NO REGRETS

 

I made music —
I danced …
I’ve known love —
I romanced …
I hunted and fished —
I did all that I wished.
I drove miles all alone —
I have yet to atone.

The lure of the highway’s
too strong to resist …
For each scenic byway
seemed to quietly insist.

So I must travel on …
… but always alone.

My journeys today
Are not far away —
From my couch here at home
I am able to roam
Through vistas presented,
Since TV was invented,
To see distant lands
Without the demands
Of tiresome commutes.
This new venture suits
My urgings to roam …
I sit on the throne
Of a happy old man —
I’ll do all that I can
To enjoy what remains,
Ignoring the pains

That come with the passage of time.

The Death of Life

 

Spirits of night still call my name, entreating

Me to join their lonely journey into night.

While I lie restless, dreaming but of flight

To safety, warmth, security and light.

Full knowing the certainty of our meeting,

That awesome day when death shall bring me greeting.

 

I live to know the gift of life's full meaning;

That every day a new reward descends

On he who, sinning, also makes amends;

And cares less for himself than for his friends,

And pleasure finds in spring's new yearly greening

And in autumn feeds his soul by thrifty gleaning.

 

How fly the years!

We'd best be gay

While yet we may,

There comes a day,

When all our fears

Are turned to tears.

SUNSET

 

When the sun is slowly and finally consumed by the brilliant

Clouds of a vivid sunset, and the stragglers of the

Feathered world flee the darkness, seeking safety in their roost;

When the tired old world says "over" to another day,

And I come home to you

I feel the regeneration of youth by your touch.  The warmth

Of a vibrant spring following a cold winter is in your smile.

I am rejuvenated by your nearness.  I am whole.

I need you.

And knowing that you need me gives me strength to go on.

Reckoning

 

  From this life of strife and pain.     

 Let me go, nor come again;   

Glad did I toast, not drunk in vain __
 Then turned me down an empty glass,

              — For my friend ..

 

   Pour out MY glass, and speak this phrase :

 "Spread here his ashes, let us gaze ....  
Tho' scattered wide, it's near he lays.".
  Then turn for me an empty glass,

                    —  for MY end ..

FULFILLMENT

 

        

THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN IS TO ALWAYS BE ALONE...

TO NEVER KNOW THE JOY THAT COMES OF HAVING FOR YOUR OWN

A LOVE INTENSE, FULFILLING, SO BURNING LIKE A FLAME

ALL OTHERS ARE FORGOTTEN ‑— - REMEMBER WHAT'S‑HIS‑NAME?

 

THE BEST THING THAT CAN HAPPEN IS TO HAVE FOR ALL YOUR LIFE

A HUSBAND YOU CAN CLING TO, OR AN EVER LOVING WIFE,

TO SHARE WITH YOU THE YOUNG YEARS, THE LEAN TIMES TO ENDURE,

AND REAP THE GOLDEN HARVEST THAT THE HARD WORK WILL ENSURE.

 

HOW GLAD I AM TO BE WITH YOU, TO WAKE UP VERY DAY

AND KNOW THAT IN REMAINING YEARS I EVER MORE WILL SAY

"THIS IS MY LOVE, MY ONLY ONE.  I CHERISH AND EMBRACE.

NO OTHER LIPS SHALL TEMPT ME, NO ONE CAN TAKE HER PLACE."

 

SO BIDE WITH ME A LITTLE WHILE ‑ LIKE FORTY YEARS OR MORE;

I CANNOT PROMISE RICHES, BUT WE NEVER WILL BE POOR.

THE LOVE WE SHARE IS WEALTH ABOVE ALL MONEY LIFE MAY GIVE ‑

AND WE SHALL SPEND IT JOYOUSLY AS LONG AS WE SHALL LIVE.

 

Mickey Basden

May 23, 1999

REMEMBRANCE OF YOUTH

 

Memories – happy memories of youth –  should, in their best inception, be crafted in the

Delight of the warm sun of Autumn, caressed by the gentle North wind; cool, but not yet bitter.

That will too soon come, with the awesome responsibility of adulthood; 

Parenthood;  falsehood; neighborhood, disquietude, and similitude.

Bitter wind of Winter, tearing flesh, strewing hair, burning eyes, wreaking havoc –

Destroying youthful optimism, instilling impatient anxious paranoia

Based on bitter experience. Follows an abject fear which compels the mind to seek the

Nepenthe of intoxication –  found in wine, or the arms of a casual companion.

Searching for fulfillment, for comfort, I read Kipling, and learn that "We were promised the

Fuller Life (Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)".

Then in a random diversion I read Paul Blackburn, who writes in a non-syntactical collage of

Disassociated thoughts, disconnected, sometimes meaningless –

And yet by strange alchemy his un-rhymes entertain, allowing me a smug conceit

That I may understand his search for a place to void his urine, in "The Assistance".

And yet later his open verse may produce  a melancholy that compels

A longing for a nostalgic excursion to the sands of my youth.

Dark twilights, warmed by a cool happiness of simple existence,

Fulfilled with the early morning sun's slow ascent, stirring

Gentle breezes which become muscular and crash the pounding surf upon the sand,

Mixing the sand of the seabottom with the foam of exuberant emotion,

Blending an awareness of the sadness of the times with appreciation for the happiness of the times.

The coolness of Summer, born in the variable Gulf zephyr is first welcome at the end

Of a hot July afternoon, then becoming too cool, drives the search for shelter, and

Provides the quench for the tempered steel of stolen happiness,

Taken in defiance of the guardians at the gates of emotion.

I know that if I return to the shores of my youth I will be

Disappointed, finding not what I remember, but a

Changed and unwilling newness, offering its own version of reality, and denying the

Remembrance of  youth.

Long Lonely Winter Night

 

      I prefer to see the glass not as half empty, but half full —  hopefully of Bacardi Gold.

 

What do I care if the glass is half empty?

 The bottle is full, just down from the shelf.

My quarters are warm, the music sublime...

 And I’ve the rest of the night to myself.

 

         Family photos bring sadness and tears —

          Some joyful, some painfully sad.

        “How young he was then ... She’s lovely again.”

           But seeing them all makes me glad.

 

A stiff drink eases all the pain, another stills my soul;

Music quiets my torment, and lets my mem'ries stroll.

 

Weird, noisy dreams assert themselves - then quietly drift away.
What care I how strange it seems — I drink Bacardi Gold today.

MOONTRAIN

 

THE NIGHT IS LONELY, DARK AND LONG;

          I NEED YOU HERE WITH ME.

THOUGH WE'RE APART OUR LOVE IS STRONG.

          WE TWO WERE MEANT TO BE.

 

MY WORK IS DONE, I'M COMING HOME.

          I'M LEAVING HERE TONIGHT.

THE RISING MOON WILL LIGHT MY WAY,

          IF ONLY IT IS BRIGHT.

 

I TAKE THE ROAD, IN HURRIED MODE,

          MY HEADLIGHTS GLEAM THE DUST.

HYPNOTIC SIGHTS ARE MY DELIGHTS,

          BUT STAY AWAKE I MUST.

 

THE BRIGHTENING MOON INSPIRES A TUNE,

          IT WALTZES THROUGH MY HEAD.

RECALLING TIMES I SPENT WITH YOU,

          THE DAY WE TWO WERE WED.

 

THE RAGING TRAIN INVADES MY BRAIN —

          BRIGHT LIGHT AND AWESOME ROAR...

CABOOSE'S LIGHT RETURNS THE NIGHT —

          IT'S SOFT AND STILL ONCE MORE.

 

THE OLD TRUCK WHEELS PAST SLEEPY FIELDS

          THAT WAVE AS WE GLIDE BY.

THE MOON RIDES ON  THE RAILROAD TRACK

          'NEATH MIDNIGHT'S VELVET SKY.

 

I TRAVEL ON TO HURRY HOME,

          TO GET BACK HOME TO YOU;

I KNOW YOU WAIT BEYOND OUR GATE,

          WITH LOVE SO STRONG AND TRUE.

 

 I CROSS THE TRACK, AND DON'T LOOK BACK.

          I RUSH TO RACE THE DAWN.

THE THOUGHT OF YOU, AND WHAT YOU DO

          GIVES STRENGTH TO CARRY ON.

 

 

THE WESTERN SKY TURMOILS ON HIGH,

          AND THREATENS LATER RAIN.

THE SUN BEGUILES AND SHORTLY STYLES

          THE TRACK WITH KISSES TWAIN.

 

THE FINAL MILE I DO IN STYLE,

          AT LAST I SEE OUR HOME.

I RUN TO FACE YOUR WARM EMBRACE —

          I NEVER MORE WILL ROAM.

 

THE LONG DAY ENDS, OUR LIFE BEGINS

          ANEW,   — WE'LL SHARE OUR TALES.

THE NIGHT DESCENDS, THE MOON AGAIN

          RIDES SOFTLY ON THE RAILS.

 

FOR THOSE WHO ROAM AFAR FROM HOME

          THE ROAD'S A LONELY PLACE.

THE MOON ALONG THE RAILROAD TRACK

          WILL NEVER LOSE THE RACE.