trapped otherwise

don't know what to say

or how to say it right

in the middle of another summer day

lone guitar heard

through the backyard trees

carried as the wind picks up

and brings it louder

to the untrained ear

it sounds out of tune

in here for an eye full

of words poor conveyors

of these thoughts

trapped otherwise

never fully realized

how important it is

to move the pen daily

meditations to better the self

blinded in the afternoon

sun rise this morning

was picture worthy

snap shot to begin

the day is right here...

old thirty-three

sometimes haunted by

thoughts from the old house

words written forever trapped

the back of wood panel walls

never to be seen again

the piece never to be completed

sometimes haunted by the thoughts

from the basement

at old 33…

slight breeze

the kind of heat

when the slightest breeze

feels cooler than the last

might be the imagination

rumble in the distance

sounded as real as the sweat

running down forehead

onto the page below

the boy uses a sprinkler

under a trampoline

to cool down

flipping over and over

and then he will tire

lasts about fifteen minutes

the kind of heat they call oppressive

the humidity makes it hard to breathe

still it makes every breeze appreciated

and anticipated like tonight’s rain

as if the first in days

which it is how many hot ones

before the cooler air

comes back around…

nothing to do

sun is shining and the air is heavy

no one reads poetry

if they do I don’t know them

well enough to tell them I have

something or nothing to say

boring myself would be an understatement

at this point I need a GPS for life

sun is shining through a hazy sky

looking down to where I sit

daily trying to understand

why I put pen to page

and used to do it daily

as if I had something to say

or was it nothing to do…