I miss you buddy.

This wonderful man allowed the world to love and appreciate the simple things. I have looked up to and learned from him in many ways, as he has been a silent inspiration in my personal life. This simple poem was written by Jimmy Stewart in loving memory of a long time companion.

This is something similar I wrote.
(For my dog, Wrigley)

Your breath was quick and constant;
Your heart could count the time.

You never said you loved me,
Yet you were always mine.

You’d lie up high, there in my lap;
Or down below, beside you sat.

We ran together, played together, rolled together, stayed together.

You were my friend, my love, my companion-

You were my therapist, my doctor, my guardian, my silence, my kleenex, my mentor, my guide, my trainer, my partner in crime, my wingman, my way in, my way out, my way out and about, my comforter, my blanket, my home away from home.

You were my friend, my love, my companion.

Your eyes were strong and sure.
Your heart was warm and pure.

Your legs took us everywhere,
And loved a good detour.

I’d scratch your back and give you some pats,
And you’d never leave me when we took our naps.

I miss your nose. I miss your ears.
I miss your startling, and all your fears.

I miss your wandering without cause.
I miss your fur and all four paws.

But most of all… I miss your voice.
Silent or loud, you spoke to me.

No mutts or hounds, whether bought or found,
Could ever match your love profound.

But now you’re buried in the ground
And when I call, you’re not around.

I can look and search and call all day,
But I know you haven’t run away.

I wish beside me you’d come and lay,
Or come and find me, sit and stay.

You’re not here anymore, but that’s okay.
I’ll always miss and love you anyway.

You were my friend, my love, my companion.

I Miss You.

The Mocking Ore

Streaking stripes arrest my gaze.
They lie stagnant; motionless; silent.
Bleached blocks fill their chasms with void space.
Tall walls of brick build boundaries to contain the great nothing.
Triplet tunnels table-torn mine relief from The Mocking Ore.

“Fill me. Fight me!
Leave me or line me.
Stain me. Sign me!
Flee me or find thee!”

-this is the tone that rings from the mouth of The Mocking Ore.

To My Old Door Mat

You are severely unappreciated.
Your folds and crevasses are now worn and lumpy.
Your original crisp form is now crimped and creased.

You have been stepped on, scuffed up and sullied by the nasties of this world. You’ve been pushed into corners and trapped against walls by the harsh door you are so eternally married to. You are torn and tattered; your hairs are mangled now. You are stained by mud and drowned in water on a regular basis. Boarding restrictions do not provide you any protection from the cruelty of time and nature.

You are beaten down every day, but you have no legs to walk away. You remain. You serve all who enter into your abode and wish them well as they leave without ever acknowledging your hospitality.

Thanks for always being there for me, old friend.

I do not deserve you.

On Being Used

At what point do I draw the line?
When can I say “enough is enough?”

I am too unselfish. I am used
I am too forgiving. I am taken advantage of.

I am my father’s child.
What would he do?
When would he call it quits, pull up anchor and leave?

I am my Father’s child.
What would He do?
When would self-sacrifice and servitude turn to suffering self-inflicted?

I am at an impasse.

Satire about Satire?

Is it possible to write a successful essay or narrative (anything really) concluding that satire is incapable of effectively establishing an argument?

Hmmmm…