The Question

The question is not what I want to be

Rather ask – who am I?

The question implies doing

Being is what exists inside

I wish to be a scholar

Soaking up the knowledge gained

Learning from those who went before

Teaching those who remain.

I wish to be creative

Writing poems – thoughts I’ll shed

Painting pictures that will finally

Express the feelings that fill my head

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Tears in Heaven

It appears that I have abandoned this site, but that is in no way true. I have been living through the misdiagnosis, and subsequent death of my father.  It has been a very long, arduous journey, and for him, at least, it  is now over.

During and after, when moments allowed, I made some music, and wrote poetry dictating into my iPhone as I paced the halls of 5 different hospitals.

Dad. The Flyer.

“A flyer went to the skies
To see the morning sun
The flash of the morning light
Glints off his forward strut – what a run..

Free, he knows now, as he soars on wings
Held up by nothing but air.
Flinging himself with a voice that sings
Proud of himself for the dare.

The mountains are far,
his destination in sight
His dreams not yet out of reach,
he sees them fluffy white

As the further he flies,
the harder the sky
Holding down those
Great mountain highs.

The skies are so empty,
There’s nothing in view
Does he dare take
the path of the few?

His voice bouncing out
through thin wispy clouds
As he talks to himself,
” not for me, those shrouds”

The shudder of the wings,
as the little plane slips
Out of place, falling fast,
no radar, no blips

He knew his day would come,
he knew he could not stop
What is meant to be done.
Hoping to land at the top

Gone now as he sits.
In the catbird seat.
Captain of the ship,
but not of the fleet.

A flyer went to the skies
To see the morning sun.”

(c)g.abbey Wednesday, Sept 4, 2013

Things That Make Me Me ~ abbey

Things That Make Me Me

Writing and art photos & computers
These are the things that make me me

I have found that certain requirements
Must be met for me to be able to see

What I can do or think or produce , good or bad.
It’s quiet time and the lack of rules that

Keep me sane, creative and mentally churning away
Using my sense of humor like wearing my hat each day.

It requires a sliver of time. a quiet one
Sometimes not long but no one to interfere

A sliver of time into which I can slip where I can’t be found
Right until there are no more words to hear

Paint, inhaling that wonderful smell of turpentine and oil
Pffft, on that soothsayers who live in chemical warfare

Worrying about masks and paint smears
they drive me crazy I swear

Listening to music makes me want to dance
Or the ballads I love that make me cry

Trying to remember to live
Trying not to die.

(c) g.abbey 2013