"It is what it is" was a saying that a mentor of mine just couldn't wrap his arms around. Being a Russian philosopher he would always give me the saying about the glass being half empty or half filled. I was suppose to accept that way of looking at a "black or white, left or right, has been always will be" kind of way of thinking. I found that I don't have to accept my station in life as a hopeless,helpless pathetic drunk. I learned that I can look at things differently. I found a softer easier way of looking at my life. I came to accept a new way of looking at my reality.
Here is my poem:
Acceptance
Neither is the glass
have empty nor half filled.
The water is exactly
what I have always willed.
Twice as big as needed
the outside is for me
Not pessimist nor optimist
but pure reality.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Self Inflicted Wounds
I had a horrible habit of doing the worst thing at the worst time. I was my own worst enemy and thought I was so unique it this insanity. I was so mistaken.
Here is my poem:
Self Inflicted Wounds
The dog circles his tail in sickness,
returns to eat the vomit it just spat out.
Resultant to partial assimilation of prior acts,
sort of a body language umlaut.
Smoke the stick of cancer,
knowing full well the slow death that it brings.
Eat the salt, fat and sugar cane
to satisfy the uncontrollable cravings.
Living a battered existence,
humiliation day after day.
Returning to find knuckles so hard
once burlap now merely chambray.
Force the beer down to stop the shakes,
not wanting but having to.
Bloodshot eyes, hands tremble with sweat,
skin having the grayish hue.
Self inflicted wounds
there are so many
ways to suffer and die.
But like the dog
returns to the pile,
never knowing really quite why.
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
Self Inflicted Wounds
The dog circles his tail in sickness,
returns to eat the vomit it just spat out.
Resultant to partial assimilation of prior acts,
sort of a body language umlaut.
Smoke the stick of cancer,
knowing full well the slow death that it brings.
Eat the salt, fat and sugar cane
to satisfy the uncontrollable cravings.
Living a battered existence,
humiliation day after day.
Returning to find knuckles so hard
once burlap now merely chambray.
Force the beer down to stop the shakes,
not wanting but having to.
Bloodshot eyes, hands tremble with sweat,
skin having the grayish hue.
Self inflicted wounds
there are so many
ways to suffer and die.
But like the dog
returns to the pile,
never knowing really quite why.
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
Bartender, “Life” on the rocks, with a twist of fate.
Life on life's terms is must easier said than done. I do not let myself sit in my pity but every now and then I give it 2 minutes then I have to let it go. It shouldn't take 2 minutes to read this.
Here is my poem:
Bartender, “Life” on the rocks, with a twist of fate.
Hurt has two paths to follow,
“In” or “Out” of you.
Depending on its origin,
the how, the when, the who.
Can’t always see it coming,
by mistake or from a sin.
“Blindsided” is a sucker punch
when landed on the chin.
After years of living
I say the worst of all,
is when it comes from family,
to my knees it makes me crawl.
How can they treat me this like this?
To say to go away.
Love has left my families hearts,
my presence brings dismay.
When was the last time
you watched a grown man cry?
Come stand before me now today,
my heart just wants to die.
Never in my wildest dreams
I thought life would be so cruel.
Alone I stand in pools of tears
forced fed a bowl of gruel.
Life has a way of saying,
“This is a great impasse”
Blind faith is all I trust in,
a belief “This to shall pass.”
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
Bartender, “Life” on the rocks, with a twist of fate.
Hurt has two paths to follow,
“In” or “Out” of you.
Depending on its origin,
the how, the when, the who.
Can’t always see it coming,
by mistake or from a sin.
“Blindsided” is a sucker punch
when landed on the chin.
After years of living
I say the worst of all,
is when it comes from family,
to my knees it makes me crawl.
How can they treat me this like this?
To say to go away.
Love has left my families hearts,
my presence brings dismay.
When was the last time
you watched a grown man cry?
Come stand before me now today,
my heart just wants to die.
Never in my wildest dreams
I thought life would be so cruel.
Alone I stand in pools of tears
forced fed a bowl of gruel.
Life has a way of saying,
“This is a great impasse”
Blind faith is all I trust in,
a belief “This to shall pass.”
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
You don't know Jack
Back in my peaceful town of Sayville, I met a girl who thought she knew Jack. This is her story, Cheryl you don't know Jack.
Here is my poem:
You don’t know Jack
While strolling the hills of Scotland
with my old friend Johnnie Walker.
Was hard to get a word edge wise
cause Johnnie’s such a talker.
Someone arose mid conversation
I asked, “Do you know Jack”?
He shook his head and told me
to Canada I should go back.
The Canadian Club I did return
to find another caulker.
Though no relation to my friend Johnnie
his name was Hiram Walker.
Again I did address
explaining info I did lack.
“My friend Hiram, might you help me out?
Please tell me, do you know Jack “?
“Go east young man to New York,
a town called Sayville West.
There lives a girl who claims
that she knows Jack the best.
Girl’s name is Cheryl,
blonde and cute,
hung with him in her youth.
I heard it said
she tells the tales
though sometimes long in tooth.
Glory days, in bars round town
on stools or shooting pool.
The both of them were very close
she often played the fool.
Their paths did split,
to much of him,
she never did look back.
But I bet
you seek him out
you’ll find that one called Jack.”
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
You don’t know Jack
While strolling the hills of Scotland
with my old friend Johnnie Walker.
Was hard to get a word edge wise
cause Johnnie’s such a talker.
Someone arose mid conversation
I asked, “Do you know Jack”?
He shook his head and told me
to Canada I should go back.
The Canadian Club I did return
to find another caulker.
Though no relation to my friend Johnnie
his name was Hiram Walker.
Again I did address
explaining info I did lack.
“My friend Hiram, might you help me out?
Please tell me, do you know Jack “?
“Go east young man to New York,
a town called Sayville West.
There lives a girl who claims
that she knows Jack the best.
Girl’s name is Cheryl,
blonde and cute,
hung with him in her youth.
I heard it said
she tells the tales
though sometimes long in tooth.
Glory days, in bars round town
on stools or shooting pool.
The both of them were very close
she often played the fool.
Their paths did split,
to much of him,
she never did look back.
But I bet
you seek him out
you’ll find that one called Jack.”
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
Lover or Enemy
I had a lover, or so I thought, that would stand by me till the end of time. Came to find out that the end of time couldn't come soon enough for this mistress of mine.
Here is my poem:
Lover or Enemy
Watch it make sweet love to you,
doing what it wants to do.
Your spirit's gone, there's no free will,
liquid, powder or a pill.
A lover once, but long ago,
it’s now on permanent furlough.
Your need becomes a large strumae,
no longer friend, but enemy.
Copyright © 2009 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
Lover or Enemy
Watch it make sweet love to you,
doing what it wants to do.
Your spirit's gone, there's no free will,
liquid, powder or a pill.
A lover once, but long ago,
it’s now on permanent furlough.
Your need becomes a large strumae,
no longer friend, but enemy.
Copyright © 2009 Ronald J. Edwards
I'll be waiting
I have a built in forgetter. It's the part of my mind that says "All is good, all is fixed, I am cured".
For me I have to remember that just around the next corner, not far away at all, at an arms length, there it is waiting just for me.
Here is my poem:
I’ll be waiting
Why did you go?
Where have you gone?
We use to be so close.
Side by side,
we’d pass the days,
driving round the boroughs.
Inseparable,
that was us,
together at each event.
Is there a bad taste
left in your mouth?
Did you leave me just for lent?
Doesn’t matter,
have your way,
I can be assuasive.
No grudge to hold,
you'll return,
can't always be evasive.
The day will come,
you’ll want me back,
the thought not much to think.
Come to me
down on your knees,
you’ll beg to take a drink.
A party yes,
a homecoming,
no guests, just you and me.
A cheap motel,
out in the woods,
behind a store or alley.
But till then
enjoy your time,
the image that you’re feigning.
Lurking in your memories,
its there
that I’ll be waiting.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
For me I have to remember that just around the next corner, not far away at all, at an arms length, there it is waiting just for me.
Here is my poem:
I’ll be waiting
Why did you go?
Where have you gone?
We use to be so close.
Side by side,
we’d pass the days,
driving round the boroughs.
Inseparable,
that was us,
together at each event.
Is there a bad taste
left in your mouth?
Did you leave me just for lent?
Doesn’t matter,
have your way,
I can be assuasive.
No grudge to hold,
you'll return,
can't always be evasive.
The day will come,
you’ll want me back,
the thought not much to think.
Come to me
down on your knees,
you’ll beg to take a drink.
A party yes,
a homecoming,
no guests, just you and me.
A cheap motel,
out in the woods,
behind a store or alley.
But till then
enjoy your time,
the image that you’re feigning.
Lurking in your memories,
its there
that I’ll be waiting.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Needs and Wants
I like many people spent huge amounts of time chasing my "wants". Today I have gratitude in receiving what I need.
Here is my poem:
Needs and Wants
Have to get the needs,
life continues without wants.
Getting all the wants,
doesn’t cover all the needs.
Wanting the needs,
not needing wants.
Eating what is wanted,
not needing what is eaten.
Wanting to speak
when listening is needed.
The want to argue
when the need is to reason.
Wanting to strike out
when the need should be to hold.
Wanting all
from everyone
doesn’t alleviate the greed.
But getting things
from just a few
will satisfy the need.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
Needs and Wants
Have to get the needs,
life continues without wants.
Getting all the wants,
doesn’t cover all the needs.
Wanting the needs,
not needing wants.
Eating what is wanted,
not needing what is eaten.
Wanting to speak
when listening is needed.
The want to argue
when the need is to reason.
Wanting to strike out
when the need should be to hold.
Wanting all
from everyone
doesn’t alleviate the greed.
But getting things
from just a few
will satisfy the need.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Just One
I never ever not even once went out to have just one.
Enough said ...
Here is my poem:
Just one
The phone rings Friday afternoon
just round quitting time.
Pete says that Kipling’s serving
cold Corona’s with a lime.
At first I think
that I could go
and have only just one.
If I don’t go
I will miss out
on having all that fun.
“Common” he says
“we’ll have just one,
next day we have to work”.
I always went
and did ignore
a severe knee-jerk.
My elbow is so special
bending exactly
as I want.
To raise the glass
a thousand times
to this idiot savant.
Problem isn’t drinking,
this I sure can do.
My suicides in stopping,
the craving does ensue.
So I laugh each time I hear
“Lets go out and have just one”.
I’d have more luck
with a shot
that comes from my handgun.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Enough said ...
Here is my poem:
Just one
The phone rings Friday afternoon
just round quitting time.
Pete says that Kipling’s serving
cold Corona’s with a lime.
At first I think
that I could go
and have only just one.
If I don’t go
I will miss out
on having all that fun.
“Common” he says
“we’ll have just one,
next day we have to work”.
I always went
and did ignore
a severe knee-jerk.
My elbow is so special
bending exactly
as I want.
To raise the glass
a thousand times
to this idiot savant.
Problem isn’t drinking,
this I sure can do.
My suicides in stopping,
the craving does ensue.
So I laugh each time I hear
“Lets go out and have just one”.
I’d have more luck
with a shot
that comes from my handgun.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Secrets
I had to become entirely ready to be honest with myself and others if I was to continue on my journey of life. Secrets had to be shared and left behind. My forth and fifth step was a freeing of my inner most secrets, some I thought I would take to my grave. I try now to be an open book and turn pages moving on to new chapters of my life.
Here is my poem:
Secrets
Tell me a secret
that no one knows,
I’ll tell you one of mine.
Share a deed
that has been hid,
a crossing of the line.
Dig down deep
I’m sure there’s one,
filed in your private Hell.
I keep mine buried
in my soul,
till He toll’s the bell.
So you think you’re special
or quite unique,
nothing’s new under the sun.
Actions, words
look’s we hoped would kill,
or would have with a gun.
Do you remember when
out with your friends,
off came the wedding ring?
Or when in Vegas
you rolled the dice,
bud-da-boom then bud-da-bing.
Sharing my secrets
I must be ready,
entirely I now know.
When pain of holding onto them
exceeds my fear
of letting go.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
Secrets
Tell me a secret
that no one knows,
I’ll tell you one of mine.
Share a deed
that has been hid,
a crossing of the line.
Dig down deep
I’m sure there’s one,
filed in your private Hell.
I keep mine buried
in my soul,
till He toll’s the bell.
So you think you’re special
or quite unique,
nothing’s new under the sun.
Actions, words
look’s we hoped would kill,
or would have with a gun.
Do you remember when
out with your friends,
off came the wedding ring?
Or when in Vegas
you rolled the dice,
bud-da-boom then bud-da-bing.
Sharing my secrets
I must be ready,
entirely I now know.
When pain of holding onto them
exceeds my fear
of letting go.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
House of Cards
Two years after my wife and I went our separate ways I had to come to terms with my part in the demise of my family and household. I sat and wrote "House of Cards" to myself. I had to see in black and white what I had done in order to understand and learn from it.
Here is my poem:
House of Cards
I built my house
and shuffled,
from the bottom of the deck.
It was not if,
more like when,
that it became a wreck.
I blamed everyone
but myself
for what was in my hand.
Nothing remained
when it came down,
my house was built on sand.
A mirror hanging
in front of me
was where I had to look.
I did not follow
“to thine own self be true”
integrity was forsook.
With pain the mirror
had to become
a window to see thru.
To free me
of my selfishness,
this I had to do.
The world outside
I stood and tried
to look but could not see.
That the world
outside my house
does not revolve ‘round me.
Foundations last much longer
not made
from sand and lime.
They must be built
on bedrock,
to stand the test of time.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
House of Cards
I built my house
and shuffled,
from the bottom of the deck.
It was not if,
more like when,
that it became a wreck.
I blamed everyone
but myself
for what was in my hand.
Nothing remained
when it came down,
my house was built on sand.
A mirror hanging
in front of me
was where I had to look.
I did not follow
“to thine own self be true”
integrity was forsook.
With pain the mirror
had to become
a window to see thru.
To free me
of my selfishness,
this I had to do.
The world outside
I stood and tried
to look but could not see.
That the world
outside my house
does not revolve ‘round me.
Foundations last much longer
not made
from sand and lime.
They must be built
on bedrock,
to stand the test of time.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
My Bridge
As most people I came to a point in my life where I had to rely on blind faith in order to continue living. Faith, the assured expectation of things to come though not yet beheld. I have faith in my higher power who I choose to call God, to see me thru my day. Somedays that is all I have, faith.
Here is my poem:
My Bridge
Destinations have a start
a place called the beginning.
My journeys for strange reasons
are related to my sinning.
Running, walking, tripping
not always on a road.
No matter where I wished to go
I had a heavy load.
There was this time a cliff appeared,
a chasm deep and wide.
Without a plan for this abyss
to cross its great divide.
Frozen within solitude
my thoughts often misguide.
They said to stay just where I stood
“What’s on the other side”?
Carrying baggage so heavy
my hands about to break,
straining hard without release
the pain was hard to take.
“Free your self, just let go
of this heavy load.
If you want to travel on
a bridge will be your road”.
Whence came this voice that spoke to me,
was without place or being.
A bridge appeared across this span
doubting what I was seeing.
Who or what would care so much
to make this bridge for me?
The distance far, the fall so deep
“Is this my destiny”?
I stood alone that point in time
not knowing if I should go.
Was then I noticed from behind
a wind began to blow.
The force increased against my back,
a gentle nudge at first.
Within this wind new thoughts blew in
“This bridge should be traversed”!
Letting go the handles
that cut into my hands.
My baggage fell away from me,
resolve became my stance.
Fear no longer had me
in its grip so tight.
I listened to the words I heard
to cross that bridge was right.
This is what blind faith is,
my bridge is a belief.
That my care and keeping
will come for my relief.
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
My Bridge
Destinations have a start
a place called the beginning.
My journeys for strange reasons
are related to my sinning.
Running, walking, tripping
not always on a road.
No matter where I wished to go
I had a heavy load.
There was this time a cliff appeared,
a chasm deep and wide.
Without a plan for this abyss
to cross its great divide.
Frozen within solitude
my thoughts often misguide.
They said to stay just where I stood
“What’s on the other side”?
Carrying baggage so heavy
my hands about to break,
straining hard without release
the pain was hard to take.
“Free your self, just let go
of this heavy load.
If you want to travel on
a bridge will be your road”.
Whence came this voice that spoke to me,
was without place or being.
A bridge appeared across this span
doubting what I was seeing.
Who or what would care so much
to make this bridge for me?
The distance far, the fall so deep
“Is this my destiny”?
I stood alone that point in time
not knowing if I should go.
Was then I noticed from behind
a wind began to blow.
The force increased against my back,
a gentle nudge at first.
Within this wind new thoughts blew in
“This bridge should be traversed”!
Letting go the handles
that cut into my hands.
My baggage fell away from me,
resolve became my stance.
Fear no longer had me
in its grip so tight.
I listened to the words I heard
to cross that bridge was right.
This is what blind faith is,
my bridge is a belief.
That my care and keeping
will come for my relief.
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
They took the wrong finger
Being sober is a life or death situation for men like me. Time and time again I read about the passing of those who thru their use and abuse of alcohol die from disease. Some meet their end while driving or at the hands of another drunk driver. This poem is about the loss of life by his own hands.Nine fingers Gary found that life was just not worth living and while under the influence ended it all.
May you rest in peace Gary.
Here is my poem:
They took the wrong finger
Early that morning
with the sound of the waves
he sat in his car all alone.
The black hole returned,
swallowed him whol,e
turning his future to stone.
Nine fingers he had,
they all worked just fine,
that night he needed just one.
If only the doctor
knew what was to happen
he’d of cut off the one used for a gun.
Gary found that place
deep in his head
the reality all of us dread.
Darkness and pain
are lord of this realm
those who enter all end up dead.
Rest in peace my friend
may God forgive
what you’ve done on Valentines Day.
I hope and I pray
that I never take
that same path to end up that way…
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
May you rest in peace Gary.
Here is my poem:
They took the wrong finger
Early that morning
with the sound of the waves
he sat in his car all alone.
The black hole returned,
swallowed him whol,e
turning his future to stone.
Nine fingers he had,
they all worked just fine,
that night he needed just one.
If only the doctor
knew what was to happen
he’d of cut off the one used for a gun.
Gary found that place
deep in his head
the reality all of us dread.
Darkness and pain
are lord of this realm
those who enter all end up dead.
Rest in peace my friend
may God forgive
what you’ve done on Valentines Day.
I hope and I pray
that I never take
that same path to end up that way…
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
My Symbiotic Creation
I wrote this next poem after a discussion with a friend about "Harbor of Resentment". it describes what a resentment actually is, at least to me.
Here is my poem:
My Symbiotic Creation
Spawned from most anything,
only I can feed its growth.
Always by my side
Day after day being my constant companion.
When I retire it invades my dreams
robbing me of sleep.
Solely waiting for me when I wake up.
Freeloading on every vacation.
I pay heavily for its existence
while affecting my outlook on life.
It makes me eat less and drink more.
It makes me do things I don’t want to do.
It destroys my happiness and serenity.
All I have to do is learn to forgive and it dies.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my poem:
My Symbiotic Creation
Spawned from most anything,
only I can feed its growth.
Always by my side
Day after day being my constant companion.
When I retire it invades my dreams
robbing me of sleep.
Solely waiting for me when I wake up.
Freeloading on every vacation.
I pay heavily for its existence
while affecting my outlook on life.
It makes me eat less and drink more.
It makes me do things I don’t want to do.
It destroys my happiness and serenity.
All I have to do is learn to forgive and it dies.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Characters
My home town is Sayville Long Island New York. It's a small seashore town that I have lived in for the last 20+ years. I have come to know many a character here. Thus poem is about the few I call frieinds.
Here is the poem:
Characters
Over in the corner
always waiting to converse,
Big Mike plays Captain America,
King of the Universe.
There’s Robbie the Hat,
Joey Fingers,
and Friday Evening Bob,
Sean,Tamara, Donna,
Allan, Mike and Rob.
My good friend
Lenny the Weasel,
who always has something good to say.
Then there’s the guy
on bicycle
who lives down by the bay.
Milt, Peter, Norman
Billy,Pam and Roseann,
Cheryl, Chris and Jimmy
make up this merry band.
Last names are never spoken,
a dollar and a dream.
It’s just few words
that are used
to be among this team.
Characters each and everyone
we talk and sometimes groan,
of times we can relate to
and know were not alone.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is the poem:
Characters
Over in the corner
always waiting to converse,
Big Mike plays Captain America,
King of the Universe.
There’s Robbie the Hat,
Joey Fingers,
and Friday Evening Bob,
Sean,Tamara, Donna,
Allan, Mike and Rob.
My good friend
Lenny the Weasel,
who always has something good to say.
Then there’s the guy
on bicycle
who lives down by the bay.
Milt, Peter, Norman
Billy,Pam and Roseann,
Cheryl, Chris and Jimmy
make up this merry band.
Last names are never spoken,
a dollar and a dream.
It’s just few words
that are used
to be among this team.
Characters each and everyone
we talk and sometimes groan,
of times we can relate to
and know were not alone.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
That One Thing
Now here is an interesting little story that turned into a poem. In my previous posting "Characters" I speak of a man called "Big Mike". Let me tell you the name fits him to a tee, the guy is huge. Well he shared with me and my good friend Lenny some of the most important information that I will ever need to hear. This episode was the making of " That One Thing".
Here is the poem:
That One Thing
While sitting as I always do
an evening spent at best,
reading from the big book
up here at Sayville West.
One by one we took a turn
talking from the heart,
sharing times and where we’ve been
and how it all did start.
In came a man that we all knew,
Big Mike he’s kindly called.
He nodes and smiles when he talks
and shares how he was mauled.
Well it was like most other evenings
till he turned around,
whispering to Lenny,
I heard not but a sound.
What was said to Lenny
made him turn to me.
For what Mike said was “that one thing”
and it would set me free.
He said there only was one thing
that would keep me from a drink.
He asked me do I know that thing?
I had to stop and think.
“One thing” I thought
what could it be?
My mind did draw a blank.
There were so many
times in my life
that I just sat a drank.
I looked at him and shook my head
and said I did not know.
That one thing did elude me,
my curiosity did grow.
Big Mike smiled a smile
that made me glad
that he was not a foe.
So I listened closely
to what he said,
standing toe to toe.
He said “ Ron, there is one thing
to keep you from a drink”.
That one thing then he shared with me
that made me stop and think.
It was very simple,
that one thing for us all.
His answer to this riddle,
that one things “alcohol”.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is the poem:
That One Thing
While sitting as I always do
an evening spent at best,
reading from the big book
up here at Sayville West.
One by one we took a turn
talking from the heart,
sharing times and where we’ve been
and how it all did start.
In came a man that we all knew,
Big Mike he’s kindly called.
He nodes and smiles when he talks
and shares how he was mauled.
Well it was like most other evenings
till he turned around,
whispering to Lenny,
I heard not but a sound.
What was said to Lenny
made him turn to me.
For what Mike said was “that one thing”
and it would set me free.
He said there only was one thing
that would keep me from a drink.
He asked me do I know that thing?
I had to stop and think.
“One thing” I thought
what could it be?
My mind did draw a blank.
There were so many
times in my life
that I just sat a drank.
I looked at him and shook my head
and said I did not know.
That one thing did elude me,
my curiosity did grow.
Big Mike smiled a smile
that made me glad
that he was not a foe.
So I listened closely
to what he said,
standing toe to toe.
He said “ Ron, there is one thing
to keep you from a drink”.
That one thing then he shared with me
that made me stop and think.
It was very simple,
that one thing for us all.
His answer to this riddle,
that one things “alcohol”.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
Last Chance Hotel
In a cold winter January I found myself at my lowest bottom. I was helpless,hopeless and homeless sleeping in the back of my truck spiritually and physically bankrupt. If not for Lenny I would still be there if not and most likely dead. I wrote this poem shortly afterward to make sure I never forget where I can end up again.
Here is my life saving poem:
Last Chance Hotel
Sleeping in my car
temperatures so cold.
No money in my pockets,
everything was sold.
Nowhere left to rest my head,
doors once open now are shut.
Under a bridge, out in the woods
or make a cardboard hut.
The cold cruel world
is all that’s left,
averted eyes don’t look at me.
They just walk by
turning their heads,
pretending not to see.
Street life is unforgiving,
hard gutters will demean.
Memories don’t help here,
or places where I've been.
Thank God for those two fellows,
Bill W. and Doctor Bob.
Cause it was in their actions,
that I no longer have to sob.
The rooms where soon provided
for people living in this hell.
The price to enter everything,
at the last chance hotel.
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
Here is my life saving poem:
Last Chance Hotel
Sleeping in my car
temperatures so cold.
No money in my pockets,
everything was sold.
Nowhere left to rest my head,
doors once open now are shut.
Under a bridge, out in the woods
or make a cardboard hut.
The cold cruel world
is all that’s left,
averted eyes don’t look at me.
They just walk by
turning their heads,
pretending not to see.
Street life is unforgiving,
hard gutters will demean.
Memories don’t help here,
or places where I've been.
Thank God for those two fellows,
Bill W. and Doctor Bob.
Cause it was in their actions,
that I no longer have to sob.
The rooms where soon provided
for people living in this hell.
The price to enter everything,
at the last chance hotel.
Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards
Pieces of the Puzzle
I found this picture on the internet and could relate to it immediately. It is an album cover to a band in Scotland called Biffy Cylro and I thank them for letting me use it here.
I started writing a new book after completing "Experience,Strength and Hope" and needed a title for it. I new this was it "Pieces of the Puzzle". I'll let the poem speak for itself
Here is my poem:
Pieces of the Puzzle
When young an innocent
the feeling is quite known.
The wholeness being one
is absent though I’ve grown.
Carved and jig sawed internally
not present from outside.
When looking in the mirror
I want to run and hide.
It’s like vitaligo
of the spirit and the soul.
There’s times that I lose patches,
painting on them to look whole.
Pieces of the puzzle,
don’t always fit
where they came from.
That’s when I’m dragged
along the ground,
forced in place until I’m numb.
But over time these pieces,
somehow begin to fit.
I always have that one piece,
that falls out when I sit.
That one piece is the main piece,
most important in my life.
I hope it stays and does remain
to help me end my strife.
Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards
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