The Soul on a Stroll

The Soul on a Stroll

By BR Chitwood

 The wild joy of children playing in the local park

on a sunny day…slowly becoming what it is

they will become…

Screaming sirens from fire trucks speeding by,

onlookers forming thoughts of calamity

and lives in peril.

The tempo of feet on the concrete sidewalks,

haste and slow pace going hither and yon

to destinations unknown.

The Soul strolls, watches the mundanity

of masses, empirically builds the lives of those

who most draw attention.

The Soul seeks to understand the actions and

cosmic purpose of all It sees, tries to define the

what, why, and outcome.

So the Soul strolls through life’s enigmas,  hates,

lives, loves, errs along the way to an unknown hole

in the ground or a canister of ashes.

*

BR Chitwood – February 2021

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Love Is

Love Is

By BR Chitwood

Love is the Soul responding to a vision,

The motion of a body

That moves in perfect tempo…

Love is the luscious face of Grace Kelly –

Be still, my racing heart,

Her smile facilitates its pounding…

Love is the seeking of one so lovely

To cease the Romantic Wanderlust,

To surfeit lingering desires of the heart…

*

By BR Chitwood – December 14, 2020

https://www.brchitwood.com

Demented Pleasure

©Demented Pleasure

BR Chitwood

What manner of demented pleasure do I receive by  

The daily pounding of these laptop keys?

Most certainly not the accolades written in copious

affirmational delight with so much ease…

Please mind not what seems vain adolescent tripe…

Each of us in turn have found our time to gripe.

My observation is, writers bear it alone for hours,

and become inured to the ‘hearts and flowers’.

So, write your historic epic, your suspense thriller,

just remember, there are millions drafting a chiller…

*

by BR Chitwood

https://www.brchitwood.com

How Will I Find You?

Thinking one day of my mortality and the next dimension, my thoughts turned to Julie, my wife, my love, and how would I find her there in the land that only the soul can know. These are the words that came to me:

How Will I Find You?

 There in the light blue sky

Where I look for your face

In the soft white puff of cloud?

 There in the empty chair

Where you once quietly sat

In the room of my solitude?

 There in the now barren garden

Where I once watched you

Kneeling, planting your seeds?

 There along the pristine beach

Where we collected sea glass

Among the gulls and shells?

 Where will you be when I am

In the shadows of tomorrow

A man lost in youth’s sorrow?

 How will I find you, my love

Knowing not where to look

In such a strange new world?

 When my timid spirit wavers 

There in that unknown land

How will you return to me?

 In the darkness that is death

What is God’s demand of me

To atone for sins of life?

 Why does this most peculiar

Etching of words play so

Strongly upon my defiled soul?

*

BR Chitwood – November 12, 2020

https://www.brchitwood.com

Songs of the Soul

Songs of the Soul

By BR Chitwood

*

[This post is dedicated to Leah Chrestien:

https://theecstaticstoryteller.wordpress.com%5D

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So many ‘mystic’ memories coalesce here in my soul, some too nightmarish and obscene on which to dwell, mentioned here only as side notes to a hitchhiking heart that would chase pellucid romantic illusions for a lifetime… Love, family, picket fence, without the negative side-scripts.

This incredible Romantic crusade brought me joy, love, and ultimate soul tremors until the inevitable ‘small things’ became too large, too cumbersome, and the sad ending would come. There, in that desolate mood of self-pity I would languish, absorb too much alcohol, settle for a lady of the evening, and awake in the mornings with hangovers and self-loathing…

This became the routine of my life. Having a college degree and good job, I worked in some sort of sloven capacity during the day, did some TV commercials and acting on the side, and it was seldom I was late for cocktail hour – party time, lady-chasing time, cocktail time.

I married, had kids, divorced in ten years. Must have liked ‘marrying’ because I did it again and again…until I found the ‘perfect lady’ for my imperfect self, NOT in a bar, but at the work-place. She is a lady of outstanding intellect and understanding, a patient person in our nuclear family.

Finally, I turned to my ‘first real love’, writing, I write novels inspired by true crimes, mysteries, thrillers, romance novels, a couple of memoirs, Science-Fic, et al. I’ve written twenty books, 400 blog posts, flash fiction, poetry, and short stories.

We live in Arizona with the Cacti family, the rattlesnake family, other homo sapiens.

I have mellowed with age, no more lady-chasing, bar-hopping, and booze. In fact, I’m a rather dull guy, care for my country, for all of the patriots who gave us freedom and liberty.

One last admission: there are at times the demons in the night, and youthful thoughts that give me hunger for that unruly past.

BR Chitwood – November 11, 2020

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Website and Blog:

https://www.brchitwood.com

A Lonesome Wail

A Lonesome Wail

-by BR Chitwood-

A long lonesome wail of a moonlight train whistle…

The clapping/slapping of steel wheels on steel rails…

Seem for some the quixotic movements of the Soul…

Transports to the stuff of adventure, romance, love…

A sad transit to unstoppable tears of remembrance…

*

For some, merely interruptions to bland activities…

For others, those of troubled hearts and memories…

That plaintive sound awakens the heart to lost love…

To a path urged to follow but reluctantly not taken…

To an urgent unbearable loss, a desperate suffering…

*

For the strong of heart, a train wail is simply noise…

A warning to stay off the tracks ‘til Silence returns…

An unwelcome sound that spoils the busy moments…

Can it be? The whistle of a train can define a person…

Humbly, truly, I do submit that it surely must be so…

By BR Chitwood – October 16, 2020

https://www.brchitwoodcom

Why?

Why?

Why do I carry with pain and warmth

Those misty moments of yesterday?

Those days and nights of fear and wonder?

They shaped me for the tomorrows of hope.

For the nocturnal neon brushes with love.

For the morning waking to reality and truth.

For life’s gifts deserved and not so much.

For romance’s steady itches and searches.

For those misty long-ago moments, thanks:

You gave me a life so many would wish.

*

BR Chitwood – October 9, 2020

Website & Blog: https://www.brchitwood.com