Amnesiac Memoirs

Feast
by Ted L Glines

Love like a salad
full of tasty delights
with all of the dressing undressed.
You are my entree
lovely gourmet tasting,
in your menu I feel so blessed.
All things that I do
bring me hungry to you,
to sup at your loving table.
I will pull up a chair
count on me being there,
as long as this body is able.
To dine on your lips
and savor your flavors,
the stuff which makes my love soar.
While this banquet of love
is such a rich feast,
there is always a craving for more.

God Notes
by Ted L Glines

Things happen sometimes and you can see God at work, and sometimes very mysteriously.

Early this week there was a house fire. Little Beth Tinsley and her two smaller brothers were staying with her mother and grandparents. Beth is the one who smelled the smoke. She woke her mother and managed to drag her mother out of the burning house. The grandfather awoke and got his wife out. The fire was too hot for him to go back in. But Beth could not be stopped. She went back into the house to rescue her two little brothers. Beth perished in the fire, as did the two little boys. The house, belonging to the grandparents, was a total loss.

This evening, there is a huge chili cook-off here in downtown New Boston, and there are ads promoting this “Tinsley Benefit” chili feast. The ads are everywhere. Anyone who knows Texas will know that a serious chili cook-off is not to be missed. These people know how to cook. Everybody will be there. They all know about Beth and they are all crying over her brave sacrifice. This event is what Texas is all about; helping those who have suffered great losses. We cannot bring those children back; they are gone to a better place. But we can help to rebuild the lives of those who survived. God is working in this.

Another happening comes to mind. Maybe you happened to read “On the Edge,” a true short story about my work to help capture and bring to justice a very abusive criminal. This was back in late 1994 and early 1995. There were two women who were victims. Both of them were put through hell by this man. One of them, JoAnne Stepp (name changed to protect her), was arrested with the subject criminal in Nashville, Tennessee, and she was put through further hell because they (the U.S. Secret Service) viewed her initially as his “partner in crime.” Other than one brief phone conversation, I never had any contact with JoAnne. Many years have passed since then.

Two nights back, deep in the middle of a night shift at my hotel, I popped onto Authors Den. It is always an adventure. Scads of new poems, stories, articles, news, and new blogs. I love reading the new stuff because these are creative writers and their works stretch my imagination, and they stir my own muse. Authors Den is always an exciting place. This night when I popped onto the site, I had “New Messages.” Yay. Always love those. Then I was stunned by the subject line “JoAnne Stepp.” Blast from the past! Her message was good and uplifting, thanking me for closing her chapter with that criminal, and some small talk about her children and her partner, and she signed off, “Namaste.” If you understand that word, it is special. The subject criminal has tried to weasel his way back into her life but, as she put it, “I showed I had some backbone and he went away.” She found me. She found me on Authors Den. She (and her partner) had read “On the Edge.” Apparently it “made a difference” for her. I have no idea how JoAnne tracked me; how she tracked “On the Edge (her own story),” or how she was brave enough to contact me. That is a God thing.

That is what we writers do. We spin our tales and we make a difference in the lives of those we touch. We must always strive to be with God in our writings. Nothing less will do.

 Marita
by Ted L Glines

She calls me “Daddy”
me ... who can never earn that
title

Marita
a song whose chorus
is helpless tears

Marita
whose broken spirit
seeks strength
in broken men

Marita who sees
strength in men who brag
about abusing people

Marita whose blackened eyes
make her ask
“What have I done wrong?”

Marita cries easily
in her bleary world
where hope
is not an option
where love
is being used
then abused
misused confused
“What have I done wrong?”

Marita
loves “pretties”
loving playful figurines
but her “pretties”
have all been broken
thrown away
by a man who is made “manly”
by her pain

I kiss Marita's blackened eyes
but they won't be “all well”
ever
and “Daddy” wonders crying
“What have I done wrong?”

Sweet
by Ted L Glines

Gimme a deep-dish apple pie,
peaches and cream and my-oh-my,
short-bread cookies crunching good,
strawberry shortcake - understood,
and chocolate brownies hot from the oven,
the smell and taste and touch of lovin',
but best of all if I have my choice
is “I love you” in your baby voice,
the phrase which makes me fuzzy and warm
entralled and melting in your charm.

Pumpkin pie is oh so nice,
creamy topped and rich with spice,
but my all-time top-line favorite treat
is your “I love you” - savory sweet.

Dedicated to someone very special who is stuck in a hospital bed with a tube in her nose, monitors going “beep-beep-beep,” nurses trying to help, but there are too many long and lonely hours for her. This poem is a magick spell which requires her speedy recovery. 12:30 PM Sunday 6 May 2007.

Support is Not Religious or Political

Becky, my very dear Buddy, sent this audio/video link to me. It made me cry. I hope your computer can access it, and I hope it makes you cry, too.

Love!

Whispering Wind
by Ted L Glines

Ache is an emptiness which longs to be filled,
an echoing heart which will never be stilled,
longing for warmth, the feel and the touch,
closeness of someone who means so much.

Whispering wind come to me now,
show me the way, tell me how
to fill this void and make me whole
and thaw the self of my frozen soul.

Way in the black two dimensional space,
I strain my eyes to see your face,
and I see no form in that empty place,
but whispering wind hints at your voice,
an empty promise, a choiceless choice.

Nothing remains but to face the gloom
of a black empty wind and a lonely doom.
But I'll always be here like from the start
waiting for you to fill my heart,
and I can wait and I can cope
so long as there is a whispering hope.

Tryst
by Ted L Glines

Vapors of lovely memories linger
Intimate moments
All about you

Cantina music in Agua Prieta
Old romantic guitars singing you
Night tongues laced with spice kisses

Days laughing and playing
Infected by lust in your arms
Over the rainbow of timelessness
Sensing perfect oneness with you

Midnight silver Coyote moon
In your dark eyes - warm light of love

Vacation days and nights with you
Intended fun now heartbroken ache
Dawn rises the sun and sinks my heart
Agonized - for I must go home.



Author's Notes: I wonder how many otherwise responsible family men have taken a vacation break in a romantic foreign place, only to meet their true "soul mate" and fall hopelessly in love with her, and then have to part from her and go back home to ... what? Many, I would guess.

TinkerBelle
by Ted L Glines

Fantasia's loving dollhouse dream
a Disney singing magic scheme
with Tinkerbell and Mickey Mouse
alive on walls of her small house
and on the bed - what do you think
sheets and spread with pics of Tink
her funhouse sunhouse full of glee
with Pooh and Rocky playing free
her place of haven from the ills
of those who'd spoil her happy frills
and Rocky plays with merry glee
while Pooh sits still upon her knee
while sparkling music boxes wink
amid the faery dust of Tink
and all around her magic house
weaves sorcery of Mickey Mouse
her Disney world of living laughter
lives on brightly - ever after.

Author's Notes: Written especially  for Patty - as a cameo of who she is, my favorite witch, for there are elements in this poem which pertain less to Disney and more to her own history and life. Here, there be magick.

Dancer
by Ted L Glines

Notes: Where did this one come from? I guess some happy spirit wanted to dance tonight, and I guess this one is for Gloria and her mother, and those fireflies. Dance, Lady, dance!

Mark Glines
by Ted L Glines

It was nineteen-ninety-four - summer
had to send my son away - bummer,
it was to spare him from harm's way
but I deeply rued that day
that drove our paths thus wide apart
and made a vacuum in my heart.

And thru the years - the question posed
"Where's your son?" - and I supposed
we'd find each other some sweet day
I knew not the means nor way
the ache remained for all those years
of helplessness and stifled tears.

Then on one sunny day - so mellow
came an email - just said "Hello?"
from "Mark Glines" - I shied away
must be a scam to blight my day
a hacker's trick with fangs replete
another cause to hit "delete."

I danced around it for a bit
but of course I opened it
and there he was - oh yes - you bet
my son had prowled the Internet
with skillfulness beyond his dad
and I was very - very glad!

So now one hole in this old heart
has been refilled and that's a start
we're still apart by many miles
but we're together in our smiles
if someone asks - I can tell
my son is safe and doing well!

Author's Notes: What's this, Ted,  emotional about  something? As always, Friday the 13th (this time  - May 2005) brings something  special for me! Obviously, after  more than a decade, Mark and I have a lot of  catching up to do  - and we have begun. Miles? Quite a few. Mark is in Lake  Tahoe,  California, which is a fairly long walk from New Boston, Texas.  He sails  The Lake as I once did, and ten years has morphed him  from an aspiring computer  geek into a full-fledged computer programmer.  It's safe to say that Dad is very  proud of him! This poem is a  very special hug for Mark.

Poor Fellow
by Ted L Glines

Look at him laid back on that bench
being draped all over by that wench
and the girls on the stairs behind are grinning
wishing they were the ones who were doing the sinning
and the fine Milady who is bending him
is certainly not making him look too grim,
as a matter of fact, he looks pretty cool
as if he were happy to be Love's Fool,
and I'm thinking to myself, if I were there,
I would love to be victim and take his share,
maybe whimper (winking) for mercy above
while she has her way with her own sweet love.

Camille
by Ted L Glines

Lady of the Camellias
ailing  lovely courtesan - blue lady - weeping in the wind
dukes and counts paid for her
yet she loved Armand - a commoner - for free.

oh the heartsick pathos of her love
forever doomed to crave what cannot be.

torn  between her "proper" place and mellow love
her heart loved Armand - her "station" said no
ever trapped in a rain of loss and tears.

Camille's lovers wore the purple
at the gilded hearth of the elite,
meanwhile her hopeful common lover
embraced his dreams - intuition saying no,
lost - a mournful whistle in a tuneless disarray,
last scene - Armand threw jealous cash at her,
insulted vengeful love - showing he could pay,
a wreath of camellias - sadly wilting now
signs her curtain call in memory to this day.

Author's Notes: "Lady  of the Camellias," a  joyful/sad work by Alexandre Dumas (the younger) , spun the tale of a French courtesan who was loved by  dukes and counts, but who loved a commoner, Armand.  She was made to promise not to see Armand for reasons of protecting him and his  sister's reputations. Armand was devastated, and her promise was  impossible. She was dying of tuberculosis and from the poison of an ill fated love. Fortune was  not kind to her. The Dumas play was later poorly imitated in "Moulin Rouge."

Encore
by Ted L Glines

Where went the sight

your walk - a swaying dance

your sexy sparkling glance

Where went the sound

laughter - giggles - sighs

passionate moans and cries

Where went the smell

of your hair

breath of heaven laid bare

Where went the touch

caress on my cheek

soft - thrilling - unique

Where went the taste

of your lips

elixir - cherished sips

Your memory

haunts my night and day

ever rerunning your play

all I crave is more

encore - encore - encore

Fool
by Ted L Glines

Put me in my place
lost without a trace
you think you know my face
but you don't know me
not the me that's really me
you only know what you can see
you think my act is really kewl
with my prat-fall and my drool
as I play the silly fool

A clown may laugh and prance
and you get caught up in her dance
never knowing the romance
of her sordid guilty years
or her nightmares and fears
a crying heart no one hears
and the only hope she knows
is her makeup and her shows
and the glee which she bestows
for all the comedie and cheers
masque the pathos of her years
as laughter drowns in her own tears
her happy pink is lonely blue
her laughing smile is makeup too
her every act is done on cue
and the only fool is you

Author's Notes: If  we really knew her, we would hug  her and love her. We would ease  her pain and make her laugh again. But we don't  know her. She  is everywhere. "She is always smiling. She always makes me laugh.  She never thinks anything bad." That's the one. Look deeper, for  she is worth  knowing.

Intermission
by Ted L Glines

She's been married several times
abused - damaged - beyond all tears
then one great marriage - he died badly
and now she's free from all those years
what must she do with  that?

He's been married badly twice
entombed himself behind his wall
until she came and smashed it down
and now he's at her beck and call
what must he do with that?

Now the break for freedom comes
her house of memories is sold
his retirement - coming due
they might do something really bold
what must they do with that?

All those years have taught them much
life has been a frightful flurry
days of peace are cherished now
they've learned to not be in a hurry
and only Fate may work on that.

Author's Notes: This  is one of my softer poems and  it is dedicated to Patty - who is  such a little girl in many ways, but a little  girl who has been  through hell and kicked the devil to the curb. Perhaps this  poem  defined a moment - an "intermission riff*" - between the known past  and the  unknown future. Heck, anyone who has the audacity to send  me an  "almost-gummy-rat" and then giggles about it - certainly  deserves a poem. (*Dave  Brubeck, "Intermission Riff")

Loving World
by Ted L Glines

Politics is not my thing, platforms leave me cold,
kiss the babies, get the vote, it's gotten more than old.
Religions just divide the peeps, pidgeonholes for fools
where  access to "heaven" is defined by Founder's rules.
Racial pureness, what a joke, it really has no part,
any time we may review the color of your heart.
Your sex is your own business, be it hetero or gay,
your marriages are sacred, no matter what "they" say.
Those bigoted opinions only serve to (*beep*) the masses,
it's time we took another look, through clear and loving glasses.
"My world is more about myself, my path, my history,
than any  thing that you can do or say in front of me."
My vision sees you standing there, no goodness or badness,
and I will hug your loving heart in open-hearted gladness.
We must turn away one day, burn these flags we have unfurled,
and learn to cheer each other on to build a loving world.

Author's Notes: So  mote it be!

Mother Cries
by Ted L Glines

My Self is Stars
And vastness of space,
And tiny planets
Where life knows My pace.
In oceans teeming,
Whales sing my Grace,
And forests and plains
Are My special place.

I am the wind
And thunder showers
Which feed the earth;
Just some of My powers.
The worst of your fear
Before Me cowers,
And Love is proclaimed
In the scent of My flowers.

This is My soul,
My body, My home,
A garden for you
And your children to roam.
Peace, Love, and Light
For you and the rest,
Was all that I wanted;
Only the best.

My brooks are tainted
With toxic waste,
And forests are gone
In your greedy haste.
My breath is poisoned
With fumes and smoke,
And the air in your cities,
So brown, makes me choke.

My body is yours,
My heart and my soul,
And it's only your love
Can make me whole.
Can I feel, as your Mother,
Your loving touch,
Or must I go wanting;
Do you hate Me so much?

But when you fail
To answer My plea,
I'll keep on trying;
You need me, you see.
Some day when you're wiser,
And love one another,
You'll understand Me,
And the tears of a Mother.

Passage
by Ted L Glines

lookit baby play
grand daughter sparkles
laughing in her eyes
playing gleeful
poke-a-bug
so bouncy happy young
only yesterday
I was grinny wonder playing
my grandma lookin on
smiling her old dreams
maybe dreams like mine
right now being young
with life a bouncing ball
puppy licks and fairy dust
and when I wasn't looking
grandma went away
as I will do someday
but baby plays my heart
my today is giggle sweet
dancing light and moonbeams
in her eyes

Playing with Angels
by Ted L Glines

Here comes Pooh, playing, racing,
doggy ears flying, gleeful, chasing,
playing with Angels on the Rainbow Bridge.

No cares now, blue skies above,
bright eyes sparkle in heavenly love,
playing with Angels on the Rainbow Bridge.

After fifteen years of doggy life,
she's gone beyond all pain and strife,
playing with Angels on the Rainbow Bridge.

We're happy for Pooh in heaven above,
she lives in our hearts, our life, our love,
playing with Angels on the Rainbow Bridge.

Was  that a snuffle, a  nudge on the door,
the click of nails on the kitchen floor?
... just playing with Angels
... playing with Angels
playing with Angels on the Rainbow Bridge.

Author's Notes: This  to honor a dog, Patty's dog  Pooh; more than a furry friend, Pooh  was Patty's baby. Gone to the Summerlands  on 12 January 2005.  Pooh is loved.

LoveSong Day
by Ted L Glines

We wonder what the future holds
And what will be our tale,
When all is writ and all is done,
Will we sail or fail?

We know our past and all it held,
We've shared the good and bad.
We wonder how it all will end,
And will the epitaph be glad?

We work our magick day by day,
One moment at a time,
To bring our future happiness
To vision and to rhyme.

We wish you all the very best
Where 'ere you work and play,
May all your dreams be warm and sweet,
This blessed LoveSong Day.

Silver
by Ted L Glines

She came among us dancing healing
smiling hugging loving stealing,
her name was Silver -- so she said,
she whispered songs sung in my head,
and I was glad she took my hand,
walked me through her dreamy land,
showed me spirals in the sky,
stars and gods who rule on high,
her words were poems in my heart,
my love was won right from the start,
showed me flowers and their seeds,
made me long to fill her needs,
aloof she danced along her way,
made me beg for her to play,
kept fulfillment out of reach
no matter how I did beseech,
until that day she drank my wine
and then I had her -- she was mine,
her kiss her touch set me on fire,
a conflagrating wild desire,
deep inside me -- burning ever,
love would surely last forever,
but no -- she rose and stalked away,
leaving me in pain -- betrayed,
and I remembered songs of old
where love fulfilled was love gone cold,
and recollected way too late,
that songs of sweetness mirror hate,
and songs of love may e'er be sung,
the devil has a silver tongue.

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