You say, I am dime a dozen?
I would like to meet the other 11.
You say things to bring me down?
I respect myself,
I respect others.
You say your loose and foolish comments,
Why? To bring me to your level?
I have a higher responsibility,
To serve others,
Truth,
There is no replacement.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary Gilbert
Tar on the pavement, hot and gooey, under the yellow sun.
Sunflowers sway in a warm breeze, yellow leaves, so fragile.
A traffic sign, hanging on a bent square poll, a yellow warning.
Deep in the ditch, beside the road, a mangled yellow car.
She was born, so small, scratch mittens, boots, tiny and pink.
Her first room, a lady bug, a castle, the walls covered in pink.
That first father, daughter, dance. Mom braided her hair, with pink ribbons.
I didn’t let her see me cry when she looked so lovely, in that pink prom dress.
My cell phone, wrapped in a black rubber case, rang on a snowy night.
My daughter, was back in town, her black purse, had been empty for months.
Her boyfriend, left her, with much, mush more than a blackened tattoo.
I told her I loved her, as I wrote, “She’s back!” and showing my wife the black letters.
The snow was thick on the road, the night air was painful, as blue and red lights danced.
“Two occupants both dead”, the officer in blue told me, and wrote a few words in red.
My daughter picked up a hitchhiker, dressed in blue, his hidden fingers, were red.
Deep in the ditch, beside the road, a mangled yellow car.
Blue eyes cry, into a bloodshot red.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
“It’s got to be black, and have a standard transmission. If I am going to buy a new mustang, then I am going to do it right.” my neck was hot, and my pulse throbbed in my temple. “I like to have control, besides it looks cool.”
The salesman didn’t linger, he walked over to a lot tech, “Go and grab that black ECO-Boost from the back lot, I think we found it a home.”
After a three hour volley of negotiations, I finally agreed on a price. After you buy a car, if the salesman looks like he wants to punch you, and the manager won’t talk to you anymore, you did good. I could think of a thousand ways to spend a few extra hundred bucks, or a few hundred ways to spend an extra thousand bucks.
“I am in complete control of my life,” I smiled as I rolled down the street in my new fastback. It smelled like new fabric, and clean rubber. The radio was loud, it was June, I wouldn’t make it to the end of the year without 2 speeding tickets.
My mind was taking in the moment all around me. “Better call the wife,” I dialed the phone. I knew I was going to be in trouble. There is a reason car dealerships don’t want you to call home to your wife. She will shut the whole thing down.
“Uh oh,” she said over the phone. I could feel her emotion over the phone, it was calming and supportive.
“Yeah, when you get home, I wanted to warn you about what is in the driveway.”
“It’s ok, you have been working hard, going back to school, a career change, you’ve earned it.”
“Ok cool! Thank you, I love you” I hung up the phone, I was happy. I got to stay married and I get to keep on living. When husbands draw out the ‘I love you’ statement, almost contorting it into a plea of mercy, then you know that they are really feeling guilty, but are glad they are gonna get away with it, this time.
The ‘whisp’ and ‘whoosh’ of the instant turbo boost is intoxicating. Sammy Hagar is singing about how driving 55 is something, he may not be able to do.
At an intersection, I see a man sitting on a red bucket turned upside down. The look on his face, takes my breath away. He looks beaten, hopeless, tired, and ashamed. The sun is hot today, the car says 94 degrees. My heart breaks, I have spent my entire day, devoting myself to buying a car I wanted, and didn’t really need. I found a $20 in my wallet. I seemed to snap out of my capitalistic coma, as I took it out. I was going to get a burrito and some six dollar coffee, but now I have lost my appetite. Was this guy, true to his image, or a conman earning an easy buck? The question didn’t matter anymore. I considered for a moment that God put me here, in this moment, and all I have to do is acknowledge that I am grateful. After I hand him the money, his situation is between him and God. I look at the rainbow glisten in the strip they sew into the money. I crease it and put it in my left hand, I drive up slowly and stick the money out the window.
“Hey man, God has blessed me way too much today, I think it is your turn.”
He smiled, a glimmer grabbed hold of his eye, “God bless you!”
I tried to drive away, but the car lurched and stalled.
Maybe somethings in life, just need to be Automatic.
.”
A filter removes contamination, however, what is captured, has to eventually go somewhere….
My mind, often seems like a forgotten mountain lake. It is remote, isolated, and surrounded my thick pine trees. Sometimes I let people dump trash in it. Why do I do that? It just rots and festers. My thoughts tend to swim, like fish in the lake of brain. They dart, dive, and bump into each other. They feed on bits and pieces of what I read, what I watch, what I hear, and grow. Sometimes, if the food is corrupt, they mutate. A way out? My writhing army of thoughts, my deep chasm of slimy fish are about to escape. A bar screen lies deep in the bottom mind. The swirling water is dark, and algae sways in the shadows. A fishy thought wiggles through a broken bar, it twists and flops down a dirty pipe underground. It is hidden. Big fish escape, and become words.
That is why, I installed a filter.
Ideas in their raw form, are barely palatable to most listeners. In the past, the twisted fish of my mind would leap into the air, morph into words. A splatter of emotional puss and guts would spray all over the ears and minds of my audience. It air smelled, and people would become angry. I found out, an unfiltered thought, that finds its way into words, is a dangerous thing.
My filter is online. It holds a mass of coal and sand in a deep concrete pit. I slows my speech and prevents unnecessary contaminants from making their way to my mouth. As I think, and get tired, the filter plugs. I get irritated. My words become ambiguous and aggressive. The filter is failing. Then I stop my life. I take five minutes, it is time for a backwash. My minds lake is cut off. I ask, my Creator to walk with me, to ride in the car with me. Clean water, pushes up from under the grain. Filth, and debris are lifted out of my filter. But where should they go? The brine of my evil thoughts, the filter has stopped, are still there. I could let the dirty water, go back up the pipeline and into the lake. Then, my thoughts would feed, and grow. They would become worse, stronger, and worst of all, more dangerous. I give them to God. I don’t understand why he would take them. They are gross, and smelly. But, he takes them every time. Now, I don’t have to deal with heavy dark ‘fish guts’ thoughts anymore. It is a good feeling.
Meanwhile, the fish, still swimming in my mind, are eating trash, and looking for a way out.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Wood shavings fall on the dusty floor,
“Say yes or no, it is darkness to say more.”
With a metal blade, pressing into soft wood,
“Explaining a lie, over and over does no good.”
I leave the wood shop, to the street made of stones,
“Do you love me?” I ache for you, from my heart to my bones!”
Her long brown hair, falls across her troubled smirk,
“I have a lot of love for you. Maybe that will work?”
The staccato’ed bite of a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ loses its tongue,
A storm of words swirls, like a broken bell being rung.
How do we find the truth, in answers that are pure?
A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ could very well be the cure.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Zachary W Gilbert, Author 