stuff (a poem for today)

1:01 a.m. and my heart is fluttering
2 hours later and the dog’s nose is wet
but I’m no bet-ter
3:16 JOHN, not the Bible verse, just a bathroom,
cold floor relief
4, then it’s 5, then it’s six-oh-five and
I’m up, and alive.
my heart is fluttering

photo: East Bernard, TX, Holga, Ektachrome 400, dated 1994, cross-processed.

god bless the republic of texas

texas to me is a mishmash of things; butthole surfers, breakfast tacos, photo friends, heat beyond reproach, dumb politicians, pain teens, tobe hooper, chainsaw massacres, loudness and quiet moments and love, life, space, cherubs, emo’s, cheap peeks, odessa and grins.

dog days of summer.

betty on the porch.i looked up and realized that it had been about 9 months since i had posted a photo, a word, a thought or even a burp around these parts. post-election, post-Trump blues? probably. anyhow, here i am back. so maybe a few lines of a poem, unfinished but there…

if the light you like is like warm, red with warmth, yellow, too,
like socks on feet under blanket in the Fall, almost too warm to take, then
snap, not mentally, but the shutter, camera-kind, snap,  put it in a box with glass on.

and you will have captured it. it? the light you like.

betty on the porch. in the light i like.

make that racket.

noise boyz.kicking out the jams is really the best thing.

soccer wounds and scars

soccer-wounds & scarsso after nearly 13 years of watching a boy kick around a ball, chapters of youth soccer, club soccer and high school come to an end. the final high school season saw his team “do better than they’ve ever done” only to end with a thud in a game they should have won and extended their season a bit more. it hurt, games hurt, even the good ones, the wins, they even leave marks.

accolades for a job done well. all-state second team, all-city first team, 4th in balloting for player of the year in lexington and i couldn’t be prouder. but i know he disappointed, plagued by more “grown-up” injuries, a low-back issues, pulled groin, sore hamstring, etc. at times just made it a win to be on the field. he’ll never understand how without him out there the team couldn’t have had the success they shared.

for a pop, there’s a dull pain, countless hours on the road, in shitty hotel rooms off the interstates in ohio, north carolina, tennessee, missouri, indiana, illinois, west virginia, virginia and kentucky. eating what vegetarian fare we could find in the middle of nowhere, laughing at youtube videos, giggling at funny walking locals and smiles, tears, cuss words and more than anything, so much love. i love the game, i love watching him play the game, i love how he was able to see that he was good at something, so therefore he might be able to be good at many things.

soccer leaves wounds and scars, the best kind.

feet, don’t fail me.

feet

after a brief respite from dropping images here, i’m motivated to get kicking, which means get more content, thoughts, words, chortles, and general imagery up here, if for no other reason than for me, myself…I.

so, yeah. here’s a picture snapped on my phone, at Walmart, which truly begs the question…why? why, indeed.

hope. exit.

hope

Throwback to Hope. No, seriously, take that exit.

spring springs.

Holden-2016

with the change of the seasons, the ball begins it’s roll towards goals. off feet, between legs, through the air–not always sure and true but never forgetful of the points that lie in wait.

double exposure.

dblyou can see, be, say, do two things at once. doesn’t mean either of them will be the better for it. may actually be worse for it. but sometimes duality mumbles quietly…something(s) part of both that make a whole.

blurred versions of boys, boyhood and birthdays.

Bomber H.happy birthday to this guy. sixteen he is, sixteen, oh no, it can’t be. has it been that long? i think he was seven in this picture, maybe six, but definitely not eight yet. doesn’t matter. i’m old, these boys are getting old, boyhood has escaped all of us involved. what happened to youth…mine anyway?

so yes, what a boy this boy has become. a young man indeed. so proud of what he does daily, the discipline, the insight to life, the empathy. i’m biased but he is one helluva kid. seriously, he has his own way of carrying himself that denotes a maturity that i’m not even sure i have. so, yeah, proud. pop.

so happy birthday, my boy #2. i hope i am around for about fifty more of these. my love to you always.