whereabouts revisited, end of story

consider this finished

So we smashed like acrobats, a mess of arms and legs and heads and backs, spinning through the flaming hoops to meet the leaping, happy cats and all those clowns in human suits, and all their senseless chatter.

The main stage crashed without a sound, the lights in popping strings came down. The tents and poles ablaze and we threw whiskey on the flames. Who ever would have guessed? We blew up our little mess.

We fell just shy of Kingdom Come, smoking wisps of greasy carbon, mauled and roasted but, somehow, still breathing.

I took the Silver Meteor, you took the Silver Star. The rolling wheels on the clackity tracks and time to think but blankety blank, with darkening brow and only love and hate to break my fast, and fear was all I had for lunch and the train dropped me in Boston.

Walking wounded, psychically scarred, bankrupt of cash, bankrupt of love, eviscerated human stumps, born to hump and hump and hump and hump, still guiding by the stars. The rule of hate was short, thank god.

We would meet but never mend, in the time apart too much began. I lost the maiden all forlorn, the kids the cars the house the home. For the land where we were matched and mated, like sugar in the rain dissolved and faded, and we dissolved soon after.

I found myself in losing you. You opened the door and smashed me through. I skidded across those holy floors and tumbled into the basement noise to be healed by grizzled laughter.

And now you are beautiful as a tree in the wind, I love to see you twist and bend, a strong and able, beautiful survivor. I wish you desert kings and airplane wings, arid lands and silver springs, vroom! vroom!! vroom!!!ing kids on bikes and friends with a gift for laughter.

We tie ourselves to the turning wheel. Scars do soften and reveal what we were, how we did feel, and the walking lights beside us, guide us, and whisper who we are.

This entry was posted in art, awakening, bleak, callings, dark, denial, desolation, despair, faith, healing, hope, kids, love, lullabies, nightmare, poetry, recovery, stories, the art of recovery, wake up dude. Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to whereabouts revisited, end of story

  1. Paul says:

    Lovely long rolling thought prosepoem, very full and luxurious, enjoying the language, cool,


  2. rick mobbs says:

    thank you, Paul. Nice to get some feedback. I ducked over to your blog and left you a note. Will be back for more – there is so much there to think about and enjoy.


  3. johemmant says:

    simply wonderful, the painting, exceptional, the writing, incredible.


  4. enigma says:

    Hi rick, beautiful blog, writings, paintings and everything else.i love your story boards…it is a dying art in the film industry now-a-days. I also looked at your credits, our sfx company have worked for some of the same people ( in Australia)
    Cheers dears.


  5. ali says:

    *wipes tears* Rick..this/these are not just poems. What a neat idea. This is a book. Need to do something great with this one.


  6. xpalla says:

    you opened the door and smashed me through , I love it …… eviscerated stumps that hump,hump hump
    i agree this is a book
    Its great!!!!


  7. rick mobbs says:

    Thanks jo, i always love hearing from you. this one kept calling me back to do something more. i couldn’t put it down. your comment means a lot.

    enigma, i just came back from exploring your site. oh how i miss the sfx shops, the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd. no animals harmed to make this blog.

    ali, tender, as always. thanks for the idea of a book. my sister agrees. maybe that is what i am doing. this has been such an adventure, putting work online, and everyone has been so affirming and encouraging. i sometimes think of you as i write.

    xpalla, who the heck is xpalla? reminds me of the shel silverstein song, “who the f**k is alice?” thanks for visiting again.

    paul, thank you for that ‘full and luxurious”.


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