a journey of a soulless entity

boundless and free...

contained by gravity's force

but never occupied nor controlled

by the universal will that

maintains balance over us all.

Once Comforted Here

on these shores

a thousand times a thousand

years ago...  you walked...

slept, fished, and lived

like some animal

bound by no circumstances

nor remorse

for living as you did

without harm

without fear...

as if the day awaited

your awakening

allowing your control over

all you surveyed

yesterday

and the day before,

hoping your future would 

be shared

after going beyond life

into the world

of ancestors whose

lives were recorded on

the walls of caves

in which you

lived temporarily like the

crops on the land

you once farmed when

home was home and you were

all together and no

need to wander anywhere

much less the shore

you now walk...

alone and abandoned

neglected by those who

you once knew

when life was simpler...

but, night's day found you

where you wanted

not to be like so many

who walked before you,

never returning

to that which they knew

and in whose arms you

were once comforted.

April 1988 - page 4

From her original plan, he was seduced

into thinking she was his...  they were

both your but far from innocent...  his

attraction was temporary and she was

left alone and began searching again.

she would be a spectacular lover or

so he assumed since she was not

overly beautiful and these women,

in general, made up for it in bed

or so someone more experienced 

once told him over a beer or two.

they were all desperate, searching

for anything that resembled love,

they these rejected lovers, wanted

to appear reluctant but would take

whatever it was they could find.

the day moved along like a lazy river

picking up speed as the night air

cooled its path and when it got down

to less than an hour left, I knew the

end was only one cup away from us.

if I am not interested in looking for another

then why should she want to look?

because I cannot give her the time she needs,

all I have is physical and that in intermittently. 

I may be crazy doing what I'm doing

I may be a little off center and when

those who know me question me...

I answer because it makes me feel needed.

the wind stirred up the coldness

in my veins and the hot liquid

I poured down would not warm me,

it showed on my face...  I was

no match for the cold weather.

she came early

before I was ready

all my efforts must be

repeated if what I want

is to make any sense.

I can think of nothing else

being with you takes all my

energies and how easier would

it be for you to find another.

our future is in the past and

we are history...  something to be studied

we make allowance for each other

in the hopes the moment will

last a little longer for us.

April 1988 - page 3

come...  let's channel our thoughts

into a consciousness that seeks the

positive side of life instead of the

negative that is so often the case.

tears ease down your cheeks as you

change into more comfortable thoughts

and you pull me along

and my scared little world stumbles

over its own apprehensions.

she heard me crying across town and came

to see if there was anything she could do,

she heard me crying across town

and thought it was her fault,

she heard me crying across town

and her feeling comforted me,

she heard me crying across town and

knew that she couldn't really help.

he behavior caused some discussion from her

neighbors and her mother tried not to interfere,

she cared for a married man bring him home.

once the kids were in bed

her entertainment arrived

and she wasn't sure why

but was glad she knew him.

and the man and his wife

seniors they were,

listened to the young man

tell his clever story,

faces showed their interest

even though things hadn't 

changed much since

they were kids his age.

their hearts were differently constructed

as were their moral obligations...

as opposites they became adversaries but

their contracts bonded them for life.

she dyed her hair and the make-up

on her face hid the natural beauty,

and the lipstick and what was done

to her eyes made her unappealing,

she never knew who he was or why

he left after he asked her "why?"

breathe deeply

the season's change,

rings of uncertainty proclaim

our laments of innocence,

all persistent and unassuming,

let the dark side guide

towards the candle light

and to the end of an

non disclosing night.

dreams bend with the rainfall

as our illusions of natural erotica

is washed away and only the

earth will be violated after

this afternoon is finally over.

April 1988 - page 2

she had him fixed so he wouldn't

stray too far away from home...

at first it worked but soon she

had nothing to hold his attention.

somedays thy were too close

other days not close enough,

it was always a coincidence

but they never complained.

sunshine sinking warmth

inside deeply

relaxing and natural,

memories carry with them the

remembering...  then a

peaceful forgetfulness.

a temporary mental adjustment 

eclipses my neurotic behavior,

can we suffer together the

pain of our different emotions?

hold me a little longer

then I must go home.

I look into your eyes and 

want not to look away,

you return the stare and

we both want no other

and as our passion feeds

upon itself...  we hold

only ourselves to blame.

their property was common

but not their attitudes and

in short order it became

evenly divided between then.

she complemented his attitude

complemented his behavior

but when it come to his dirty

language she could not say

anything... she too was foul.

and the far side of her thoughts

was with him and the feelings

which were hidden from her

protective questions...  she acted

on his behalf but he always

felt she was just being friendly.

she came to his rescue

and in so doing became

emotionally involved

with his insecurities.

the rain cools our

hot tempers...

shrinking the anger

as our clothes dry.

April 1988 - page 1

both nights she wanted and

both nights she was given

and as if she were drugged

she simply did not care.

she listed him as a reference

because he was good in bed,

but that's the only thing

that he addressed for her.

she has my attention at least for two minutes

she has my courage and the consequences

she knows no limitations and neither did I

as I recall when I was at her age as a child.

she slept with her memories and 

at with them too...  she was a

non-interest bearing note,

she was everything but cautious.

a gallery of feelings are ours to 

display or change monthly,

assuming our role as curator

when our house needs cleaning

we just simply have a sale.

her honors mount up and her achievements

noted and her young world is protected

with an unassuming innocence...  she is

relatively content and will remain so until

she learns the absurd realities of an adult.

we bury ourselves in obscurity

training our responses to maintain

a low profile and to blend in 

with the surroundings...  some

cannot function without recognition.

uninvolved and unattached I was

wanting companionship or just a friend,

I was the stranger who nobody wanted around,

I consumed the world's hatred and 

anger and spit out a universal loneliness

with which many could not identify.

she eased the tensions on my life

and I drifted into another world of

excitement...  no one is really free.

she came to him after the kids were born

and he refused...

she came to him after the kids were in

bed and he refused...

she came to him after the kids were grown

and he refused...

they had met on alternating Tuesdays and

never once during all those years could

they have ever ended their affair.

March 1988 - page 4

I don't care what you tell me anymore

since I learned to live without your

involvement...  no longer do I need to

"kiss you ass..."  my lady fair.

it began slowly then picked up

but it was never like it used to be,

its just not there anymore for me.

the end comes with salutations from friends

who while you were alive paid you no attention

and from a man-of-God, who at the gravesite

wears his only suit stained with the sweat of

other funerals and a clip on tie...  who knew

you not while you were alive and will not

ever know your features and how you looked

before...  or what you thought, liked, disliked

and by what were you amused and laughed.

the plans I make are for nobody and

are to be shared with nobody...  as they

follow no format...  have no goals

and are designed to achieve nothing,

a paper transactions or if you prefer

a pen and ink exercise that allows

me to play with all of life's ambiguities.

instead of understanding what

makes me feel a certain way,

you say it's what I've always wanted.

I cannot seem to remove twenty three 

year old images from my mind...

young women who knew me then,

what we said and did to hurt each other,

it was too long ago for me to think

or even say how sorry I am now.

I hid my feelings behind a rough

and tough exterior or a "give a shit"

attitude...  and, I let no one know me

nor even myself...  I played the role of pimp.

we stand in the general proximity of

those who came before us...  

a male and a female who were as bonded

as we are now...  seeking advice

and receiving nothing but distance.

If you called me a "mother fucker,"

I would have to agree with you

at least once so far anyway.

I ask myself if anyone would ever be

allowed to get close...  to touch...

to feel...  or, to touch...  and even if

those things happened would that mean

the intimacy was really sincere?

Many never wonder and many find

themselves wasted and hurt often.

March 1988 - page 3

my dad spent his whole life doing

what was expected of him...  now 

at seventy... he want to do only

that which he wants to do...  but

cannot think of anything to do.

and once all our cards 

were placed on the table,

wee had nothing on which

to draw or to save for a

rainy day...  we are elements

of chance that will never

interact in the near future.

how dimly the light shines

when we cannot see the

evil we have done and how

brightly it shines when

we decide to evaluate others.

in a lighthearted attitude we allow

our random thoughts to explode

into an unknown fanciful world of

the imagination and it feels wonderful,

and even though time has been

temporarily suspended, we have 

stayed much too long already...

once we leave the mental hologram

we pick up where we left off.

as we go out and about

beautiful women seem to 

be everywhere we are

and I feel like a little boy

in a china shop with his

mother who says...

"look but don't touch."

I look inside your desk drawer

searching for a pencil and found

an unopened letter...  I was afraid

to even touch it like it was

something so very personal.

out on the patio, I would feel

the warmth of the sun penetrate

below the surface of my skin

as I relax...  reclining in my all

too often mental lounge chair.

what man has buried in his past

we must now come to term with

before racial injustice will end.

they marched in ever increasingly wider circles

for hours in the hot summer sun...

they marched because they were told to march,

because it would make them good soldiers,

they marched until their olive green fatigues

were black with sweat and dirt and their lips

parched and cracked and their eyes were bloodshot,

they laughed at the Army their drill master and at

each other as they were like no other...  and,

that was the best reason of all to keep marching.

we are under no moral obligation to

create our own happiness nor should

we expect it to come from others...

we are responsible only to man's laws

even when it prevents our happiness,

under the threat of religious revenge,

we live allowing it to affect our behavior

then rationalization takes over and we

may say things but this is how we live.

March 1988 - page 2

I don't even think about an exciting sex life anymore

I know I won't get it at home and that the odds are also

against finding someone with which to have an affair..

I think about you almost everyday 

how beautiful you were and how lucky

I was to have you love me just briefly,

now I realize the impact you had on me.

in from the outside the sun and its warmth

is magnified by the window glass...  my

hands retain the outside temperature as

writing anything becomes an exercise in 

futility... while my opponent struggles to

change my mental disbeliefs as is the

routine everyday...  yet, I always express

that which I want to fell regardless.

another night catches me unprepared

thinking of those things that happened

to me years ago...  tormented by those

actions then and your forgiveness now,

even though it's only what I think you do,

and the irony of this is that you have

forgotten more about me than I you.

and when the phone rings

I too am startled, thinking

it is you who has had

enough time to find me.

"why are you moving your head up and down for," I questioned?

"I'm one of those dolls in the back of the car," she answered.

"your boyfriend got one of those in his car, does he," I sarcastically asked?

She left without a reply to wash the dishes

she'd been putting off for over an hour now.

my life has become boringly routine

and uninterestingly characteristic of

a man my age...  I have no choice

but to find a way to act differently.

I have a box full of letters I've

written but never sent to you,

I never meant to send them,

they were just for me and my

feelings and I didn't expect

that you would ever understand.

I wanted to contract with you

but you wouldn't respond so I'll

do my business with the devil.

I found you cold and hungry

and gave you the warmth and

all the food that you needed,

you left the next day because

I would not sleep with you.