Faces Behind Faces

Faces behind faces
In all of the places
Making paces
For faces
In the best places

No man is an island
And no one is sidelined
If the life they are living
Is their own

But some lives
Shine most brightly
When they work quietly
Behind a face not their own

I saw a friends face behind a friends face.  The second face financed missionary work of the first face.

Black Holed Hearts

Being a Dad Ain't Easy
Especially when fools keep
Treating your family sleazy

Try to teach mine to
Consider the source
But who wants to give
Their own neighborhood
A divorce

Jealousy and accusation fly
Mouths acting like they
Got No Dirt to Hide

Just making noise on
Social media
Ain't happy unless
They making enough
Drama to fill a theater

Living in a good place
Like it is no place
Because when your heart
Is as dark as a black hole
All you can see is Ghetto

Time proves all things right
When tragedy falls
I take no delight

Karma shuts up
Wagging tongues
And hard work
Always gets it done

So when Me and Mine
Are living the life
You'll be old and probably
Still creating Strife

My kids, have been targeted by a lot of Newport's worst elements 

Heaven Home

Heaven Our Home
Hinged through this temporary time
Into the larger chapter of this life of mine

Rooms
Some large, some small
Their size representing blocks of years
Measured by clock and calendar
Mechanized through laughter and tears

I am alone
In this grand home
Rooms vacant of any furnishings
I just left God's throne

This mansion's beauty indescribable
Opulent with ocean view
Fountains spray rainbows on lengthy lawn
On winding path with subtle dew
This is not my lifetime home
But the one my Savior gave form

Here come those I was expecting
There are those who followed
And those that preceded
Me through the Gates of Heaven

They are all carrying a treasured possession
I did not expect this
Jesus leads the placement directions
Stories are shared
Telling the details of the furnishing birth
Fashioned by the moments we shared on earth
Each guest blesses
With laughter, embrace, and kiss

All are accounted for
And now I meet more
Generations of family who interceded
Before the Author of Life
Their prayers carried us all
Through rooms full of strife
Who seeing our worst inclinations
Prayed for us as a united family nation

The list of sur names
Boucher and Kaeterle, Costa
Suprenant, Sowalskie, Michaud
Martin, Gomes and Andrews
Guana, Dearing and Harris
And others still

All of us living with Jesus
This is a thrill
All of us having come through refiners fire
Are beautiful and meant to inspire
Each tear has been wiped from
Crying and laughing cheeks

Our Redeemer
The architect of this Mansion reunion
Invites us to sit,
We share communion
No more tears
For all of us are home
Heaven is now the place
We get to roam

 

Street Beat

Street Beat
Too Sweet
Never Repeats

Listening to life
However you define it
Call it ESP
Call It the Universe
Call it Revelation
I Call it Prayer or
A God Conversation

Catch it in a rhyme
Catch it in a song
Catch in a look
If you are practicing catching
Ultimately you won't get it wrong

Don't boast about your leading
With those who leave you bleeding

Casting your pearls
Is more than dinner for swine
It separates you from the pulse
Of your listening line

Don't get bitter
In the haste of Earth
The whole thing catching fire
In the grand New Birth

I am looking for the Christ
The ultimate King
You may be looking for Nirvana
Or that kind of thing

I am not looking for an argument
About what is true
What is true remains true
No matter our view

What I want are friends
Who have ears that hear their own beat
Whose fellowship and company is
Always so sweet
Who get there are zero moments in life
We get to repeat

Street Beat
Too Sweet
Never Repeats

My Newport Home

My Newport Home

Living free in my Newport neighborhood
Two blocks off Broadway

A walk for coffee, milk or beer,
Will most times result in a
Hey what's up
Man fist bump
Or embrace by a wandering friend

Music floats out of bars
Singles stand under stars
Folks fish all night at the pier
The view of the Pell Bridge is clear

My island home
Has been a pleasant place for me

Get on my bike
Point it toward Thames
Where passing tourist and students play

Turn at Wellington
Where I always see baseball and hear music
Real or remembered
As I look right to Kings Park
And the sailboats anchored in the bay

To Ocean Drive from there
My pedals lead the way

Fort Adams
Viking ships, craft fairs, rugby and sail boats
Flash in my mind
As I greet cow, horse or llama

Each day the ocean changes display
Some days roaring and splashing
Other times calm and dashing
The tides petting its rugged coast

The homes solid on rocks
The best of them blended perfectly
With the backdrop of sparkling sky and sea grey

The Mansions inspire ambivalently
The summer wealth
Built on immigrant stock backs

The opulence remarkable
But child labor is not forgettable
When having a union sympathizer attack

RI Ave with its walls, fences and gates
Manicured and secured
Handsome and straight

There is still much for this
Newport carpetbagger to discover
But there are many in this city
I Love like a sister or a brother

Illusive Kindness

Illusive Kindness

Why is kindness so illusive

Why is it so exclusive

My heart burns for the family of man

Separated by so little

Bonded by so much

All men want Love

All see life and children as blessings

Everywhere, food and drink and dance and art are celebrated

All want shelter and warmth

But the Heart of Cain says

There is not enough for all

So men must also love

Rocks and kicks and bayonets and

canon and bombs
I must have therefore you must fall

Able's blood is screaming through

The fallen soldier in mud and sailor sunk at sea

Many will say,

It is written

So let it be done

If that be the case 

Then the devil has won 

I say, fill all the bellies we can

The warmth of food

Heals the body and the mind of man

It heals the minds of those 

Who have had to fight for scraps

That burn in hot sun

Feeze in winters chill

Who risk life and breath 

On open Mediterranean or Haitian Sea

Who hope for better days

In a world full of refugee camps

Kindness is only illusive 

If it is illusive in me

Kindness is only exclusive 

If it is exclusive in me

So I will quench 

The darts of racism 

Aimed at my soul

I will demolish every 

Pretense that separates me 

From my neighbor 

I will believe that kindness

Is contagious and 

Will be caught by those 

Who see kindness 

At work in me

My Clock

My Clock

Wrestling with The Clock

Inside a wind filled 

Parachute

Dragged through the dirt

Scrapes on my knees

Its clicks unaffected by 

Strong gust or gentle breeze

It mocks with a body   

Of only face and hands

Being pulled from ground 

How do I pin this 

Relentless time piece down

I lose, 

My strength gone in a 

Fight of attrition 

Me or the earth is pulled

From its secure  position 

My loss carries me 

To high places I did not want to go

Teaches me things I did not want to know 

The view from age

Is broader than expected

I can see Six maybe 

Seven generations 

When the view is clear

As I declare Peace 

With The Clock

That was never at War with me

I see

This time piece 

Is not in a 

Parachute but in an

Air balloon

Fins Wings and Feet

Do I consider what I eat
It once had fins or wings or feet

Could I do with less
Would my smaller portion
Be Blessed

Would my consideration of
The animal kingdom
Make me a kinder
Human being

In the land of plenty
There is so much to eat
Maybe I could skip
What once had fins, or wings or feet

1940's Phone and Fans

The heavy black 1940’s rotary phone was out of place in my office, as was the GE clock from the same period, with its think orange cord and brown plastic casing, which must have been the absentee father of gorilla glass. The office was cooled by a 1940’s fan with wide spaces in its metal framing, wide enough to pass a small cat through while the fan was spinning, but still too attractive to children’s fingers. I miss that fan when the temperature is 90 degrees at night.

I picked up the phone on the third ring and recognized the bright hearted tone of a woman who had just completed her solo maiden voyage on San Francisco’s BART system. Her destination was Ohlone Community College where she was a sixty-two year old freshman. The tutorial of her son through the system had made her independent beyond her Archie Bunker temperament bearing husband’s wildest nightmares. I am the son of that woman and her husband, and brother of that successful tutor.

I alternate Cochran paratrooper boots, brown for my WW II father, and black for myself and my Vietnam era brother. My suits would be at home in a brat pack casino and a Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis comedy, with required vest for skinny man coolness. My six channel CD player music releases start in the 1950’s. Willie Nelson and the Doobie Brothers are permanent residents. I have managed to create a life, with the items of my parents and older sibling’s generation around me.

However, Van sneakers and straight legged, non pleated suits have become attractive as the life styles of my twenty and thirty year children, and their associate friends, become a source of curiosity, fascination, and personal enrichment.

Twenty was once an intimidating age. The spinning of Dire Straits, Sultans of Swing album on a turn table was seared into my memory; its needle and grooves scratching me into the new cool at my first college party. That song changed what Rock n Roll is, while claiming it was what Rock n Roll had always been.

The Sultans reminded me of awkward moments, of feeling out of place, too young, not smart enough, and dorky in negotiating opposite sex interactions. The gender awkwardness I experienced seems absent from so many who are twenty and thirty now. People are just more comfortable with each other. More free, meaner sometimes, but with an integrity of personality that few my age experienced when they were their age. When in their company I begin to feel young and a part of it in a manner that is leading to unexpected friendships.

I wonder if the bright hearted tone that I heard in the Mother’s voice was as much about her friendship with my brother Rene, as it was the excitement of new adventures on commuter trains and community colleges.

I was able to develop a friendship with my father in part because he graduated from Archie Bunker to Benjamin Spock. His hair was the longer than all of his sons in the 1970’s. It reached nearly to the middle of his shoulder blades, but he still put Brylcreem in it when combing it back.

Maybe this is what we are suppose to do, gather the things of those older around us while reaching for the styles and taste of those that follow us. I still like the wisdom of the formality of my father’s generation over the casualness of the sons and daughters, but that is coming from a man that did not know how to tie a Windsor knot until he was fifty and learned how to do so by watching a YouTube video.

The Know It All Spider

“Shhh”, said the spider to the duck. The spider had learned long ago humans hear so well they can hear a spider spinning a web. The spider therefore remained very still in the middle of the sunlight window, as the boy pulled his bike upstairs, the back tire banged in steady rhythm up each stair.

Ducks are not usually in basements, but this one had found shelter there. His friends would return to fly with him to the pond after he recovered from an injury.

“You’re so noisy” the spider said, “human boys hear everything, thankfully I was very still so he did not hear me spinning. I know they see poorly therefore, I am as safe as can be in this window” “I was sure he would hear you moving around in that corner. Go Away! You don’t belong in a basement”

The duck had seen many humans, some brought bread to the pond, others tried to shoot him out of the sky, and in fact his injury was from a boy’s bebe gun. He knew humans saw just fine, and he also knew the spider was wrong about how well they heard.

The duck said “Humans see very well and you can be seen easily in the window where your web is!”

The spider again said, “Go away! Us spiders are independent and don’t need advice, especially from a broken down duck”

Ducks are patient with each other which allowed the duck to be patient with the spider’s rudeness.

“We ducks need everyone. At the pond we all help each other, the squirrels make noise in the trees when they think there is danger, crows squawk, ducks are pretty good as seeing families bringing bread, even the fish benefit from us working together.

The spider grunted “go away, you don’t belong in my basement.”

Just then the front tire of a bicycle passed through the door.
Spider became very still, as the boy got both tires on the basement floor he picked something up, then he wacked the spider, in his still quiet position, with a magazine.

As the spider woke up from dazed state, he said to the duck, “Tell me more about your pond”

Missing People Places and Events

My mind reflects on missing memories, missing friends

Delightful dinners cancelled with a couple 
Alike enough to enjoy but
Different enough to challenge

A conversation with a potential lifetime friend
Who was spoken to once and never again

Honored birthdays with an open seat
My memory limited to seeing the photos

Trails I passed but didn't walk
Beaches discovered but never swam

I mourn the loss of these people, places and events

So many first annuals have become once in a lifetime
So many once in a lifetimes
Part of other people's history

History does not record
Those who are not present

And present I want to be!

I want to drink deeply from the pools of spirit
I find in each soul
I want to be molded by the landscape of life
The dirt from the trail and the sand of the beach

I want to be affected, changed, and made into
The best version of me
By the people, places and events of my rich life.

I am greedy for more
I want each day peppered with people
Salted with places
Blended with meaningful activity

All of it is good to me
Mountains, rivers, oceans, cities, and
Fields of corn and grain

I don't even care what we do
To Live while I am living
That is the joy
And it is the reason I miss
The friends I have not made
The people I have not sat with
And the places I have not seem

Personification of 50 Washington Square

The Personification of 50 Washington Square

Yellow brick skin, and marble stair bones

Conscience watched by a prince of the street

He is depicted in recycled art,

Sitting on the wall doing his part 

Shadows of soldiers and sailors

Adorn its historic walls

Mother's sons did more than their share

Lungs in a shaft that sniff the Newport sea, 

But breath Broadway blues neighborhood air

Frames of all shapes and sizes

Circulate through veins

Of its living corridors

Each man and woman

A life sized cell and more

Its hands belong to

Working men, and fisherman

Cooks, cleaners, and CNAs

Its creative mind belongs to

Painter, bakers, music makers

Seers and poets, writers of verse

Its thoughts heard through

Lips and on tongues

Of those who converse

This yellow brick body

One building, with three addresses

Has its very own Oz

Who has protected it from

Those who do not understand

This building
Is a vital organ

In Newport's larger life

Why would you need to protect

What is vital to life in our city

A place where all are greeted with a smile,

Shared laughter or handshake

Well you see

It has housed many

Who did time

Others have illness of mind

There are those that fight addiction's monkey

Others whose dress is more than funky

And of course some who ask tourist for money

It's personality wide and winding

Like it's artful banister

Three addresses one building

For the soul of folks who

May need a hand

4 Farewell,

Where no one need say good bye forever

15 Meeting,

The place for a roof top BBQ

50 Washington Square

The shape that will

Help if you come 'round

Its architectural excellence

Adds to the hospitality

The heart beat of the building

Sits in the directors seat

Looked over by a service man's Mom

Who gave life to that heart

And commissioned a building form

Where living art is the norm

Fake Fire

Fake fire place and fake fire
Somehow still comfort me
Are they close enough to reality

Is it just warmth I seek.
Is reality all it is cracked up to be
Madison Ave is too good a feeling me

Image makers image takers
What is fake what is real
What is the latest version of the ideal

Too fat, too tall, too next door
We want more of that
You can buy it at our store

Are you credentialed
Do you have a degree
If you have both
You can be an idiot you see.
Intelligence is only one marker
In our new reality

Don't want to be too cynical
Don't want to be too clinical
I like my fake fire
And what is cool
Is often cool to me

But I don't want to be told
My fake fire is real
That image can heal
Or its a bargain
When you are trying to steal

So in front of my fake fire
I will stare
And reality I will give due care
While remembering
Buyer beware

Sons of Sons

My Sons

My sons are sons of a son of a son
Of the US Army

Four generations of soldiers served
To a country we believe deserves
The respect and honor of the people
Who understand freedoms price

So much of history has been put on ice
Children taught our enemies are nice
When all our necks they would slice

Enemies domestic making us weak
Doing deals for themselves on the sneak
Mysteries death to those who leak
No I am not a conspiracy theory geek

When a former KGB agent sounds reasonable
When there is no representation for the people

How do I teach the next generation
When what I feel is apprehension
And what makes sense is preparation
To live in country whose ideals
Decay in rates of incomprehension

Friends buying arms like virgin oil
Packing food away that will not spoil
Ready to fight on their own soil
The whole thing is starting to boil

I am by nature an optimistic man
But the level of corruption
I can't stand
It is transparent to see
Even for optimist like me

I want to soften my thought
Because my Fathers and Sons fought
And I too was prepared to fight
But how do I do that when
Our leaders have no vision or light
Nor a clue as to what is right

The Basement Books

The Basement

This basement of mine
With walls of books
And centipede nooks
Has hosted a decade and a half of living

Its shelves of knowledge
Might bless a small college
As it has a few friends minds

Its weight theological
To memorize impossible

Its treasures inherited
Or had for a great price
At a used book stores

But this room comes to life
As I lie with my wife
And entertain a tribe of
Early morning needs

A grandbabies cry
Or sweet little Hi
The dog in a rush
Bows her head in a blush
As she is found curled on the matress

6 foot children flop on the bed
Often with complaint
Of stomach or head
Most often for school assignments they dred

Mom to the rescue
98% percent of the time
But it the 2% that causes the stress
So even then she switches from robe to dress
To assist so grades are the best

Milton and Tolstoy have their place
D.H Lawrence and Margaret Mitchell were read aloud
But most of the volumes come from the evangelical crowd

It is a modest abode
But it is pleasant enough
For a man who loves pages
And children of all stages
Who lives in a basement
With books for walls

The Ride

Road coming toward you
Lean is tight
Road moving away
Twist the throttle strong

There is way to live right
A way to get it wrong

Life brings both twist
And straights
Wanting one to be the other
Will only irritate

The bumps
Sometimes hitting them
Is the best way to beat them

No road is perfect
But all of them teach
Riding in the elements
Is not out of reach

Obstacles
Are more than distractions
They call for your
Most thoughtful actions

The mud and the dirt
I know less about
I do know sometimes
Life needs a shout

Knowing the next move
Depends on you seeing
Reality is the ride
For living human beings

Summer Sunday

Summer Sunday ticks by slow
Until I watch the children go
To find the cat the neighbor lost
See the wading pool make them boss

The breeze of the day pleasant to the face
I smile at the love of slow pace

Pep' s motorcycle a jungle gym
A toddler's dream
To ride with him

Why is the street so attractive
I want to sit but she is active

Rotate between pool and bike and street
Every passing stranger we greet

An old wheelchair
A source a adventure
Sparks memories of building go karts
Children laugh as fun passes
Pep's looks on and
Adjust his glasses

Summer Sunday ticks by slow
Until I watch the children go

Hazy Crazy

Starting to feel hazy
About this thing we call crazy
It gets kind of shady
When you get paid to be lazy

Sharing diagnoses
Has become a new focus
For dysfunction worn like a badge

I know illness is a real
But for others it is a steal
And sometimes we all have been had

Need a pill
Take pill
I am a fan of the science
And results
But if your pill
Feeds your head
While zone on your bed
Then your pill is an insult

Hillbilly Cajun Cunuk

Dedicated to Too Many Dead People

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

Work hard to pay your way
When you're done
Then it is time to play

Many did time with Uncle Sam
In order to feel right
You got to serve the land

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

If you fight
Get hurt
Don't give a damm
Sometimes you just
Gotta throw hands

Never minded
Paying my own way
Got that job
Intended to stay
I gave you my back
You gave me the wave

Left in the city
Factory gone
Ain't educated but
I am young and I am strong
Easy to see
The Man did me wrong

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

What to do with my time
Maybe I will cop a dime
Pick up a pint and few beers
All I got to kill
Is years

That pint turns into a quart
Lost my crib
No place to squat
Now on probation and parole
On some kind of devil roll

Doctor gave me oxy for
Factory back
The odds against me
They are stacked
The needle and the damage done
In a coffin
I am laying flat

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

The Life Cycle of Truth

The Life Cycle of Truth




  The Life Cycle of Truth

Truth is conceived in living imagination

Nurtured in creation's imitation

Heard in ears of revelation

Born through the womb of expectation

Strengthened in recitation of generations

Taught in the mind of consideration

Lived by tradition's reputation

Weakened in language deregulation

Buried for cause of atrophication

Lost in the dust of institutionalization

Discover in archaeological restoration

Reborn for new interpretation

Truth there finds revitalization

Ambitions Changing Condition

Ambitions Changing Condition 

Playing cards 

With my 20 year old man

Nothing more important than 

Playing that hand

 

Pushing a swing 

With a 16 month old smile

Added up the pushes

Must be miles

 

Watch skate vids

With a 17 year old cool cat

Nothing needs to get done stat

 

Playing War

With a blond 11 year old

Nothing needs to be bought or sold

My how my ambitions did fall 

Bicycling around Ocean Drive

16 year old girl by my side

The sights of the bay

Getting us high

My how my ambitions did change

Dubbing on the living room sofa

Me and my 19 year old girl

Pretending we are loafers

My how my ambitions rearrange

Blessing and tickles

Mixed with a 9 year old prayers

Makes to worth it

To climb those stairs

My ambitions might be on the rise

Laying in with the wife

An extra hour

No need to exercise

Any type of power 

My how my ambitions surprise 

Getting old enough

To know what is important 

Changing priorities 

In those cast off moments

My how my ambitions have rose

Family of Dreams

A Family of Dreams,
So it seems,
The names of our kin
Were all Named by Him!!!
All named in the recesses of night
As we slept and meditated
To His delight,
He infused the character of
Those yet to be formed,
In the minds of myself,
My wife Esther,
Now my daughter Deborah's
New born.

In case your having a hard time figuring out what I am talking about,
Let me make it clearer so you have no doubt.
All my children's names came to us in dreams,
Most before they were conceived,
That is the truth,
I know it is hard to believe,
But we are a Family who names their babies in dreams, so it seems.

Hazel is especially special
It is her Great Mamaw's name she bears, She was born exactly 58 years after her Grandmom, to delight and to cheers!

Parenting by Deborah Lopes

Parenting
On the day you were born I was forever changed!
Whether you lived or died I was for eternity your parent.
A piece of my heart was engraved with your name.
Through the good times and the bad times
Through acceptance or denial
The fact remained you had my heart.
No matter if you crushed it one minute
You melted it the next.
You made me laugh or cry quicker than I knew was possible.
The cycle of breaking and mending became the rhythm of life.
Now I am old and you have children of your own but still…
In my quiet times my heart reaches out for yours … and forever will.

Cars That Rust

Rusty El Camino
Parked in tall grass
Another indication
Time that has passed

People, my wedding photo seeing
Seriously asking
Am I that human being

Weekends lived on waterskies
Now grey bearded tours
My knees in the breeze

Age is just a number
They keep saying
Moses said number you days
No one is staying

Cars that rust
Ashes to dust
The grass and the rust
In God I must trust

Charlie's Poem

Two Sons, One Moment

The moment I held you in my hand
I was taken to a foreign land
To a time when your Dad
Was placed in my same hands

I saw You!
My son's very own son
Part of God's continuing plan

You taught me
That time can make a stand
I was two places at once
Two times at once

I don't know
If this experience is the norm
But the day you
Charlie Boucher was born
Time itself was taken by storm

For Charlie

Abby Boucher David Boucher