The Field Manual

After writing some letters home, the author
has decided to pack his bags, whatever
writing materials he can find floating around
the house & he will soon start up
his car; exactly where he is going
& how long he'll stay gone is beyond us.
To tell you the truth, he isn't that avid
about wanting to tell us where he's going
or when he'll return home & never was
in the first place, as some of us
have found out for ourselves.

A light rain falls...It is late morning
when he sets out for wherever on earth
he's going. The road is slick & wet
but with the confidence & poise
of someone who has mastered
every weather condition handed to him,
he is unperturbed; an unshaken discipline,
a commanding sense of purpose
confirm their presence in his eyes' fixed gaze.
One look at the man tells you
everything about his life's work:
when he says he's getting into a car
& won't tell you where he's going
or much less how long he'll be away
from here, each word that he says
is meant, complete in sincerity.

No need to make a call unless the need
should arise: the lines he is on
are already busy enough. For the author,
there is work waiting to be done
elsewhere & it needs to be
completed without the slightest hesitation.
He knows this as much as anyone else:
that his writing is like a task for him,
not just a livelihood, a simple hobby
which he delves into from time to time.
His writing is his life & vice versa.
Where others get all flowery & speak
a language which defies sound categorization
or comprehension, this author
speaks from the heart, from his very soul;
every work he has done through today
has been heartfelt & from the looks
of things - yes, even during this trip he's on -
he's not about to cease delivering
messages with impact & power anytime soon.

So he goes on, a traveler among many:
The road seems endless as his horizons,
his visions & goals; in his heart of hearts,
you can almost hear him say,
"No one can keep me from doing
what I have always enjoyed the most."
His ink never runs out of hope
or courage. But neither does
the man himself, hands planted
on the wheel, eyes directed
to the road ahead of him:
he knows why he's out here
on the road on a dreary day
such as this one. You don't have
to ask: you just know why
without having to say a word.
He's finding something more to
speak about, some more rays
of hope for us to cling to boldly
through these changing times.

Soon he'll settle down, his journey all over
& done, get himself some grub,
well, who knows, even a drink or two...
But the singleness of purpose
which brought him here to begin with
still remains unaffected: there is no
turning back until his work is finished,
until he gets the last word in his notebook.
For the author of our days, nothing
ever remains incomplete for long:
He's always at work, it seems, even when
common sense tries to get the upper hand
& say, "Time off. Once & for all."

But why is that? you ask.
His life is a work in progress & the same
could easily be said of our own lives as well.
That's what makes writing for him
such an adventure: it was never
meant to be a simple chore, a hobby.
His writing is his life captured in
full detail on page after page,
thought after thought which races
down the highway leading to who knows where.
It is his task & his task alone,
something which (with God's help)
he truly takes lots of pride in.

Aftermath

The morning after the night before:
who woulda thought that life
could become so carefree,
so chock full of randomness?

We're halfway through this weekend
& it seems that we've already
gone past the point of rescue,
we stumble out of bed,
as hungover as one can be.

Oh well.
It's time to start over,
turn a new leaf.
Tonight's craziness will never equal
last night's.

How did we make it through
this morning unscathed?
Beats me.
It surprises me still
how we can go on with
our routines as usual
after such mayhem,
such wildness.

But may the truth be known:
we'll never quite top the fun we had
last night & that's a fact
we can't deny.

Jack O' Lantern

The time for celebration
is now here. First off, one needs to head for
the nearest liquor store
& buy whatever on earth
needs to be bought for the main event.
Secondly, one should have a game plan
on how this very night is going to begin:
with beer pong, with flippy cup...
Last but not least, one should be prepared
to arrive at the party dressed up,
ready to make some noise.

We're here for the party & we're here
to live it on up until early the next day:
no telling when we'll make it
back home, half addled, half hungover
from this latest spate of festivities
we're now having. All we know is
this: Tonight we're dressed up
for the occasion & not even time
can slow us down one iota.

As for guests, it's always a good feeling
to know you should have a list
at your side when you start
checking folks at the door
(to find out who got invited to
your extravaganza & who didn't
get the invite). We don't want
no trouble on this night so if this duder
or that duder
were persona non grata
on the guestlist they can't enter
this house, & there are no ifs,
ands or buts about this rule.
If they want to start a row
about not getting in, too bad:
they can voice their complaints
all they desire & yet, & yet
they shall remain unheard.

Of all nights, tonight is craziness
par excellence. Next question is,
how will you prepare yourselves
for next year's events? Well,
the first three suggestions
which began this piece are simple
enough to follow & should be
taken to heart...The rest
is up to you to decide so plan
accordingly.

Near Trackside

Once again
the wind is warm
& it has been
quite some time since
we last visited
this place:

from here
one can see the plumes
of billowing smoke
& steam dispersing
from the Union Pacific
diesel locomotive
just down the track

from where we're presently
standing. It is from here
that one can hear the harsh,
shrill whistling of the CSX
train signaling its entrance
into our neck of the woods.

It is from here where we
can get a bird's-eye view
of this railway line, always
at work, always on the go.
The silences which follow
each & every train's passing

are few & far between.
From here, one sees
daylight as much as
the darkness: at night,
the headlights of
an oncoming train

are enough to make
one think twice about
staying out here,
passing time on the rails.
Get out of the way
or else, the front locomotive

beckons.
The wind is warm,
the sky is clear:
life is still good
out near the mainline,
where all the action is.

Field Day

Any second now:
Soon it'll be time to rake up
plenty of leaves from the lawn,
walk in the park
to reflect/meditate
on how suddenly
this season has arrived,

time to get into the car
& go, just leave -
who needs to know where.

Any second now:
Soon it'll be time to brave
the cool air & rain,
somehow try to make it
inside before getting all soaked...

Such is life in a place like this.
You have no idea of what
the weather's going to be like
from day to day.

Any second now
it'll be time to make the most
of life while still outdoors
so we do whatever it is
we feel like doing
& pass away the hours
as if there was no tomorrow.

"Celebrate we will..."
So we shall while the sun is out,
while the sky is clear
& while warmth still is in the air.

All Clear

Early autumn. The leaves
are finding their way
off of the trees & onto
the ground, the sidewalks,
onto the roads & streets.
The air is cooler now
since this month has arrived.

All of this time
I have waited for moments
like these to take place,
to find their fulfillment
in scenes like this.
This is the inception
of a new season,
with another one closing in
before we know it.

On days like these
nothing beats the sight
of fallen leaves, bare trees:
there is beauty, there is
still life living on
for all of us to notice.

Greenway

Down the old railway line
we can still hear the echoes
of the Chessie locomotives
charting their course
to the heart of it all:
off toward the station,
off to the yards they'd go.

But now the trains
don't travel this route anymore:
every stretch of this whole line
-steel, wood, & spikes -
was abandoned 15 years back.
All that remains are the ghosts,
the echoes of life that lived
on this route,
the minor memories of having
lived under its enchanting spells.

The droning of the whistle
was enough to rustle one
out of sleep back in those days.
Now those sounds of yore
are now silence, serving as
testimonial & living proof
of the decline & fall of a great dream.

What could have been:
15, 16 years before trains used to
make their solitary journey
into town...That was when
life was more carefree,
before the bean counters
decided enough was enough
& chose to shut this line down
for good. A trail has taken
its place now & we're thankful
that some traces of this line's history,
some of its memories have survived.
Yet listening to the faint echoes
of a locomotive whistle returning
to the forefront, I have to stop
& wonder sometimes:
Is this enough to keep life going,
to keep life living on in honor
of this defunct route?

On the greenway bikers & walkers
propel themselves to wherever they're going.
And the old telegraph lines
which still stand sing their lament
of times gone past.
The echoes of time remain strong,
refusing to be unheard.

Sunday Morning, 10/26

Early morning, around 6:30 a.m.:
It is still dark out on the open road,
a few headlights or so
the only signs of light to be seen
for who knows how many miles;
no doubt, life sure does feel alone
at this time of day.

On the interstate, all is peace
& quiet for the moment:
some semis making their deliveries,
a few vehicles passing
on down the line -
nothing to get hung up on.
These are times for reflection,
for one to remain vigilant.

Vigilance: another word
for awareness but still...
I must say this word once more
as I wander back homeward,
decently rested from
the previous afternoon's festivities.
Vigilance: not a word to be taken
lightly at this hour, at this moment -
so I go, hand upon the wheel,
notes of caution still kept in mind
as the southward trek continues on,
without interruption.

Soon the first rays of light
will burst through the horizon,
& I will reach my destination
safe & sound.
Until then,
I am carrying my vigilance
with me, fully prepared
for come what may.

After The Fall

On the road to the stadium:
a slow drizzle falls,
clouds cast their ominous scowl
over the countryside.

(No doubt,
this is not ideal weather
for tailgating & yet,
& yet
I am off to do just that.)

The fields are stripped clean
of this season's harvest,
the trees reveal the true colors
which fall brings in spades,

all the while cars, trucks & buses
of folks going on their own
little pilgrimages, whereabouts
unknown speed down
the interstate,
with attitude & bravado to spare.

For some entering town this morning,
the rainfall might come
as a surprise or a cruel act
of simple eavesdropping:

No matter.
Still the brave, the courageous go,
find their way to a little piece
of heaven unlike anyplace else
they've ever been.

The parade will not be over
& all tailgaters in attendance
will see to that.

Memoirs

Memory after memory unfolds,
reveals itself
if only for a moment
before returning,
each one to their familiar confines.

Some get thrown back
in the drawer whence they came,
others get put in a diary,
not to be revealed
until the timing is right,

then others have the lock
& key on their good names.
Only time has the strength,
the resolve
just to release them from

their constant sleep & slumber.
Like a letter which gone unread
for years
or a writing which has not seen
the light of day for decades,

these memories return
from their long sleep as if to say,
We have not grown tired
& faded away like all the rest;
we are still here, only waiting

to make ourselves known to
an audience who will truly listen,
who will truly appreciate
how we came into being,
as it were, our genesis.

For a lifetime we have been
seeking an audience who will
wholeheartedly appreciate
our worth, our value, & most of all,
our own unique history.

So they go, each their own way,
confident that they will find
the attention which they have been
desperate for all these years,
right here in front of us.

Every memory
we have found is waiting
not just for the brush-up,
not solely
for a cursory praise:

No. They refuse to go
into neglect & disarray
this easily anymore.
They have returned,
& this time it is for good.

They don't seek a hiding
place, far removed
from the view of all.
Right here & right now
they are waiting to be

revealed in all their glory,
in all of their heartfelt power
which time & age
could never put a check on.
These memories of which

we speak are timeless,
so full of life long after
its creators have passed on,
their legacies still leaving
a mark any way they can.

Thrill Seeker

Vamos,
the man of the hour
keeps saying;
vamos,
let us be going.

Get on,
get out: leave here
as of right now.
Don't look back,
only forward.

For soon
the real departures
will begin;
nothing you can do
about this.

It's time
to get a move on
while you
still can:
For once, get going!!

Who can say
just when or where
we're going?
And who
could ever know?

Just go.
That's all I'm asking
& have asked
of you
since we first met,

since we
first ran into each other.
Why ask why?
Any given time
the open road

calls out
to us we have to obey.
It is now time
for you & I
to leave.

Vamos.
This is not the lonesome
sound of
goodbye
you've been

used to
hearing for ages, not the
distant echoes
of farewell
nor the fading music

which ends
on one note & one
note only.
To tell you
honestly, we're making

our entrance
into the great unknown,
not an exit.
Vamos,
let us be going.

Ready For...

Saturday morning:
time to rise & shine,
go on, get out
of bed
still hungover
from the night before

& have yourselves
the time of your lives.

It's time to go
whoop it on up,
even if it means
showing up
for this event
half there, half awake.

The real fun begins
in a short while
& today is shaping up
to be not only beautiful
but also colorful
as well.
It's time to live it on up
while there's still lots
of fun to be had
this weekend.

Is everyone
ready for this?
I sure hope so
because if not -
oh my.
I wouldn't know
what to say
should some of you all
come unprepared.

It's time to get out
& celebrate the end
of one long, crazy week
in general.
On mornings
like these you wouldn't
want to have the time
of your lives
any other way.

History Lessons

On the old highway which leads
into town
you'd be surprised to find
a part of your past
which you thought you'd lost
forever still alive & well,
still as headstrong as ever.
Around here,
if one looks diligently enough
one will find a little history
about this place
that has survived time
& the elements.

Here it is, at long last:
another book of pictures from a bygone era,
sepia-toned photographs
taken around the 1930s -
old pole barns, an old schoolhouse or two,
an old church on the corner
of who knows where & what roads.
Several decades later, these memoirs
of life past are still standing
for us to see, & are so much more
than roadside markers which tell us
where we are going, where we're from.
These pictures of home are also
a part of our lives, inextricably entwined
into our heritage;
they are more than a passing moment
of dedication to our fathers
& those who came before.

You realize that these landmarks
have always been here for the longest time:
sure, you may pass them by
at light speed, not give them
much thought at first
but over time you'll discover
that they're here to stay,
as if to tell you that you can't
disavow your past, your very roots.
A part of us still is sustained
with each passing glance
into scrapbook after scrapbook,
with each passing photo being taken;
a part of us still survives
without wavering, without losing track
of time, without being written off
as so much nostalgia.

Down the road one goes,
knowing full well that history can't be
escaped or evaded:
from truss bridges to old bulidings
one sees history,
one sees life still living on,
refusing to make itself irrelevant.

The Day After

All is now a blur:
memories, reminiscences of
yesterday's festivities
are floating in some
feverish haze,
plenty of folks are struggling
to awaken from their long sleep.
Such is life when one chooses to
live it up on occasions like these.

It's time to face the new day.
Oh wait, we're struggling
to do just that.
And how did we manage
to find our way back home
after all this carousing?
How'd we make it this far?

Some of the best times
we had yesterday are also
some of the best times
we won't remember having
thanks be to one of our
trustworthy companions.
Later on,
when we get some pics up,
chances are we'll have
lots of good laughs,
just trying to make sense
of that wild & crazy afternoon
(& night)
we spent having
the time of our lives.

We survived; we made it
through every trial of fire
which the bottle
presented to us.
Now we've got to
endure the day after,
the awful hangovers
& everything else
in between.

And yet what fun we had,
what good times we shared
yesterday,
what carefree moments
we spent living the good life.
Tell me,
who would want to pass up
occasions like these, even now?

The Choreographer

Frame after frame the message
still remains as is, unchanged:
In still motion, history can still be recorded.
History can still be made
with each graceful move,
each marked step.


Against conventions, history
still finds ways to make itself felt
long after the camera
has stopped flashing,
long after the film
has been used up for good,
long after the pictures
have been committed to memory,
to scrapbook, to frame,
to the very hearts of you and me.


Life is a dance & today's events
provides the rhythms
for us to move along to.
A certain freedom keeps us
on our toes,
on our feet most of the time
we're out here living it up.

But what more
could you ask for,
what else could you expect
at times like these?
The photographer
who lives in each of us
knows there's a moment
of time to be captured,
some rhythm in a song
which needs to be heard,
part of a dance which needs
to be seen to be believed.
Our chance to seize the day
is now or never,
to take a moment of our lives
& make it timeless.

The story of our lives
becomes our lives...How well
do I know this,
bracing a camera in my hand,
anticipating the hour when I
shall take more snapshots
of some era gone past as much
as I hope to take more photos
in the present day.
History must be made somehow;
it is up to me to state when
& where it will spring into life.
It is up to me to dictate
when I will stop the moment
I've been waiting for through my lens,
start it up all over again
in a whole new frame.
It is up to me when I will make
the next bold steps known,
however tentative those steps
might appear.
It is up to me
to commit these moments to memory,
so life can still live on,
timeless & truthful.

Pregame

Here we are: at the heart
of where all the action is,
where life
can get no better than
the way it is pregame:

You guessed right,
the fun & good times
are now underway,

& who would want to
think about leaving here?

It's easy to have
way too much fun,
to have way too many
good times

where pretty much everyone
speaks one common language
& speaks it fluently.

Welcome home
to where all the action is,
to where
all the action truly takes place.
Love it or no,
this is where memories
are made on the weekend.

En Route

There they go:
across the open fields,
over rivers & streams,
above & below
railway lines...

From all over the place
they come
hoping to get over
their homesickness,
their rootlessness.

At long last
they've arrived: No doubt
their stay might only be
for a weekend
but for them it's like

a lifetime.
This place is home,
has always been so.
Even if they felt
compelled to leave

some part of them
does survive, live on
around here.
This weekend holds
special significance

for such folks for that
very reason I just
mentioned now.
A part of their lives
still remains rooted

to this city, to this place.
They made history,
lots of unforgettable
memories while here,
& what's more,

reasons to feel good
about living life
to the fullest, with each
passing moment
of time.

They're coming
from all around, to relive
the dreams, to go back
down memory lane,
to renew old bonds

which can't be broken.

The Range War

It's on:
an instate rivalry
gone out of hand,
folks gone way out
of line.

Tell me why
such things have to be,
why there always
must be some secret grudge
to be borne day in, day out.

For the most part,
there were plenty of folks
holding their peace,
not doing the slightest
inkling of harm

but whenever
the fluent language of choice
got misused/abused
past the point of rescue
disorder ensued,

tempers flared, folks fumed
& raged & did whatever it was
they were planning
on doing
now that their good name

had been insulted.
We were only out to have
a good time, true.
But the instant
one rival spoke gibberish

about us - to our faces! -
then & there we stopped
playing nice.
Some chumps threw whatever
they could find at their disposal:

empty cans reeking of beer,
programs for the day's game,
glass bottles...
Of course we were eager
to return the favor,

get back at our foes
by whatever means we could.
Thank heavens
that we stood our ground,
remained resolute the whole time.

All this began
over a piece of turf,
just to see who's the real deal
around here.
Chants & taunts drew us

to where the action was,
with a magnetic pull
unlike any other
we've encountered before
or ever will again.

This scene sure enough
became a tumultuous sight
for all to see,
the enactment of a war
with no winners

or losers on either side.
Everyone involved, it seems,
had something to prove,
some scores to settle
but to no avail.

Such is life
in rivalries like these,
when even your closest
of friends
are siding with the enemy.

Weekend

For us, the right time for fun
& good times begins today:
we're out on the open road
once more, taking in life with a passion
which can never be surpassed,
brushed over, swept under the rug.
If there is a time & a place
to make new memories
& write new chapters in our life stories,
now is that time,
the location is anywhere we choose.


So we get into the car, not knowing
where we're going or how long we'll be out
on the road: All we know is
that we're traveling,
searching for some of life's greater joys.
Rolling the windows down, one smells
the aroma of burning firewood looming
over the air like a hefty cloud of incense,
one sees from afar the towering buildings
which are downtown,
one sees the farms & fields drifting by
as in a dream, the lure of the interstate
too much to overcome...
Whatever it is we're looking for,
chances are we're going to find it
out here, out on the open road.

The weekend has arrived:
It's now time to gather up what belongings
we were planning to bring along
for the ride & depart from this place;
there is life to be lived
& new memories to be created
once we reach our chosen destination.
This is not goodbye.
We're only now starting to say hello
as we're preparing to go see the world.