down to earth june 18, 2012

 

we can't defy gravity or time

one always keeps us down to earth

and the other wears us out

the perpetual cycle of rising and falling

we thought of when younger as progress

but we never come back to

the exact same place we started

we just think we do

 it is like a decaying orbit

 in which we fall a few degrees lower

 with a cycle

gravity bringing us lower and lower

 and if we are lucky

 we crash softly

 but as time proves

 we all eventually crash

and if we can we get up

walking where we once flew

down to earth

 

email to Al Sullivan

maybe I can fly out aug 4, 2012

  

I really think she meant well for me

 when she told me not to squirm

a man can't swim in quicksand

no matter how strong he is

she preaching not to the choir

but from it

an elevated a songbird

 who has been here before

looking down at those of us

trapped in the pews below

 it takes more than Faith

to survive all this

 and still more to come to understand

how we got this deep into the thick of it

our knees bruised from prayer instead of pleasure

I really think she meant well

 when telling me not to fight it

not to struggle against something

too far beyond me to win against

you can't swim in quicksand

you just sink faster

 words of wisdom perhaps

 from a songbird who has seen others like me

though she doesn't understand

 I'm neck deep already

and helpless to do anything

but flail my arms and hope

 if I can't swim then maybe

I might fly out of the muck I'm stuck in

 

email to Al Sullivan

One of the boys Nov. 24, 2012

 

I still want to be one of the boys, the stiff crowd, pressing up against her in frightful places, faces flushed, waiting our turn at the troth, the privileged all boys club that gets her as first prize, but only if each does what she tells them to do, and maybe, I once was one, now I’m not, pressed against a bedpost instead, working out my pain, the long, lost sheep whose flock as moved on without me, moaning in the meadow but no one hears, getting what satisfaction I can get from being alone, when in fact I would trade it all away for a chance to be part of the flock again, scurrying behind her, baying for her attention, when I know I’ll never get the chance, watching it all transpire from a distance with other boys, living in a limbo, a non-existence, when all the other boys will get what I want, as long as they wait their turn, and gives her whatever she wants.

email to Al Sullivan

crash course aug 2, 2024

  

I know as little now

as I did back then

when I thought I knew more

 but didn't only that

 she hated me then

 and I know not how

 she feels these days

like flying through storm clouds

and not knowing if lightning will strike

a precarious flight

I take and risk crashing again

this blind flight more than a little insane

 no GPS to guide me only instinct

 when I've already proven in the past

how cockeyed instinct sometimes is

misreading altitude and speed

 unaware if my flaps are up or down

 and just how far above the ground I am

needing some other instrument

to warn me if I am on a crash course

to nowhere

email to Al Sullivan

Thunder and Lightning Aug 6 2024

 

Robert Herrick once wrote

"when love speechless is

 she doth Express a depth of love"

an idea I embrace with my whole heart

 even when this may not be true

 silence may be golden

but it can also be cruel

 the not knowing

 of this way or that

what point on the compass she leans

 and what may seem

 like signs of fair weather

a darkness clings

unsuspected storm clouds

 hovering with their full sails

 filled of thunder and lightning

email to Al Sullivan

Begging until it hurts July 15, 2015

 

I always want what I can’t have, like a beggar, staring through the gate to some Beverly Hill mansion, the long legs, the luxurious lashes, the lips to kiss, and miss, this desperation – too intense to satisfy and so much to rely on what I wish could happen – if only in dreams, if maybe I ask nicely, or persistently, if I crawl on hands and knees, maybe she will be pleases, unlocking the gate to her mansion, for a moment, for a life time, just this one time, me wanting what I can’t have, don’t deserve, yet ant’ resist, persistent in begging, palms up, willing to give her what she desires for just a bit of access, and I wonder, if I asked enough times, for long enough, and seem desperate enough, she might give in, give me what I know I shouldn’t have, while I beg until it hurts.

 

email to Al Sullivan

Those grinding gears May 10, 2012

 

It is always possible to grow,

even after you have assumed

 everything has died,

 the promise of spring held out

, yet still denied,

a slow, mournful stroll through

the dismal landscape life becomes

in the dead of winter.

Spring always follows,

yet not always as soon as we need,

 sometimes a false spring,

 like a false dawn,

raising unrealistic hopes,

 stirring up wishes that may never become real.

After so long out in the cold,

 you’d think you’d be stronger,

 the passion of youth sustaining you

 even as youth fades,

 the Disney tale expressed as fraud

when Toto pulls back the curtain

 to show just how the world really works,

 all those ugly gears grinding.

 

email to Al Sullivan