We Don’t Always Get Up

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We Don’t Always Get Up

Born my son
of youth,
My pride
shadowed you,

Our long talks
sitting under the stars,
Your wisdom
learning astounding.

You followed me,
To the sky,
Your letters,
soothed ego,
in uniform you came,
healthy and strong.

Randomness comes, without warning,
Chaos follows, tragedy forms,
Every rising
sun it hides,
Limping up my path,
Gunshot one leg,

You a ghost decimated by meth,
My heart bled, my love insane,
weak, sick,

Meth demon chained,
withdrawal, horror for all,

Detoxing,rehab came,
Daily classes, groups and counseling,

Fell on meths ears and a mind so distant,
likewise wife impaled,
two little girls came,

Wasn’t long
Meth summoned you back,
she had a grimy fist,
grasping your soul,

girls gone,
No family,
A Spector,
of the haze,
Abandoning goodness,
for Satans crumbs,

We watched you implode,
only love remained,

Your Wife descended down in your darkness,
Her daughters lost their mother,
Your hand
sought a rope,
many times,

But the demons could not be restrained,
Our pain ebbed and flowed,
The tidal shift’s,
drifted hope to sea,
Only love remains,

Soon came rising waters,
height of our faith,
All was well,
no horizon,
nor darkness,
we saw,

I cried,
I prayed,
maybe sooner should I,
But Randomness
and Chaos,
checked our god,

We each fell like dominos, sheep off a cliff
following
No hope,
no faith,
nor love could
I taste,

My heart became stone,
heavy and throbbing,
Son of youth,
No longer can
I shadow you,

I can only lay you in a velvet box,
hidden away
with my grief,

Yes Chaos and Randomness,
are the true gods of man,
is a two edged sword....

Can something come from naught,
while asleep,
I weep,I weep.

By James Kirk-Wiggins (c) January 2020, All rights reserved

Two Lovers Diverge

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TWO LOVERS DIVERGE Inseparable in university days, Loving botany in myriad of ways, We dreamed as one each night, Entranced, same stars in sight, Our fantasy the Appalachian trail, Science was the official tale, Yet, what circled our mind, delights in each other, sure to find, A journey of days we laughed, prepared, No fear, trepidation, nothing scared, As the beginning of the Tarot fool, All would be as a precious jewel, Our discoveries on the trail we shared, Excited, happy, so focused, what we bared, Nights we chatted stumbling over the other, Love softly spoke, blinded, going further, Many days, tiring treks, weather, and hail, Our energy sometimes did fail, Then a wave of love, again did rise, beauty shimmered in those eyes, One day, I know not when, Our interest did not blend, Trees I felt, loved, was fauna warmed her delight, Different sparks, thus we studied at night, Less and less common arose a test, Whether climbing or at rest, Of mundane we talked, of weather, of camp, Words fell down, flickered, it was an empty lamp, Her spite and anger, would flair, Emotions I couldn’t settle nor prepare, Many days, we trekked, two by two, alone, I, she I think, looked past, we saw home, Confused, begin again? Impediments others never passed, we, I, her, overcame, Yet, did sands flow down, now time depart, I sighed, in pain, alone, to start, As they say; I counted the cost, Joy, love, wonder, all to be forgotten, lost, I traveled long, was late, never love again? But, I can live in these clouds, shadows, rain, I don’t know. I wait. I wait. By James Kirk-Wiggins

A Christmas Poem

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Prologue:

Our journeys, if fortunate are long, we may redeem the past many times. Our history isn’t us. Just learn and let it go. We are the present, with new attitudes, personalities, temperaments, emotions and so much more than we were at any past epoch.

The characters and events do not represent any persons living or deceased.  It’s easy to see yourself in a story written by a friend or family member. We often feel the minister is preaching to us. Writers only have so much personal experience, they must pilfer your moments, while they eavesdrop.

 

PART 1

In a time, past, was Christmas eve,

A tense quietness spread throughout the house,

No one wanted attention not to dare even a mouse,

Dad snoring on the couch, didn’t see our mother leave,

 

 

Dad came home two hours late,

Said, “he was drinking at the club with Casey and his son,

He left early, a little before eight,

What the hell he bellowed, I work hard just a little fun,”

 

 

Mother said the boys wanted to open just one present,

Dad stared , “every year the same, “NO”,

“We open them Christmas morning, all Santa had sent,”

Mother also was drinking, and said, “Why the hell no, and NO.”

 

 

Dad walked to the tree looking at the presents in disgust,

Mother said why are you always like this,

“Open all of them” he shrieked, “IF YOU MUST!”

Then he kicked and broke every toy, not even one did he miss,

 

 

The night before Christmas it was very quiet in our house,

Nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.

 

 

PART 2

The two boys’ clothes were tattered,

Yes, their hair was long, had Nana brought a toy?

Grandma would fuss, but it hadn’t mattered,

Their smiling dirty faces shinned Christmas joy,  

 

 

Early the boy walked the cold wood floor,

To the living room, lighting the old ceramic heater,

From the one bedroom the others poured out the door,

Warming hand and feet at their only heater,  

 

 

Money was short dad said,

Gas went off at night,

The boys saw only the gifts instead,

And the shinning Christmas light,  

 

They played with the few new toys,

Having fun, the two boys,

Dad ask one for some water to drink,

The boy ran quickly to the kitchen sink,  

 

 

His head swooned, what had this meant,

He gasped at what he eyed,

Back to his brother he went,

Pulling his shirt to show what he spied,  

 

 

Two beautiful red bikes sat on the floor,

They turned around and dad leaned against the door,

Merry Christmas he said, I sold my car,

but will ride the truck instead.

 

EPILOG: These two stories have much to teach us beyond the obvious. You see the two boys in both stories were the same boys, just older as was the father. It reveals to us the enormous change possible in who we are and how others, including our families may perceive us. Often family and friends still view us as our past, a sad indictment on love and evolving life.  This story reflects the resilience in children. Love does cover a multitude of sin, in us all.

Written by James Kirk-Wiggins (c) 2019, All Rights Reserved

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