he is present

the number 33
revisits me nearly everyday
it's my grandfather's way
of letting me know he is present
that and the pennies
found all the time anywhere

he always stopped
to pick up change
and in so many ways
that became the story of his life
dramatically changing
as he would have never imagined
the known and learned became
unknown and foreign
nearly everything forgotten

the number thirty-three
in change left at his grave
nine years now put there
by one of us who knows
he still visits our lives
ironically I can't remember
who put it there
ice skating on a pond
in East Bridgewater
comes to mind a lot
as do the spots in the old house
where I could feel him the most

never fails though
whenever some time passes
between thoughts of grampy bob
the number 33 will appear repeatedly
until I recognize it is
somehow the way he
keeps in contact with me...

clear night

a clear night and I tend
to always drift to the sky
with thoughts and night sounds
less than in years passed
always a dog somewhere barking
outside with smoke and
cold coffee all the warmth
is inside the family is on the inside
hope they all consider me the same
considering only years ago
a complete unknown stranger
suddenly here brought in with a bond
tighter than a rope to walk on

a clear night and bright moon
shining into the street
stars everywhere and nowhere
at once positive and negative
both part of the struggle
call it life and the love
that I am lucky everyday to have
makes me look to look to the sky
and believe everything is possible
the stranger can be a part of the family
his love and the love that brought him here
a clear night for a clearing of the mind...

front step is stone

the front step
is made of stone
even on the warmest
winter night
it's cold under
me when I sit
must be searching
the mind for something
all these nights
no matter where I am
found finally
pick a spot
and collect the thoughts
that accumulate...

this history

days pass
without a thought
recorded as part of
this history
of thought
brought it about here by myself
committed to it no matter
how many days pass
until the next one is put down
under the night sky
and a slight thaw
the sound of the night
is the drip of melting snow
from the roof tops
all through the quiet neighborhood
until the one dog barks
and is let back into his house
days pass
between thoughts
where it used to only take hours
the baby cries where it used to be
silence or the music
that filled the air
with more words
and thought
to inspire and create
this history of words
written continuously
so as not to miss what might
prove to be the most important
thought of all on my grandmother
as the days pass
and turn weeks into minutes
or so it seems...

hanson public library 105

today
decision to take a walk
and advantage of a quiet space
he would've been 88 today
think about him nearly everyday
today
i don't live in his house
but his memories are with me
he read more books than anyone
always reading and eventually
rereading what he might forget
or did
today
all we really have sitting here
among strangers who have their own
today to deal with what are their thoughts
dare i ask or will that create unease among them
today
watched as a beautiful mother loved
her child's child as if her own
and it put love in my heart
there was so much in the room
as i stood at the doorway
it was hard not to be in the way
in a good way of course
today
the cars drive by the window
and long drives through Hanson
as a child come to mind
he lived in the city all his life
he used to drive through Hanson
when he would go out to lunch at his favorite
restaurant in the next town over
memories of yesterday enjoyed
today
on his birthday 88 years later...

pencil thought

on the front step

under the ledge

off to the right

first snow storm

turned windy

and driving rain

an inch and a half

becomes a slushy mess

to walk or drive through

the neighbors driving

to and from their houses

don't notice me sitting here

scribbling in pencil

my thoughts written

while others go about

their day quite differently

keeping a collection of thoughts

some might call them random...

12 hours ago

twelve hours ago
the day began
ice under feet
where water at sunset yesterday
closer and closer
to the shortest day of the year

twelve hours ago
and I am still tired of the grind
can't say for sure
if I love my job or what I do
only can say I love where I am at
trying to stay positive everyday

twelve hours ago
rubbing the sleep from eyes
weary definitely had enough sleep
weary as hell when the day first began
now quite sore from the days work
like everyday

twelve hours pass in
the blink or an eye
or two...

nothing concluded 185

what really matters

or doesn't

wake up and live

master the walk

you walk daily

thinking at random

as always

unavoidable

some just won't

pay attention

everything that is being said

but thought instead

then write it down

so it won't get lost

somewhere

along the way

back to when it all began

Sunday afternoon

full day of work behind

thoughts ahead

most likely all night

and through the morning

and on what is it being

said if anything at all

nothing concluded...

orange blaze

sun setting and the wind blows
it's colder as December is only days away
some birds will stick around all year
and you can hear the wind crawling
down the street bending everything
that doesn't break on it's way by
it keeps on going with no destination

at one time I thought I had it all
but everything was material
and I left it all behind
except my books and my music
still trying to find my favorite songs
after two years still laying out pages
of poetry to be read and judged
at a later date

luckily the page is white or else
it would be hard to see as the sun
disappears behind back yard trees
far off on the horizon there is
an orange blaze glowing
it's today's last light
thoughts being collected here
so they might light me sleep
tonight without restlessness...

stands back

maybe he's not cut out to be
the dad they need
trying to be a better person
in the process
imperfections stare him down nightly
sometimes his desire is
to smash the glass
but he stands back
and breathes in the positive
exhales the negative
the day brought with it
his heart is filled with love
for a family and he wants it
to include three former strangers
one being the love of his life

maybe he's exactly what they need
another imperfect soul to connect
and be there for support
and defend them if need be
there are so many thoughts
they don't even know
what to make of him
and the unraveling of his mind
daily onto page after page
in book after book
until everyone understands...

nothing concluded 184

same theme for so many years

changing as the world around

changes all around if there

exists an actual plan whose

plan is it and who is it for

same beat up older mind

tripping and falling so many

times he might as

well walk on knees and

say a prayer while he is down

nothing concluded never

had a plan only title to

start with and a constant

pen pusher seated at the

blank page steering wheel

plain and simple an idea

of an idea of an idea and on

somewhere until the hand

loses the ability to be the

go between for the mind

the book may get old and

pages creased but words

and the thoughts that

put them in their

place will never die

the story may never be told

properly exhausting every

detail randomly or in order

of time and importance

these volumes may remain

handwritten eternally the writer's

worst nightmare staring

into tired eyes just wanting

to find that inner peace

nothing concluded...

thoughts while reading Frost

under clouds and in the dark
beside himself with thoughts
the pen the page the words
the soil the seeds for a future harvest
keeping the thinker sane
away from some thoughts
and closer to others
putting things in order
and revising older thoughts
as they grow with the thinker
growth forces change
directional change doesn't mean
the focus has to change

under cold conditions
still outside after dark
culling the soil and germinating
seeds someday that fruitful harvest
will come with confidence
everyday is dealt with evenly
and with great care trying to peel
back each layer upon layer
of history and thought
and a harvest that will
last until the last thinker
closes that book on thinking
and experiencing and learning

under a loneliness he creates
not intention merely side effect
not widely discussed or talked about
and forgotten fire burns the feet
everyday but the hand held is warm
and comfortable and never to be let go of
and connected to an island paradise
and permanently tattooed in the mind...

destroyed mind

this mind is destroyed
so much at stake
every day patience
worn thin as these pants
I sit in day after day
shoes torn on the sides
barely covering the right foot

this mind is destroyed
rerunning through all
these mistakes and hurt brought
on others time after time
flipping through old thoughts
trying to make them new again

this mind is destroyed
by only me and in front of me sits
the mistakes I have yet to make
and the people I have yet to hurt
truly hope none of these
bad thoughts hold onto this
destroyed mind

this mind is destroyed
daily to make room
for new creative genius
emerging from under clouds
and heavy rain
the sun was shining
all day long…

warm for November

sitting on the front step like back in Brockton

fifteen years ago the house looked different then

both grandfathers were alive

they knew what we were up against

the poet might not have a style

maybe random regular people bull shit

every day worker  bull shit

both grandfathers strong fighters until the bitter end

as if the end of life could be anything but bitter

the poet might not always find the positive thoughts

somehow pushing through stronger for that determination

sitting front step in a cloud warm for the middle of November

they say it’s a rainy month and the poet soaks

it all in like a thought sponge tired of the grind

both grandfathers stressed how tiring it would get

no matter how hard you work

you will always be tired still they enjoyed

every minute they could…

higher learning

contemplating a change
to challenge the mind
twisting it into an different
space allowing it to expand
on and on
as it should be
has been all along
and has with life
all it’s challenges
the pen has never had
a chance to rest
none of these current
volumes allowed to gather dust
contemplating a change
in a specific direction
focus still on the heart
and who fills it
and this will not change
need to only let
the mind expand
and not get trapped
behind all the words
only needs the encouragement
of the loved
and the determination
to push towards a more comfortable
end to justify the means
call it survival creation
a new outlet to pour on
some of this random thought…

said it before

the country 
has been hijacked
said it before
getting worse 
by the day
we as a people 
need to be willing 
to fight 
for our republic…

traditionally

it’s tradition to start the new volume
within minutes of finishing the last
one thought at a time
poured out onto the table
even if it is portable
even if it is on my lap
out in the cold of a cloudless night

it’s tradition to write out in the cold
or down in that hole
with no one to witness
the power words have
in this life to this writer
breathing this smoke
hoping it isn’t doing too much damage
knowing it can’t be good
somehow it helps unravel this mind
traditionally…

where I take it

from beginning to end

in one place again

finally able to realize home

where I take it

not where I may live

from beginning to end

only hearing the sounds

people in their yards

not the constant traffic

the city where I lived

see the reflection of the sun

as it sets earlier tonight

through the trees behind me

somehow always facing

the west at this time

with me daily where I take it

in this place I don't need direction

home is where I am

the road has turned now many times

following the path I make as I step

from beginning to end

everyday a step forward

never giving up patience is the key

unlocking hope behind and one day

dreams realized

from beginning to end

in one place again

finishing a book

finally able to see that home

where I take it

not where I may have lived...

throw some strange

the mind plays tricks
focusing on the broken
when there is nothing to fix
life is a struggle
that fact is never going to change
life will throw you some good
then it will throw the really strange
downright confusing
never letting go of what matters most
even falling to the ground
helping each other out
half full or half empty
the glass is still a cup
fill it to the top
and lift yourself up
a new found height
no matter how tough
worth every bump and bruise
life is a struggle
that is not going to change
forget being normal
life throws a lot of strange...

we will all be broke

how many have attempted

to stand strong and hold their ground

against tyranny and the hypocrisy of now

short bursts of thought strategically placed

buried within tons of other thoughts

and things that might not make sense to most

at least some will not give up the fight for the republic

if the people don’t have the opportunity

to make more money how is the economy

ever going to get any better

the question answers itself

maybe a population bailout

what the people really need

not a bunch of bankers taking more

money for themselves a matter of time before

everyone will be working for the government

because only the government will have money

and we will all be broke…