Empty Bed

I know there are no monsters
lurking under my bed or
boogeymen hiding in my closet
but some nights
I don’t want to go to sleep
 
because when I turn off the lights
and pull the sheets back, I know
this bed once more will only be
for me to occupy, for me to
lie down and close my eyes
 
and no matter how much I dream
of having someone next to me,
the cold reality remains the same;
the space next to me is empty
for another night.
 
Some nights I can get rest and
sleep without a thought of
the emptiness all around but
those nights seem to be
few and far between.
 
For all the others I try to
stay awake as long as I can
to kill off the nighttime hours
to give myself less time to sleep
in this empty bed.

Sabbatical

There comes a time
when a man has to walk away,
when the call to retreat
rings louder than the call to stay.
 
He knew some would miss
his presence, but to him
his presence didn’t matter
but something far greater did;
 
preservation.
 
He had spent too many times
staring into the mirror and
not liking what he saw.
There was doubt in his eyes
 
and worry on his face,
reflections that he knew
he hadn’t shared with others
and to be honest, he knew he

couldn’t share
 
for he was surrounded by a mass of
blind eyes and deaf ears, people
who had branded him as a
“happy-go-lucky” type that seemed
 
to have nothing bother him.  But
he was not happy.  He was hurting
and so he had to leave everyone behind
so he could figure things out, try to answer
 
questions,
 
questions that haunted his nightly dreams
and kept him awake most nights,
questions that poked and prodded during the day,
making him lose focus on the daily tasks at hand.
 
So he hid in the darkest caverns of his mind,
places where the absence of light and humanity
were welcoming sights, where no one could find out
the emotional roller he had to ride so he could

find himself.
 
Laughing and crying, screaming and pacing,
even muttering to himself all the things that
did and did not make sense.  It became
a continual exercise that
 
he hated and embraced altogether, something
that brought him closer to finding out
who he was, where he stood, and where
he may have to go next.  He finally felt
 
relief.

 

 

 

 

 

Sapiosexual

Definition – (n.) One who finds intelligence the most sexually attractive feature

She says
just talk to me
as if that is all
a man needs to stay
 
interested, conversations
and nothing more.
She says
that is all he’ll get,
 
that sex is not
the end result,
not the target of
a man’s mind.
 
What’s the fear?
A phallus aimed
directly at her,
eager to penetrate
 
her inner workings
and reach her mind
in terms of passion
and not of ideas?
 
So a man is
supposed to sit and
talk about the ways
the wind blows and
 
take no interest in
wanting to get
to know her on
a more personal level?
 
Good luck with that.

The Game

This
is not
how I thought
this story would
turn out, me being
on the outside looking
in on unions happening
right before my eyes and all I
had to show for myself was a
feeling of being left out of it all.
 
I had no choice but to leave that place.  There
was nothing left to accomplish by
continuing to sit there and
feel sorry for myself.  I
walked away from it all,
time already being
too late. I grabbed
my ball and
headed
home.

Party Time

A drunk freshman
and a wine bottle
sat like bosom buddies
on the curb right at
the bus stop sign.
 
It was her first weekend
away from home, away
from parental and neighborhood
eyes who had watched over her
from the time she was born
 
until now.  She had been
everyone’s good girl but here
in this college town she
couldn’t wait to taste her
first alcoholic freedom.
 
But a first time sometimes
isn’t a good time for limitations
are like crossing over
foreign borders without knowing
the customs or the language.
 
So she sits in a half stupor,
her friends trying to keep
her head bowed between her
parted legs just in case
she needs to vomit,
 
keeping her shielded from
city cop cruisers passing by,
ready to take in any young
inebriated student for
public drunkenness.  But
 
no one passes by except a
car full of sorority sisters who
see this sight of freshman
misery and break out in
annoying laughter for they
 
remember being a part of this
drunken spectacle a time before.
Now they find it somewhat
funny that the college party cycle
has begun once again.
  

My Friend Out West

It’s always been
about a woman.
He’s never made
any moves without
 
some possibility of
keeping his bed
warm.  My friend
told me he’s now
 
out west all because
of someone he knew, said
it didn’t work out and
now he’s trying to make
 
the best of it.  I
told my friend to say
no more for I already
knew how this story went.
 
He’ll stay out there
just as long as he can
get laid for he tends to
find more beds when he’s
 
adrift.  But I knew he’d
decide to go somewhere else
right when he finds himself
running low on sexual healing.   

Breakup

She tries to hand out compliments
but they don’t make me feel good.
I’ve been down this road before
where words like this are really
stiff backhands to my psyche.
 
It’s her way of being kind in the
midst of breaking things off, as if
pointing out the nice qualities
is supposed to let me down easy.
But her words throb like broken toes,
 
a constant reminder that I’m watching
her walk away, saying in coded terms
that I’m not the man she wants,
that in the picture she’s drawn up
I don’t fit within the lines.

On The Road Again

Now I know
I have to make up
for lost time.
 
She proved to be
a dead end and an
unexpected on at that.
 
I thought the road
was wide open, but
it was only a mirage.
 
Instead I found myself
back at the beginning,
back to the four-way
 
intersection where I began.
And once again I
don’t know which way to go

The End Of It All

Lingering away
in a bad mood all because
she finally said
there wasn’t a chance.  I just wished
she’s admitted it sooner,
 
just fessed up about
where we were, that mutual
feelings were not shared.
There was never an open
door, but a brick wall instead.
 
Now I know why I
had that bad taste of cement
in my mouth and the
dirt in my eye.  I just wish
I could’ve seen this before.

Love In Silence

I see her and I wish I could say,
You don’t need to look far for that special man
for he sits nearby and dreams for the day
you could look at him and find your demands
 
met by him gladly as he offers his hand
so you could put yours in his and together you’d go
out of into the open horizon so gorgeous and grand
and you’d be unafraid to let the whole world know.
 
But here I am, sadly wishing it were so
that I could gather enough courage to tell her this.
I am love with her and I want to her to know
I want to be the one who gives her eternal bliss
 
But here I sit still in painful silence
unable to make my case to be her charming prince.

What Work Sometimes Feels Like

Another day down, strike
off another box from my
lifetime work sentence.

Appreciate

I heard a preacher say,
Don’t hate, appreciate.
You’ve got a blessing coming.
 
and sometimes I think about
those knuckleheads who got
their lives turned around,
 
got the person of their dreams,
and reside in a place they love.
So I try not to get upset
 
about what I don’t have
trying not to harbor
jealousy, worrying about
 
someone else’s house.  I try
to remember the preacher’s words
and be ready for what’s coming.

Finding Her Number

Her number
still sits on my nightstand
right on top of my Bible.
 
Maybe it’s my way of
trying to pray about
what I should do with it.
 
I found it the other day
under a pile of papers,
miscellaneous writings
 
about everything and
nothing.  Maybe I was
trying to hide it away,
 
subconsciously avoiding
any memories of her.
But now there it is
 
staring at me, a reminder
of what I felt before.  I
still wanted her the last time
 
we were in the presence of
each other even though
our lives were so different,
 
time could not be rewound
and we just talked about
what could’ve been.  She
 
still remains my one mistake
that haunts me at night when
the lights go out and I lay
 
alone in my bed.  But now
her number appears once more
and I don’t know what to do.

 

So I’ll keep it on my Bible
and pray to the heavens for
an answer to ease my mind.

Champions

Cut down the nets, the
journey is over.  Players,
celebrate winning!

Visit to DC in April

Cherry blossoms still
won't open.  Winter winds keep
lingering, chopping up the river,
making residents cover up in
jackets and hats, turning their
heads in order to breathe.
The calendar says spring
but the weather won't cooperate.

Wall Of Inspiration

The words came in droves,
people all around sharing
passages of hope, of love,
of faith.  Words coming from
one now uplifting the group,
building a wall of inspiration
to shine rays of goodness
on us all.

Spring

Look!  Spring is coming!
The winter winds blow no more,
gone they are, so let
there be sun and clear skies so
the children can play outside.

The Old Preacher

All he wanted
was to get to the pulpit,
 
to find a way to move
his frail body one step
 
at a time to where
he gave so many sermons.
 
Even as time has worn
down his body, his mind
 
and his spirit stand strong,
carrying him along,
 
steadying him on his walker,
slowing reaching his destination.
 
The other ministers help him
take each step up until he
 
gets to the pulpit and sees
the people waiting for a lesson
 
and he becomes one with God,
frailties no more and he
 
stands straight again, ready
to preach the Word.

 

Baseball

Play ball!
Springtime is here.
The diamonds are calling
So throw out the first; let's play
baseball.

That Championship Year

Youth becomes more and more a memory
as steps become slow and hair becomes gray.
Their year of triumph fades deeper into history
so they reunite now to remember yesterday.
 
When they were young men on that magical team
believing in one another as they made that run
through the maze of Goliaths until they lived the dream
of raising the trophy and showing they were number one.
 
Those days are gone now but memories remain
forever part of something special and unique
and it’s those memories of the season and the final game
that will always link them even as their numbers deplete.
 
Because even death will never dim their cheer
of being part of that championship year.

Recognize

The child
is not here
 
and the adult
wishes people could
 
see that, recognize
him standing alone,
 
no longer at the hip of
his parents.  They
 
developed his foundation
but the rest of him, that’s
 
of his own doing, of
hard work and imagination,
 
creative energies used to
assemble his uniqueness
 
He hopes the people
can see him as he is,
 
but too often they still
call for the child.

Something New From Me: Talking Sports

I've been dabbling with writing about sports lately.  I've been posting articles on a website called Man Cave Podcast.

http://themancavepodcast.com/

It's been fun doing something that I don't normally do about a subject that I love a lot: sports.  Just check out the Articles section of the site and you'll see some of the things I've posted.

Last night I was the feature interview of the podcast.  We talked about the NCAA tournament and what had transpired thus far.  The entire podcast can be found below.  I come in around the :30 mark.

http://themancavepodcast.com/man-cave-bracketogoly-podcast-the-man-cave/

The Diligent Worker

No one cares that he is upset,
feeling alone and helpless
all the while following orders
just like he should.  He is
 
reliant and responsible, but
hurts underneath his smile,
feeling left out and taken
for granted as he continues
 
his diligence as prodigal
people appear in the distance,
rewarded for showing up
after dwelling in the so-called
 
darkness.  They are greeted
with a hero’s welcome and
attentive ears to hear their
story of redemption.  But
 
what of the steady one,
he of promptness and hard work?
There are no celebrations,
only more work to do.  He
 
wants to vent his frustrations
and did so a time before, but
his cries were ignored.  In fact
all he got was a brief lecture
 
about how the universe
would collapse if he wanted more
than the lot that he occupied.
That is not what he wanted to hear,
 
his essence begging for some sort
of recognition, of praise, of something
to let him know he is appreciated.
But this never came and he
 
now sits alone in his work space
wondering if anyone gives a damn
or does all of the good cheer around
is headed for someone else.

Reformed Party Girl

That woman found Jesus,
trading in nights on the town
for mornings at the altar,
draping herself in scripture
instead of the barely-there dresses
she loved to wear under the
dim lights of the club scene.
You can still talk to her
but be careful for you may
have to eat some of your words
normally used for no-holds-barred
conversations for those are
no longer par for the course.
She’s now getting closer to God,
demanding that the next man
who wants company with her to
head down the same road.
It’s a far cry from the
free-wheeling nights where
she and her friends dared to drink
and dance with random men with
reckless abandon.  Today she walks
a straighter line in search of peace
and salvation, trying to leave
all the partying behind.

Turn The Tables

Silence
is not golden;
it is owed.
 
So say those
who believe in
keeping the peace,
 
shouting down
voices that won’t
abide and stating
 
over and over again
what they believe
is true.  But the
 
defiant ones that see
through the bullshit
keep finding ways to
 
make noise, keep
delivering their own
manifestos for they
 
know that sleepy heads
are arousing, rising from
conformist slumber, ready
 
to join ranks.  Soon the
waves will come crashing,
drowning out the
 
status quo.  Then they
will have to make payment
on their owed silence.

Chasing Alcohol In A College Town

Sitting in a parking lot
full of pickup trucks
with Confederate flags
and gun racks adorned
in their back windows, I
 
finally found a moment
to question why I had to
follow these country boys
here.  I guess somewhere
in the course of my first
 
taste of adult freedom along
with youthful exuberance
and the promise of beer, I
decided to hop in the back seat
of one guy’s beat up Chevy and
 
trek far, far away from the
safety of the college campus
all because he and his roommate
knew a guy who could get us
eager but underage pups a
 
couple of six-packs of
adult refreshment.  Something
should’ve told me that their
country twangs would lead me
into unchartered territory, but
 
the voice of reason may or
may not have spoken to me or
I was just a bit too loony and
just wanted to do something else
beside stare at my computer.
 
But in that moment of sitting
in that honkytonk of a
parking lot, I wished I had
paid attention and maybe I
would not have found myself
 
here in the middle of a
country nowhere staring at
flags and guns with visions of
hoods and nooses dancing
in my head.  All I kept
 
hoping for was that those guys
would get back in this Chevy
and drive away before any
of the locals saw this brown face
that was definitely out of place. 
 
Lucky for me no one did
and we all got out of this
redneck nirvana with what we
were questing for and headed
back to the confines of campus
 
where we sat in my room,
drinking the night away.  That’s
when the voice of reason broke
through my buzzed state, speaking
clearly the words I needed to hear:
 
Don’t you ever do that again.

Interview with local author Stephen King

On Wednesday, my interview that I gave with local author Stephen King was posted on King's blog.  Take a read and see my thoughts on my book Nice Guys Finish Last and on writing in general.

http://theotherstephenkingonwriting.blogspot.com/2013/01/interview-with-vernon-wildy-jr.html

The City and The Suburbs

My friend from the city
asked me why I wasn’t
on a hot date tonight.
 
I tried to tell her
there’s no such thing
as a hot date around here,
 
not in the suburbs,
not where people play
their cards so close to
 
the vest they’re wearing
them as an accessory. This
is not like where she is,
 
she in a big sprawl of
ambitious souls who venture
out and about to have a
 
taste of whatever here and
there have to offer.  That
is unheard of in the suburbs.
 
People here would rather
find the fastest way
to be inside and nested
 
than stand in a flock of
unknown moving bodies.
My friend had never
 
pondered such concerns,
assuming the rest of the world
moved the way she did.
 
So she left me be to
return to her downtown
hustle and bustle while
 
I spent another all too
quiet night dwelling in
suburban purgatory.

Friday Night Shopping

Grocery shopping
down long aisles of
semi-stocked shelves
while in intermitted
moments bumping into
wayward souls just
like myself, everyone
looking hangdog tired
or distantly lonely, each
having their own reasons
to be wandering about
for food items.  This
isn’t the ideal time to be
here but I know for myself
this is way better than
being planted in front
of the television, watching
another bland crime show.
There was no one around
to ask me to join in any
jaunts into the city, so instead
I’m here.  At least this
gives me something to do,
my dinner and a movie
substitute.  Call me crazy
but sometimes in a life of
singlehood you have to do
uncommon things to
make yourself occupied.

Family Visit

Walking in
was like a trip down
memory lane, a faded
version of post-war living
where wives waited for
their men to come home
from work, a hot dinner
waiting on the kitchen table.
 
But now, that woman lives
alone, her husband having
passed years before.  She
moves slowly across the
living room to her bed
sitting by the window,
moved downstairs by her sons
who didn’t want her to
 
navigate those old wooden
stairs at the frail state
she was in.  They always
stop by to tend house, handle
any needed business matters,
and sometimes just to sit and
keep her company.  Family
coming by is the norm and
 
today it’s her niece and great
nephew.  She hadn’t seen the
young man since her sister –
his grandmother - passed away.
She marveled at just how
much he had grown.  She then
pointed to the far wall where
her collage of family pictures
 
were clustered.  Pictures of
her husband, sons, grandsons,
sisters, and all the other
family members seem to
surround the small picture of
the great nephew as a youngster,
a broad smile from many years
ago.  The visit itself wasn’t
 
a long one but it was good
for all.  Goodbyes were said and
the niece and great nephew
headed home.  It was a quiet ride
but driving away the niece kept
telling her son that that was her
last living aunt, wondering  
aloud how many more times
will she get to see her.