quiet & proud

He was built of light and smiles.
A quiet man.
Dignified.
He collected darts, and the love of those around him.
I always looked forward to our time together.

He was a man who always inspired me to be more compassionate.
To try and listen more.
To try harder.
Never give up.

Didn't say much.
When he did, you listened.
A man whose soft words fell like diamonds from his lips.
You always knew it was important.
You always knew he loved you.
You always knew that there were angels manifested in flesh, and they would always protect you with their prayers and hugs.
You knew.

Damnit, you knew.

Such a perfect contrast/compliment to his outgoing and bubbly wife.
Both so loving.
Just different ways of showing it.

I remember my first communion.
I was a little older than you normally are when these things typically happen.
They visited from Canada for this.
He was so proud.
We were a Catholic family, you see.
He was beaming, standing tall.
Proud.
He had one of those smiles that reached his eyes that day.
Huge hug. Told me how proud he was to be my Godfather.
Said he loved me so much.
I would never doubt that.
Not once. Not ever.
I always knew.

Goddamnit, I knew.

He always proved it in his patience, his wisdom.
His quiet and caring ways.

I became older. Those hugs became strong handshakes. I was now a man.
They always felt like hugs to me.
That first handshake was a rite of passage to me.
A sign of adulthood and respect.
His smile still made his eyes shine and sparkle.

He always looked directly into your eyes.
There was never any room for deceit.
Couldn't be.
Just wasn't a part of him.
Too honest for that.

He became older, lost the ability to speak.
Wrote his words on paper.
Measured them carefully, wrote only when he needed to.
His scrawl was just like his speech.
Never a wasted or unnecessary phrase.

Saw him less than 2 months ago.
Was still that symbol of strong dignity and quiet pride.
And love.
Was a good visit.

He will always be that shining beacon,
Glittering hope in the dark.
Proof of what humanity can become if they let themselves.
I love my Godfather.

I will miss him.

ours was a kingdom built of flattery and flowers.

Performing tonight.
It's getting colder. I'm getting used to a different kind of chill.
Damp air that gets inside, doesn't like to shake loose. Different than where I'm from.
Not bad. Just an adjustment.

I love this place.
A creative haven on a beautiful island.
I know this setting intimately.

Inside, the venue is warm with the smiles and closed eyes of those in attendance.
I feel that fire inside.
The show starts off well.
There's just something about tonight.
You can feel it.
Positive energy and positive feedback.
Something is building as I continue to play.

The night moves on.
Couples slowly stand, move to the side, begin to dance in subtle rhythms together.
The cafe transforms into a ballroom made from dim yellow light, and the sounds of a single guitar..
All rhythm and heartbeats.

Just as sacred as the sex of the soulbound,
Just as powerful as the heartsick words written anonymously on a faded concrete wall.

The music changes of its own accord to accommodate.
Songs become longer, rewrite themselves.
My heart beats faster.

At times there is more urgency,
More speed,
Like the fluttering heartbeat of that love struck boy dancing with his desire
for the first time.

The dancers sway and move, not anticipating the next note, but guiding and dictating the music's path with their bodies.
So beautiful.

I can no longer separate the idea of me from melody.
We were defining and being defined by the music.
So very beautiful.

Later that evening I would meet a woman.
A brief moment of star-watching,
of greetings and goodbyes.
Whirlwind introductions and
Quicker exits.

It wouldn't work out.

In a quiet moment, the memory of this would help me finish a song.
There is some solace in that.

I wonder if she was just another ghost,
Come to haunt me for a short time
Before disappearing back into the ether.

Next day.

Different city.
Afternoon performance during a pretty Fall day.
Color is everywhere.
Cars racing by, people walking and chatting.
The bustle of a busy city on a beautiful day.
The venue is part of another world.
Walk in, and close the door behind me.

The sound of the city instantly disappears.

It is cozy here, intimate.
Peaceful.
The scent of aged woods and strong coffee permeates everything.
Afternoon light delicately peeking through old glass windows.
So very peaceful.

Calm is everywhere but in me.
It's not frantic or electrifying.
It's not so obvious.
Today the chaos feels like a slow burn.

This performance would be different than the night before.
My interactions with the audience would be quieter, more subdued, maybe even shy, but
I would play like something inside me was quietly demanding to spill it's secrets.
If left unchecked, even this smallest of peasant-voices would demand an audience with the (heart) royalty that always seems to rule my brains.

I fall into the color of melodies as I play.
Children are smiling. Happy parents laugh with them.
Content couples are pointing to the guitarist who "makes the flowers fall from his fingertips".

I loved hearing that description.

I'm holding it in.
At least I think I am.
Not for long.
Something is building in me.

The afternoon progresses.
More people in attendance now.

The mood is changing.
Swirling beauty in a soft setting, but now with that dark tinge and taint that reminds me of stolen kisses in a graveyard.
Still lovely, but with the subtle allure that the mysterious always brings.

A song finishes itself in an unexpected way.
I like where it ended.
I look up.
A woman near the back of the room is now crying.
I see her lips mouth the words "beautiful".

Begin to feel a bit better.
I offered them a little beauty.
They gave me so much release.

I think I received the better part of this deal.

It's In The Way You Move...

A beautiful evening on an island.
The air is crisp and cool, that perfect damp chill that comes with the Fall.
This is when I come alive.

I performed tonight.
It was an unforgettable show, full of dancing and soft light.

That's a different story, though.

I'm waiting for the ferry to take me across the water and closer to home.
Just gotten off the phone with my father.
It's good to hear his voice.
Good to know he's ok.

Standing on the dock by my car. Ferry's nowhere in sight.
It's running late.
I'm leaning over the railing, looking down at light reflected on inky black.
A little lost in thought.

"I never usually ask a stranger this, but do you happen to have an extra cigarette?"
Very soft feminine voice behind me.
I forgot I was even smoking.
Turn around.
Lightning in the form of two emerald eyes.
Delicate features framed by dark, shoulder-length hair.
She's not much more than 5 feet tall.
About my age.
Graceful, yet in a slightly clumsy way.. adorable.

Exquisite.

I reach into my pocket, grab a cigarette, light it, and hand it to her.
She inhales deeply, thanks me.
We begin to chat. Seems natural.

A while later we are lying on the hood of my car staring at the few stars peeking out from the thick clouds above, and talking.
The engine is still warm, providing a cozy contrast to this chill in the air.
Still no ferry.
Fine by me.
Timing is everything.

We talk about so much in such a short time.
Personal things.
I try to be guarded. I don't know her.
It's not working.
She seems to be trying as well.

This is madness.

Sheer unexplainable attraction.
I want to shut down. She seems hesitant.
We keep looking into each other's eyes and smiling.
This makes no sense.

I'm scared.

She asks what I'm doing on the island.
I try to talk about my performance, and my music.
Feeling a little shy.
She looks at me, tells me I'm blushing.
I blush more.

She abruptly sits up, all smiles, almost slides off the car. Catches herself by grabbing my arm.
Now she's blushing a little.
She wants to hear my music. Can she check it out somewhere? She pulls out her phone.
I tell her about my little music app. She downloads it.
She loves the names of the songs,
Decides to listen to "Reminded of Light".
It ends. A tilt of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
She listens to "Beauty Undefined".
Looks up at me with the most intriguing look.
"You did this..." more of a statement than a question.
"Yeah."

She starts to say something, and then we notice that the car in front of us has started up, and is moving to board the ferry that we hadn’t noticed appear a few minutes before.
She looks directly into my eyes, quirky smile on her face.
"We have to go." Jumps off the car, runs back to hers somewhere behind me.

I have no idea what the hell just happened.

I park on the ferry.
Need some fresh air.
I head outside.

She finds me.

All smiles. Something else.
"Can I join you?"
"I would like that."
Gives me a hug.
She tells me that this is crazy. She doesn't know me, but feels that I might be the most fantastic person she has ever met.
My heart stirs.

Maybe it's time to try again,
See what happens.

We're watching the lights of the city come into view.
She looks over at me, eyes now a little wet.
"Why couldn't I have met you 6 months ago?"

I don't know what to say.
I don't say anything.

"I'm going back to New York on Monday."
Still quiet. I can tell she's not finished.
The air is feeling a little colder now.
"I'm... I'm getting married in two weeks."

My heart stops. I'm afraid to breathe.

"I'm getting married, and then I meet you... none of it makes any sense.."
She looks so lost.
She kisses my cheek, begins to brush her lips against mine.
Pulls away.
Says that she's sorry.
Runs inside crying.

Stunned.
Confused.
She got through my defenses, and I have no idea how.
My heart is beating fast.
A moment later I run inside. Searching and searching. Never found her.

I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.

Timing is everything.

...and there we lay, among the mindful morning light

My best friend and I were between worlds.
We were still teenagers.
A little older now.
I had left the blessed band of black clothes and poetry.
Things had happened.
Still talked on occasion to my old family.
Was never the same.
I missed them dearly.
I felt lost.
Met a new friend at school. He played guitar.
Asked me to join his band.
Mostly people I'd never met.
Sure, why not.

One of the best things that could have ever happened to me.

Strong connections made instantly.
Different connections.
Through them I met others.
A motley band of geeks and musicians, athletes and dreamers.
Different types of poetry being written in those days.
Less black. More color.
Much more music.

I discovered a love of intimate conversation during late night drives.
Pie nights and coffee.
Dreams yet to be realized, but
The future would soon be ours.
We knew it.
We were winning.

My best friend entered our fold.
Made me so happy.
We grieved the end of the old times together, and rejoiced in new beginnings with this colorful blend of intelligence and warm hearts.

I remember going to my favorite cafe, still filled with focaccia and old dreams, and handing a new dear friend his first cigarette.
Sometimes I could be a bad influence.

They couldn't believe some of the things I had already seen at 17.
I couldn't believe it either.
They helped me feel my age again.
I will always owe them for those smiles.

It was then that I became a best man for the first time.
The band recorded our first (and last) album.
Happy times filled with music and a new life.
We were still winning.

Brief romances.
The band helped me write a song about one of them.
Another was a song with just the singer and I.
We both had our meanings.
The guitar part was written for a tall, lithe beauty framed in dark hair that I hadn't been able to get off my mind.
We still talked then.
She never heard that song.

Old life trickled into the new.
Familiar faces joined this group of friends.
The webs became larger.

Romance seemed to be everywhere.
I now participated.
A long term relationship emerged.
The web changed.
New threads added.
Some threads broke.

She was lovely.
We still talk from time to time.
Has a wonderful husband and children.
She is now part of another's story.

Watched as soulmates orbited each other's stars.
It wasn't quite the time for them.
It would be.
When it finally happened, all would seem right in my world.
I smiled for days when I heard that they had finally married.

They are still close friends in this life.
Took me into their home not that long ago
When I felt aimless, unsure,
armed only with a head full of words and so much determination.
I would make my insides feel right.
I owe them so much.
They are still beautiful.

Back to our story.

Road trips to Canada.
Being pulled over for our silly fearlessness.

Concerts with the band.
One with inflatable toys and autographed cans of cream corn.
Another that ended with most of us dancing in the crowd while playing our last song.
I'll never forget the blonde-haired beauty who I adored pressed up against me that evening.
I played for her that night.

Laughter over coffee.
Smiles and shining eyes glittering in the long night.
Watching sunrises and wondering about the edges of our hearts.
Talks of faith.
Lots of differing perspective and opinion.
All were welcome here.

We were young.
Headstrong and hopeful.
More threads broke.
Other threads rebuilt.
Many-colored lines and hues to our days and nights,
lives that orbited around each other chaotically, lovingly.

Things changed.
They always have to change.
It didn't all end in sadness.
It just changed, life was happening.
Life does that.
Happens.

We are scattered now.
I love them no less.

Actually, I think I love them more.

silhouettes and sharp lines..

Shadowplay.
It's in those dark, quiet moments.
Can't sleep. Tired of tossing and turning.
Some forgotten movie playing in the background.
Just white noise.
You know sleep isn't coming any time soon.
Get up. Make a cup of coffee.
Head outside.

Watching the fog swirl in the half light.
Faint light from homes across the way barely visible through the mist.
I love these moments.
Everything is softer, quieter.

Take a sip of my coffee.
Burns my tongue a little. The heat surprises me.
I like the bitter black of it.
Such strong taste and scent coming from a little cup.

I hear a soft, husky laugh from the half-finished house next door.
A young woman and her beau enjoying each other in the dark.
I laugh a little.
"Shh. Someone's going to hear us."

Don't worry. No one of importance.

I inhale deeply from my freshly lit cigarette.
Watch the red ember glow brighter.
It's my little glowing beacon in the black.
Need to quit. Bad habit.
I actually enjoy the little death that I suck in with every breath.
Enjoy it a little too much.
At least I'm honest about it.

There's something enticing and oddly romantic about this little slow suicide to me.
I love how out of vogue it is, especially when it seems that so many are so focused on their outsides these days,
but aren't paying as much attention to what lies within.
Maybe I'm completely wrong.

I think maybe I'm the opposite.
I focus too much on my heartbeat in the dark.

I still need to quit.
The realization of killing yourself a breath at a time doesn't make it any less true or justified.
I do like it though.

Cars passing by.
Lights flashing across darkened windows for a moment.
I love the sound of engines fading into the distance.
Can't see them any more, but can hear that soft purr.
The artificial illumination of car lights has left, to be replaced by this moist and grey gloom.
Part of the poetry of night.

I head back inside.
Thinking about a song I was working on earlier.
It was beautiful, but not quite right.
Was one of the frustrating ones.
By the end I wanted to tear it limb from limb, start over.
Was beautiful for a moment, but was so flawed at the end.
Reminds me of a lot of things.

My dog is looking up at me with those plaintive eyes.
She wants me to go back to bed.
I can't help but chuckle a bit.
Sometimes she will jump up on the couch with me, and put her little paw on my shoulder.
I don't know if she's trying to reassure me, or just wants a belly rub.
I think it's both.
Good companion. We've been through a lot together.
I'll make sure we're not separated again. Was too tough on her. She was patient, though.
And I came back for her.

Getting late.
Different movie playing in the background.
Still of no importance to me.
Keep thinking about that song.
Maybe tomorrow it will be ready to tell me it's secrets.
I'll be waiting to hear them.
Maybe it will tell me it's name.

More swirling thoughts in the dark.
More shadows dancing and laughing in the corners of my memory.
A lot of things imagined.
A lot of things left to imagine.
A lot of mistakes made.
A lot more left to make.

It's going to be a long night.

Autumn's Dance

We were the invincible ones.
We could put anything into our strong bodies, and even more into our hearts.
We were teenagers.
There was always room enough for these things.
Black clad and cigarettes.
Strains of The Cure and Peter Murphy. The Smiths. Edie Brickell and Electric Bonsai.
David Bowie and Prince.
Music that moved and changed me.

Always a limit to push, a parental rule to break.
Our world was one of laughter, of incense burning by black light, of dreams.
There was always room enough for these things.

We were the beautiful ones.
We laughed at each other.
We supported and protected one another.
We grieved and explored our tiny universes together.
We owned the future, and everything we demanded of it was just waiting to be
unraveled in our time.
We were artists, budding songsmiths, and poets.

We were loved.

My best friend and I were the quiet ones.
We were inseparable.
Always watching.
Always tried to be the trustworthy.
Always tried to be the shoulders to cry on.
Always patiently waiting our turns to be the cause of some pretty girl's smiles.

Our leader was a blend of humor, charisma, and artistry under a tangle of
long blond hair.
I loved and adored him.
Was an artist and poet. He sang, played piano, and later on played guitar.
Wrote a couple of songs that changed my life.
I still find them to be tapestries woven of beauty and genius.

Several years later he came to see me perform right before he departed for
a life in another country.
Told me how amazing my music had become. Said my art had transformed into something
unique and special.
And beautiful.

Later that night I spent over an hour telling my wife how much those words meant to me.

These were the times when I first discovered a rich love for
poetry and art.
These were the moments when I learned to play guitar.
Quickly became enraptured by the feel of steel against fingertips.
Quickly learned I would never really play like anyone else.
I kept trying.
Was encouraged to just play the music that was in me.
Had no idea what that meant at the time.

I wonder if there are any answers in this part of my heart that I'm
carving into.

Several moments in my mind.
Get togethers.
Parties with an older crowd.
Always new friends to be made.

Everything was so very new to me,
So filled with mystery.
Dinner at a favorite downtown pizza parlor felt like an exquisite feast
graced with the presence of future kings and queens.
Late nights at our favorite cafe became evenings of endless wonder;
Explorations of the heart and mind over coffee and an endless supply of foccacia and
boursin.

We discussed all manner of topics that I was completely unfamiliar with.
Sometimes I would try and pretend that I knew what we were talking about.
Was never very convincing.
But I learned.
I grew.

I was madly in love with this malcontent band that felt like a family.
I was in love with my life.

A brief romance with a tall, lithe beauty.
Pale face framed in dark hair and eyes that reflected the light in subtle ways I
have rarely seen since.

My white Halloween makeup smeared across her black coat.
Shy smiles and tender moments of touching her heart.
I remember the way soft lamplight illuminated her face.
The way she would brush her hair from her cheek
right before she kissed me.
The way we would dance.
Pearl Jam's first album was our personal soundtrack.

It ended.
She fought very hard to remain friends.
I always respected that.
We became friends later.
The last time I saw her she was still one of the most beautiful creatures I have
ever seen.
something about her kisses always made me shiver.

Every Autumn I think of those times from almost 20 years ago, and where we all are now.
Many victories.
Many changes.
Some tragedies.
I still love every one of those people.

Listen to the music of that time, laugh a little.
These things always make me smile.

the shyness of skylines

A beautiful night in downtown Seattle.
It's warm here. Nice breeze.
This night feels nearly perfect.
Everything made up of glitter and light,
and the occasional glamorous ones strolling by.
Enjoying the company of good friends.
Lots of laughs.
My face loves feeling like this.

I see the crowds wander outside movie theatre windows.
The doors open, I step outside.
Instantly assaulted by a wondrous cacophony of light and sound.
I'm dizzied by the press of happy faces attached to warm bodies,
The buildings of glass and steel reaching delicately,
purposefully,
like jewel-laden hands to heaven.

Looking up they remind me of the ring covered fingers of kings from the old stories.
The kings who became accustomed to wealth and splendor, yet still prayed humbly with outstretched hands for guidance, hoping in their hearts to hear the clear voice of the Divine.
Maybe made it easier to make those difficult decisions that weigh on the conscience in the quiet hours.

Did I ever tell you that sometimes I think too much?

Another night.
I'm performing.
A beauty in light colors and long, dark hair sitting in the front row.
She's smiling, eyes closed,
Weaving and moving to the music in the air.
Each song ends. She claps enthusiastically. Smile is even larger.

I say very little between songs. Just falling into sound and color. Feeling shy.
When every song ends, she looks right into my eyes.Her smile is even larger now.

I would like to take a break between sets and say something to her.
Maybe break the ice.
But I won't.

I know what will happen.
Nice conversation.
A certain tilt of her neck.
An innocent and beautiful smile that won't mean anything at all.
But it will mean something to me.
Always does.

I will see light.
Glittering possibility.
Fluttering hearts and simple poetry.
I will honestly believe that I see the inner beauty that no one else sees.
For a while, I'll even convince her too.
I can be very convincing.

I will invent something in my own damn mind that doesn't and never did exist
and I will start to fall a little.
I'll convince her it is all so real too. So beautiful. For a time.
Very, very convincing when I want to be.

I will hate myself in the quiet hours after reality hits me square in the face and I have to deal with the truth of things.
Again.
I know myself too well.
I don't want to go through that tonight.

Near the end of the night she leaves, waving to me and still smiling with bright eyes.
I smile faintly in return, go back to playing.
The inability to speak or move can be a a very strong action.

A different afternoon.
I'm driving along an open road to another city.
Sky is overcast, a hint of rain.
I can see the water on my right peeking through a wall of greenery.
Overpasses curving gracefully overhead into destinations I can't see.
I turn a corner, see another skyline overhead. The fading light reflecting off of glass and steel is always so beautiful.

Look into my rearview mirror. The woman in the car behind me is all smiles, weaving and moving to the music in her car.
Reminds me of the woman from the other night.
Reminds me that those connections made at performances are much like summer romances.
For a time the heart beats so strong.
Everything becomes vivid, colors are brighter. The world transforms within that space into a place filled with wonder and delight.
You can do anything in those moments.

But, just like a summer evening of hesitant handholding and shining smiles within the comfort of a bar's neon lights,

It will end.

I look again into the rearview mirror, see this stranger smiling and subtly moving to some unknown rhythm.

I took the next exit.