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.