A.G.E's Joint

Port too long No tall ship wanting  To sail away  To Parts unknown I am but a loser who Gets lucky From the sympathy  of the passerby My call to sea Was shortened By a the fear Of the riptide Of the undertow From fears and dreams I am but a Shadow Captain A fly on the wall Dolphins breach Thirty feet offshore Calling me to play I scoff at their gall This son  Of a son of a sailor Only crabs on shore now No vessel to loan _____________________________________________________________________________ Picture (c) Don Teuton, Savannah GA 2012, 2013

There she was. Again. But it couldn't be.  I went to the funeral.  I personally kissed her cold lips in the funeral home after signing the Cremation papers.  Told her good bye and wished her peace after her long struggle. And I walked out. wondering where I was going to do. All there has been for five years is emptiness, existing on vodka and smack. Sun isn't bright. Night isn't dark.  Been with a few women and  a couple of men since.  None of the relationships were right.  Just cold comfort and self inflicted pain to erase the memory, marking my time and until time to face the cremation pyre.  But here she is in the mirror. Smiling?  For what?  I can't reach through the glass. When she first came, I thought I must have had something slipped into my drink.  I wanted to run, but I found myself transfixed by the hazel eyes and curly hair.  Must be something in the Horse doing it.  Maybe I should stop chasing her.  The dragon of my past. She came again a few da

Bed is empty now. Lipstick smeared on my pants Ribbon tied on the bed post As a reminder Was she pretty? Through the bottom of the glass, Yes. Harold's came in to view As night bloomed over the ocean Weary and dry, I pulled in. Ponytail behind the bar Put tequila in a glass And my life into A spin. Whiskey voice turned my head Blond by choice and lined by sun Rode hard all her life Still looking for a Prince In this pond of toads The next was to be kissed. Sharing stories of hurt Of cheating and deceit, Hating people and loving persons Making all the wrong choices We knew there was one more To make. The room was spare In the old seaside place Ocean breeze came through the cracks. She opened the jalousies so we Could rock in time with The surf. I loosen the yellow ribbon Covering her bust And drank deeply From her well Returning the favor, we were Fighting our fears In place. Dawn cracked and she left. Had to tend bar day shift. She

Hello.   Kenny Kitty here.   I know you were expecting a story from Christopher.   He was a bad human this week.   He attempted to substitute Alpo for my normal diet of baked organic chicken.   He must think I am some sort of animal or something. And when he put on the horrible smelling flea goop; I had to put my paw down. He was ruining my street cred with the ladies.   I clawed him severely and sent him to his crate for the week.   Through his whimpers, he mentioned something about a story due and begged me to let him out.   Humans need discipline, but I did take pity.   So, gather around Kittens.   Listen and learn… Once, there was a small cabin on a lake.   A young couple lived there and they were in love.   They woke each other with a kisses and retired in the evening with a cuddle.   All was good except one thing.     They had been together long enough that human kittens should have come, but fate had not smiled on them up to that time.   There had been questions o

Another night We meet Knowing it is wrong Others depend on us Others want our time But we steal away Here to the belfry The finest of hours As the others Sell the sky. You fall on me. Two against Disapproving eyes Serious case Of Affection Against the powers Of Minitrue And Doublespeak. Consequences Tasting like Pecan rinds Drying my mouth As rats Nibble at noses. Should I die? Yes.

Half my life ago. That is a bad topic for someone in their mid fifties. Even saying that is admission that I am more than half way to the exit. Working at this little retail start up with the big orange idea. With four semi crazy people that knew they could do hardware better. Seventy hour weeks. Cold pizza from the Thursday Night marketing meeting eaten for breakfast on Friday. Going from four stores To eight To twenty six. To fifty five when I left, exhausted three years later. Leaving a fortune behind. Bitter? No.  I wasn't cut out to be rich. I would have been miserable. But Bernie Marcus is still the coolest person I have had the pleasure to know. 

One by one the guests arrive The guests are coming through The open-hearted many The broken-hearted few And those who dance begin to dance And those who weep begin Welcome, welcome , cries a voice Let all my guests come in From "The Guests" by Leonard Cohen When I was little, I had imaginary friends. We'd gather in my room and talk over apples and ginger ale.   I would talk to them and change my voice to have them answer me.  My family thought I was strange.  And, indeed, I was. I had to be strange to navigate the waters of an alcoholic couple who were completely incompatible with each other.  Add to it, four other siblings doing much the same thing, there was always great drama around. So, my friends were my way to escape, and the central "I" stayed back in the control room of my brain to make sure none of them totally took over. Yes, Dis-associative Disorder (sometimes called "split personality") is something I have always been intimat