In a pool of his own urine he sleeps,
homeless, scared, and lacking food or shelter.
Then along comes the law, this sight he weeps.
People turn away, all helter-skelter,
while the rest of us throw most of our scraps
away, cast long and menacing sharp glares.
For what? What does your heart see as he naps?
Your soul and heart should burn wild like flares.
Pretending he is not there, no answer,
but strife. Remember he is still a man.
Most fought to protect and came home with cancer.
Some fraud, not he, looking for an open hand
and I’ll be damned if I didn’t get involved
while you sit there…a conscious un-evolved.
(c) C.L.Swinney 2016
Most of me wanted her to go.
Take the pieces of my soul she’d crushed.
What remained were emotions I
was not prepared for, nor wanted.
The door shut loudly this time,
confirming the ink had dried and this was final.
The view from the weathered window,
brought tears, but not the sad kind.
He waited there for her, younger and
what she wanted. My hands began to ball as
the fancy car roared away.
Minutes later the feeling returned,
and a wry smile danced across my face.
The beer is colder tonight, and the pizza has
anchovies. Not because I like them, but
because she never let me. And
when my appetite returns, I may just eat one.
C. L. Swinney (c) 2015
It happened again last night. A little boy, well behaved and brave, shed only a single tear as he kissed his father in handcuffs good bye…it’ll be years before he gets out. I had to turn away because my eyes were misty. I’d be devastated if I was in his shoes. The pain I feel for the child is crushing. I’m supposed to serve and protect. But I can’t, not this time. I can’t scoop up the little guy and take him home. He’s not a puppy, he’s an innocent child, born into the wrong situation, and now, after it’s all said and done, he’s ushered off with his backpack and very few belongings to a relative’s house. He won’t have a father figure in his life, and it’s gonna take a miracle for him not to end up like the man in handcuffs. His formidable years will be wasted. You can’t raise a child through jail visits and letters. When the little boy turned and looked at me, asking me with his eyes why I was doing what I was doing, I had to turn away again. It’s that look that makes me question why I continue. I let down a three year old child tonight, and it hurts. Try dealing with this guilt. Try putting on a badge and see what it’s really all about. It will haunt you.
Dying Set Me Free.
I was nine when I died.
I trembled while lying in bed,
wide awake, suddenly the door opened.
He slithered in, fueling his needs,
and did the unthinkable by taking
his son’s life. Once I felt
his touch, my soul fled from
my body. I tried, but could
not stop it. I watched as the
carcass of my body gasped for
oxygen as the demon left my
sanctuary. My mother, she knew nothing.
I dared not mention such things.
Awake, or asleep, it always persisted.
When it ended, unknown, but I
was reborn, more evil, more angry.
I’m thirty-nine now. My soul
sleeps with the fishes, while the
mental war rages, even a generation
could not save. I lie in
bed, awake and trembling, searching for
the nine year old helpless me.
Been awhile, but this is a doozy.
If you’re driving along the freeway at 55 mph in the fast lane, and the speed limit is 65 mph, don’t take it personal that I am passing you. YOU SHOULD NOT speed up and make it impossible for me to merge over while you’re texting, talking, putting on makeup, singing, eating, spacing out, or whatever it was you were doing while I attempted to pass you to keep the flow of traffic safe. I don’t know you! Me passing you has nothing to do with you. I’m sure you’re a great and wonderful person who just got preoccupied. Please, for a more pleasurable experience, allow me to pass or move over to allow traffic to proceed. That is all.