Surviving

Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

2017 04 30 Poetry: Soldier April 30, 2017

As the last day of the month casts its lengthening shadow across the scripted page, I am reminded that there are some things that I will never overlook.

Sitting here wondering what to write about, an image spun around inside my head of a man standing in front of a huge rolling machine. The image was of my nephew, 1st Sergeant Michael Lyons, 20 year retired US Marine. The picture was of him standing in front of a massive behemoth of a armored vehicle, which I think is called a Buffalo. There he stood on a road, in the desert, weighed down with body armor, full combat gear, and an M4 gun. As I gazed at the picture my older brother had sent, a rush of emotion ran up and down through me like a convoy on their way to Kuwait. I had never seen this nephew, this man, this soldier as he appeared in the image. His eyes were fixed, his look was determined, and one of his uncles wept a tear of honor and pride for the man, for the soldier, for the praise that I would never adequately find words for.

I am growing older by the day, this is for sure. The older I become, the more I realize how important our bravest men and women are, and how unselfish their sacrifice is, so that we might explore the possibilities afforded to us, by them.

I could go on and on with creative description with this post, but to what end? It would take me the rest of my life to find enough words to applaud their honor, make note of their bravery and admire their force of strength and might.

I had the chance to interview 1st Sergeant Lyons a few weeks ago for an assignment at school, and I was actually nervous, mostly because I wanted to ask him so many things, but had to narrow the questions down to what I thought was most relevant of a hero of mine. And oh what a hero of mine he is.

This is the last day of National Poetry Month, and as I reflect back on the past few weeks, I am very thankful that my path has crossed with you all, for it is a talented path that has joined me.

To the poets of the world, continue to make your music sing loud, for it is now, and will always be the music of a spirited soul.

Take care, and have a great month of May.

Deon

***

Soldier

Snapshot of a soldier, miles from home,
A mission on his mind.
Full heart beating in the desert sun,
Bravery of a special kind.

Stars and stripes sewn to his chest,
Worn with strength and pride.
Unfamiliar roads, a warrior’s quest,
His family by his side.

With freedom ringing in his ears,
He stares with hardened eyes.
Poised to take on any foe,
And protect the child that cries.

A snapshot of a man stared back at me.
I felt his beating heart.
I saw the strength within his eyes.
A strength that would never part.

The few, the proud, the man, the Marine,
The picture tells the tale.
Come home safely, brave soldier of ours,
Your honor shall prevail.

Dedicated to my nephew, United States Marine, 1st Sergeant Michael Lyons,
And all the brave men and women of the United States Armed Forces.
God bless you all.

 

2017 04 29 Poetry: Road Map April 29, 2017

29 down, and 1 to go. Actually, many many more than 1 to go, because it feels like my writing is never finished, and there’s something else that I need to write about. Thousands of words, lines, sentences, phrases, thoughts, descriptions and meanings, all rolled into 7 years of hunting, finding and punching keys, and there’s still something I feel I need to write about.

I never dreamed I would reach the age I am. I never dreamed of being married. I never dreamed of having a child, a son and a grandson. I never thought. I just never.

We lost our power tonight, and I was right near the end of another poem I was going to submit tonight. Unfortunately, I didn’t save the stupid thing, and lost it with the outage, so, below you’ll find another one I just wrote. It’s quite a bit different than the first one, and try as I did, I couldn’t come close to remembering it.

I know, I know, a lot of you are shaking your head right now. Some are thinking what a fool am I, some are thinking about a similar experience, some are just wondering when I’m gonna stop rambling and get on with the poetry.

No matter what the lessons are that we learn, life continues to chug along at a pretty good clip, and that ain’t the half of it.

Ok then. Right. Here we go with my 29th submission for this National Poetry Month. This is actually only my 27th submission, as I skipped two days. Like I told a good friend, I’m still batting over 900, which ain’t too bad in baseball terms.

And away we go! Happy Saturday night to you all, and whatever happens, don’t you ever stop writing.

Best to you all.

Deon

***

Road Map

There’s a road map sketched in my mind,
Taking me to places I’ve already been,
Taking me to places I have already seen,
Taking me to places I will never let go.

There’s a song playing in my mind,
Singing to me a childhood lullaby,
Singing to me some old time rock & roll,
Singing to me some folksy blues.

There are pages turning in my mind,
Reading out loud about a shy, timid little boy,
Reading to me about an unexpected love story,
Reading to me about an incredible non fiction drama.

There’s a movie playing in my mind,
Showing a classic that I can watch again and again,
Showing me an unforgettable theme,
Showing me a fascinating 3D epic drama.

There is an image collage displaying in my mind,
Picturing a life changing gears,
Picturing a life changing lanes,
Picturing a life unfolding a worn and tattered road map.

 

2017 04 28 Poetry: Dive! April 28, 2017

4 weeks and no days ago, it became the 1st of April, and as National Poetry Month steadily made its way to May day, there sat a poetic goat with hopes of making one more submission for the month.

I was gonna write, “I am the goat!”, but as I thought of it, I started thinking of that song that sang about a walrus with buck teeth.

It is the 28th of April, and I am here again with another one of my poems. This one crept up and started laughing at me, like a needed friend that always seems to find the need to get the last laugh.

Accessibility is a gift that I have a hard time with, but need very much. It’s something that provides me access to the digital world, but some days hands me a ticket to Unexpected Variables Avenue. Accessibility is key to the world of zeroes and ones, and although I use it every day, there’s those days that I wish I never knew about it.

The good with the bad comes with just about everything that stomps around on this big blue marble of ours, and as we spin around the sun, the world of assistive technology carefully plots a course for space station cyber.

Ok, ok, enough with the metaphors. Back to reality. Book one, page one, lesson one. All that this life gives us is meant for a reason, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t order that.
What I ordered was, um, was, hmm.

Never mind.

Have a great night and be well all.

Deon

***

Diver Down!

Accessibility is the key.
A digital desire.
One way signs and obstacles.
Tech support for hire.

PDF won’t speak to me.
Word doc’s playing dead.
Update button’s stuck again.
I think I’ll go to bed.

Shift key just went missing.
Backspace can’t be found.
The Tower’s acting really weird,
And makes a beeping sound.

Delete key sits there smiling.
Tab key’s fading fast.
Alt control has lost control.
The end key finished last.

Text to Speech stopped talking.
The six key thinks it’s five.
The mother board is sinking fast.
Dive! Dive! Dive!

 

2017 04 27 Poetry: All I Ever Wanted April 27, 2017

Click the heels and where are you? Does it look like the 27th? If it does, you arrived right on time.

Pretty cool, huh?

I joke sometimes that I’m going to school so that I might figure out what I wanna be when I grow up. I’m still wondering, especially on those days when I feel like I’m a 7 year old blind billy goat that needs a lot of practice trying to figure out how to be a 7 year old blind billy goat. I’m on a mission, and I will take no prisoners, unless they have ample amounts of chocolate.

Truth is, I never really knew what I wanted to be as I was growing up. None of the normal kid answers seemed to fit, and besides, I was too busy having fun being a kid.

Now that the kid has grown, or became a close facsimile, I think back to some of the moments of my youth. It all went by so fast, but some parts, the tough parts, the testing parts, they seemed to last forever. You know, time stands still? Ya, it’s true, or so it seems.

This poem reminded me of so many moments in my life when the learning was front and center. This is my submission for this 27th day of National Poetry Month. The sun came out today, and the warmth felt good on my face.

I hope you all saw the sunshine today.
Take care and be well.

Deon

***

All I Ever Wanted

All I ever wanted was to color inside the lines.
I did a pretty good job, but I colored the man’s face purple.
All I ever wanted was to be a big boy and watch my little brother.
I thought I was doing ok, until I couldn’t find him.
All I ever wanted to do was ride my bike, just like my older brother.
My dad took off the training wheels, and I fell over sideways.
All I ever wanted to do was hit a baseball like Carl Yastrzemski.
I stepped up to the plate, and struck out.
All I ever wanted was to sleep in the top bunk.
I rolled over in the bed and fell 4 feet to the floor.
All I ever wanted to do was ski down the hill like my older sister.
I made it halfway down and took a nasty header.
All I ever wanted was to do a summersault off of the rope swing into the river.
I swung out, tried to summersault, panicked, and splashed with a belly flop.
All I ever wanted was to bravely dive off the wall at the North Gorham swimming hole.
I took a deep breath, plugged my nose, and jumped in feet first, again.
All I ever wanted was to jump the curb with my skateboard.
I reared back, flipped the tip, clipped the curb and took another nasty header.
All I ever wanted was to have a girlfriend in school.
I nervously turned to talk to her and tripped down the stairs.
All I ever wanted was to somehow find a lady to love.
I didn’t have to. She found me.

 

2017 04 26 Poetry: The Gift April 26, 2017

26 days have passed this month of April, and as the feathered flyers make their furied trek north, the buds on the trees yawn and begin to stretch awake.

I love the spring, except for mud season. It really is an amazing time of year as it all starts to wake up from the frozen grips of the old man of winter.

Sometimes the natural gifts are overlooked. I remember each spring, when I would notice a different flowering bush, color of a flower, shades of new leaves, and of course the smells of the first lawn being mowed. That smell, most of all, reminded me of baseball, which I seemed to live for as a youth.

Things come to us in many different ways. Some we have to fight for, some we have to work for, and some just seem to fall in our lap. The ones that matter the most are those things you need to work for and fight for with the fierceness that the warriors were known for. It’s all about the goals, and the journey towards those goals.

Enough rambling from me. This is my submission for this, the 26th day of National Poetry Month, and don’t look now, but the 27th is clicking its heels and heading for Kansas, or New Mexico, or perhaps even Maine?

We’ll have to wait and see.

Have a great night, and an even better tomorrow.

Deon

***

The Gift

Passions peak with a glint in the eye.
A savory taste of reality’s treasures can only impress.
Much to do about what is hoped to be proclaims itself the endeavor.
A fortitude of magnitude enhances the motivation of desire.

Reach out into the unknown and begin the task of making your mark.
A goal awaits patiently with captivated anticipation.
Breathe in deep and praise the gathering rush of a beating heart.
Amazement becomes description as the victor ascends the next plateau.

Revel in the present, as the gift of life embraces thee.
26 days have passed this month of April, and as the feathered flyers make their furied trek north, the buds on the trees yawn and begin to stretch awake.

I love the spring, except for mud season. It really is an amazing time of year as it all starts to wake up from the frozen grips of the old man of winter.

Sometimes the natural gifts are overlooked. I remember each spring, when I would notice a different flowering bush, color of a flower, shades of new leaves, and of course the smells of the first lawn being mowed. That smell, most of all, reminded me of baseball, which I seemed to live for as a youth.

Things come to us in many different ways. Some we have to fight for, some we have to work for, and some just seem to fall in our lap. The ones that matter the most are those things you need to work for and fight for with the fierceness that the warriors were known for. It’s all about the goals, and the journey towards those goals.

Enough rambling from me. This is my submission for this, the 26th day of National Poetry Month, and don’t look now, but the 27th is clicking its heels and heading for Kansas, or New Mexico, or perhaps even Maine?

We’ll have to wait and see.

Have a great night, and an even better tomorrow.

Deon

***

The Gift

Passions peak with a glint in the eye.
A savory taste of reality’s treasures can only impress.
Much to do about what is hoped to be proclaims itself the endeavor.
A fortitude of magnitude enhances the motivation of desire.

Reach out into the unknown and begin the task of making your mark.
A goal awaits patiently with captivated anticipation.
Breathe in deep and praise the gathering rush of a beating heart.
Amazement becomes description as the victor ascends the next plateau.

Revel in the present, as the gift of life embraces thee.

 

2017 04 25 Poetry: Birthday Cake April 25, 2017

April 25 is here at last!

Are you kidding me? Here at last? What the heck happened to the first 24? Did they go by way too fast? Did I write about this already? Repetition, right? Grin

It’s sort of strange knowing that I have been living out here on the ridge for 31 years. It’s even stranger that this house has been here since 1904, which makes it, um, let’s see, carry the two, bring it over and, ok. Man, this house is old!

Well, here it is, time for another poem submission for National Poetry Month. I hope I ain’t boring ya, and I hope you like the following poem, cuz it’s all I got for today.

Anyway, repetition is the main ingredient of life, so take it, and then, take it again.

I hope you have a good Tuesday night, and have fun with it.

Deon

***

Birthday Cake

Sitting here staring at a birthday cake.
A little boy’s smile staring back at me.
A thousand dreams make their way around the room.
Make a wish and you just might see.

A wind up car flies across the floor.
Laughter heard coming from a room upstairs.
Trim your hair for a Friday night dance.
Caring too much about what everybody wears.

Little boy went and grew up too fast.
Echoes still whirl around his bedroom walls.
I can still hear him dash through the house.
I see his smile every time he calls.

I sit here again and I stare at a cake.
It’s not too different from one back awhile,
Except for one unique difference.
It’s my little boy’s little boy that gives me a smile.

Dedicated to my son Matt, and grandson Jack.

Sent from my wicked younger than me Windows 10 Machine.

 

2017 04 24 Poetry: Alt Control J April 24, 2017

24 is an even number, and even though today was an odd day, I don’t regret it, even for a second.

This digital world that I find myself immersed in, tends to bring me to places that several years ago I didn’t know existed. Sometimes I type before I think, and reading many of the pieces that end up on the screen, all I can say is, “I know, right?”

Actually, I have commented many times that the things I type appear on the screen. Truth is, I don’t turn my screen on. No need to anymore really. Still, the guy in the tower keeps pace with my fingers. I like this keypad. The keys are very responsive, and none of them stick. I hate it when that happens.

And again, here we are on this, the 24th day of April, and as National Poetry Month continues to move forward with grace and determination, I will add one more poetic encounter to the impressive collection from a very impressive group of creators.

No matter where you go, there’s a bunch of words waiting to be rhymed with each other.

Give them their due.
Take care and write on.

Deon

***

Alt Control J

Punch the keys and listen.
A synchronized voice calls out through the dark.
Enter key, tab key, alt control j.
Number line ends with a sticky bump.
Question, question, question.

Fingers create from thought.
Lines of text appear out of nowhere.
Does it make any sense?
Does it resemble anything significant?
Be careful not to be repetitive.
Be careful not to be repetitive.
Did the man on the motherboard ship come in peace?
Did the great white arrive from oceans deep?

Just keep typing.
Just keep typing.
Just keep typing.