The first date

The meeting is arranged by phone and text,
I'll wear that red sweater so you'll know it's me,
I'll be in the corner,
Watching the door,
I'll get there early,
With hopes of steeling up some jittery nerves,
With hopes of a handsome face leading the way for a handsome soul,
Coming to this place tonight to meet me.

I'll forget my own name when you approach my table,
I'll be embarrassed by my lack of charm,
That will set the tone for the whole encounter,
Or so, I will think,
But you will find me charming despite this,
And you will try to make me comfortable.

We will ask each other the standard questions,
Where do you work?
Do you like it?
Where are from?
Family?
And I'll tell you too much,
And I'll regret that for sure.

But you don't think I talk too much,
You are happy to listen,
You seem really interested.

But then it's getting late and it seems we should go,
You say it was nice to meet me,
My heart skips a beat,
Does that mean you will ask to see me again?
Did I really pull this off?
Did I really just meet someone who might want to see me again?

No. I didn't.
You walk me to my car and say thanks for the conversation.
You give me that awkward hug.
My nerves are on fire,
and my face I'm sure is bright red.
You say, "I'll see you around. Goodnight."

I get in my car and I collapse in tears.
I said too much.
I revealed how nervous I was,
It wasn't charming.

I wipe my face and pull out into traffic.
I don't see you looking back.
I don't see anything.
I don't see the 18 wheeler with it's lights off.
I don't see the look of horror on the drivers face as he realizes we are about to impact.
I don't see him and I don't see you.
And I don't see anything ever again.



(all rights reserved. Sharlene)

The house in the pine trees.

When I was little, about nine or ten years, I lived in a world of my own creation. I had a house in the pine trees that grew along the edge of our yard. There were three of them. Whispering pines was the name we gave them. I would make my bedroom under the biggest tree. The doorway to my house was a space between two of them. And the kitchen and living room were under the other two trees. I piled up pine needles to make my bed. I hung my cup on the branch of the kitchen tree. I would crawl around under those trees for hours. I would bring a book and a blanket sometimes.

My sister and I would take our rakes and make a little town in the yard. We would have roads that connected to each other. We rode our bikes up and down those roads that we had created by raking paths in the leaves. We would "go to work" and then come back to our houses to have dinner and sleep through the night. Waking up again only minutes later we would make breakfast and tidy our houses and then back to the bikes and our busy work days.

My sister's house was under the grape arbor. Her house was bigger and sturdier than mine. But she was bigger and that made sense. Sometimes we would go "visiting" and ride our bikes to the other ones house. They were only yards apart but in our world you needed to ride on the roads to get between them.

I don't know why I remembered this today, but I am finding myself missing my house in the pines. I liked it when I was laying there and the wind moved the pine needles and they whispered. And I liked it that my sister would play with me. It was nice growing up with a playmate. That yard is the same one that we used to play softball in. We would pratice hitting there. There were three big trees on the top of the bank at the end of the yard. My dad put up a fence of chicken wire connecting the trees and filling in the open space between them so that our balls wouldn't go into the road.  The chicken wire is gone now. The kids that live there now don't play in that yard so much. But it is a magical place and I hope they find that magic.

The little man started walking toward me. Faster and faster he walked. And then he was getting bigger. Bigger and bigger until he towered over me. He kept walking and I thought, “My goodness, he will not see me when he has reached me and he will step on me and that will be the end of me.” I tried to move. I could not. Not one inch, in any direction. I was stuck. But I didn’t know why. I didn’t know why I was here and why this giant man was walking toward me. And then just as suddenly he was not. Not only was he not walking; he was not growing. And not only was he not growing; he was shrinking. He got smaller and smaller and then he was gone. And then I was frightened of something that felt worse. He was no longer visible. Was he still there? Only so small that I couldn’t see him? Again, I tried to move. I wasn’t able to walk. But now I could move my arms and I could bend at my waist. I bent to look at the ground to see if the man was down there. And I got dizzy. The world began to spin and then it rocked as though I were on a boat. I drew in a deep breathe hoping that the man hadn’t become so small that I would inhale him and stood back up. There, everything stopped. That is when I heard the noise. There hadn’t been any noise before. The trees were full of birds of every type and color, and all of sizes. But not one of them had made a sound before. Now, they all began to whistle. Quietly at first, like they were whispering to one another and then louder so that it seemed they wanted me to notice them. And then much louder. And all of them sang the same tune. It was familiar to me but I couldn’t name it. They sang it over and over. Perhaps it was just a chorus. As I stood there and tried to recognize the song, my attention turned to the birds, I forgot about the man. And then realizing that I had forgotten him, I noticed him again. He was sitting on a log in the forest and he was playing a flute. I tried to move my feet again, to walk and began to float. I was being lifted up in the air. I looked down and saw a mass of music notes under my feet. The song was lifting me. I begged the birds to keep singing. I tried to whistle along. They didn’t like that and all stopped at once. “Oh no, I am so sorry to presume that I can make music as well as you! I will be quiet. Please continue!” They seemed to accept my apology and resumed their whistling. And then I yawned. Suddenly, I was in a different place. I was walking along a stream with giant flowers along its shore and beautiful butterflies flitting about. This seemed to be a safer place. Although, come to think of it, I wasn’t sure that I really had to be scared before. I didn’t think the man was planning on harming me. I wondered where he was and why I had left the forest. I came around a corner and found a little boat tied to a small pier. A frog dressed in a vest and top hat invited me aboard. He said his was name Cornelius and he would like to take me on a tour. I thought this would be okay and he helped me aboard. About a mile down the stream he began to tell me about the flowers and trees that we could see from the boat. He said they all were medicinal and very valuable and that he was trying to raise the money to buy the land around the stream to protect them. Some people wanted to build a casino along the banks of the stream. I thought that would be a strange place for a casino and then I looked out from the shore. The stream was now a river, so wide that I couldn’t see the other side. Cornelius explained that we had moved into the mighty river now and that the river would pick up speed soon and we would be swept out to sea if we didn’t turn around. “I would love to see the sea!” I exclaimed. He said, “Well you better go now, before I turn around.” He put his hand out on the water and stepping stones of lily pads popped up. And that was how I got to shore. Cornelius stood up in his little boat and turned around and the boat began going back up the river in the opposite direction of the flow. I thought to myself, “My, that is a magic little frog!” Before I could get my bearings a cat walked up to me and started rubbing himself on my leg. I bent down to pet his head and he turned into the man again. This time the man was my size. As he transformed and stood upright he bumped my head because he was coming up as I was bending down to pet him. We both exclaimed in surprise. He asked me what I was doing there and I assured him that I had no idea but that I was certainly intrigued by all the amazing things that had been going on. He said he was going to the sea to fish and if I felt inclined I could follow him. If I did though, I must promise to ask no questions and tell no lies. I agreed whole heartedly and we walked off in the direction that the frog had indicated. We walked for one day, then a whole night, and then a whole day. We never stopped walking the whole time and we never spoke. I was so tired and my feet hurt badly. I discovered that I had no shoes on and although the ground felt very much like a carpet, I was tired because we hadn’t stopped once. I kept up with him and tried to think of a way to find out why we didn’t stop without asking a question. We came up over a hill and then I saw it. I saw the sea. And it was exactly like the sea that I was used to. Big and endless looking, blue water, white waves, sandy beach, dune grass. It was all familiar. As soon as we reached the dune and I saw the dune crossing made of weather beaten wood I knew I would be resting soon. I ran over the dune crossing, I ran and ran, but the dune crossing never ended. I kept going and still the dune couldn’t be crossed. I fell to the floor and wept. All I wanted was to lay on the sand. And then the man came to me. He picked me up and he walked the rest of the way. He placed me gently on a blanket under a sun umbrella and he went to fish in the surf. I closed my eyes and went to sleep. In that dream, I experienced the most bizarre things, but I am afraid that I can’t seem to remember what happened. It seems often that when you want to remember something you just can’t. The dreams just run away as soon as you wake.

The Ravages of Time

They had a parade,
the day the watch factory stopped.
Two by two they walked down the street.
Husbands and wives,
workers and spouses,
away from the quitting time bell,
for the last time.

The building would empty,
and there it would sit,
with its clocktower reminder,
that would eventually stop keeping time.

The couples moved on.
They embarked on new journeys;
two by two,
as if joining Noah's ship,
they packed up and left.

The building would crumble,
brick after brick,
with no life inside,
the hands of clock had stopped.
Soon they would fall,
succumbing to the ravages of time.



Sharlene Thornton, All Rights Reserved. 8/21/13

This is not a poem.

This is not a poem.
This is just me trying to figure something out.
I don't like to feel jealous. In fact when I get jealous I also feel ashamed of myself. I know that I should be happy for the person that has something that I'd like to have, for the person that experiences something that I'd like to experience, or the person that just has things easier than I do. I know that we all walk our own paths and that to bring things into your life that you want you have to do it yourself. But every once in a while it seems to me that some people just lived charmed lives. They just get stuff. How do they do it? And why doesn't that happen to me? And then if I stop and really think about it, there is probably plenty in their lives that they don't want or don't enjoy too. It just isn't obvious to me. Who knows what inner struggles other people have? Even you, reading this...you can't really understand what it feels like to feel my emotions to the degree that I myself feel them. I can try to paint a vivid picture with these words, but I will never know if I've fully succeeded. I want alot more in life than I have. But to be perfectly honest, I probably could have more if I really wanted it. Do I really want more than I have? Sure, I'd like to travel more. I'd like to have a larger salary. I'd like to have a bigger home. I'd like to have opportunities to expand my horizons. But, in reality, the person that keeps me from those things is really me. I could work harder. I could be more frugal. I could live in the moment a little more than I do. I could continue my education and get a degree. That might open some doors. I could find ways to travel. I could have pretty things. I could go on life affirming trips. I could get out of my jealous mood and have the things I covet. So that is probably where the shame comes from, from knowing that I'm not being who I want to be. I want to be happy for others and I want to be inspired by them. And usually I am. It is just now and then that jealousy rears it's ugly head and clouds my judgment. So, next time I feel jealous, I'll have this to read. And I'm hoping that it works things out for me, the way it just did. It's okay to want things for yourself, as long as you are willing to be honest and do the work to get those things. It is not okay to feel bad for yourself that you don't have something nice if you have the ability to achieve it. It is a good thing to be surrounded by people who do more and succeed. This shows me that it can be done. And then all I have to do is decide if I want to do or have it too. Because if I do, I can. And sometimes, if we really evaluate the things we are jealous of and the "rights and responsibilities" of having those things, we might realize that we don't really want that part. I'm thinking about a bigger, better, job here. Do I really want to be stressed out and on edge with a job with more responsibility and more liability. Probably not. The paycheck would be good, but I might not be cut out for a different lifestyle. So maybe a little jealousy once in a while is actually a useful thing. It can be a catalyst to change. A reminder that we have to be aware of opportunities and challenges. That we have to be aware of ourselves and our needs and wants and our own limitations and strengths. I'm not going to beat myself up over this. I was comparing apples and oranges. And everyone knows that nothing rhymes with Orange. :)

tattoo

words dribble down your shoulder blade
rememberance, of something that once meant the world to you?
you tried to stop time
you put a memory on your body
but you can't see it where you put it
behind you
in the past still
not to be repeated
only remembered when someone asks
in summertime
when skin and words are exposed
what did you say and what did it mean?
who are you now and what does that verse invoke?
can you travel back in time?
to innocence?
to guilt?
to that day?
to that feeling?
to that tattoo?



(This is an actual bar napkin. I was writing about a girl that was sitting several stools away from me. She has a tattoo of what looked like a poem or lyrics on her right shoulder blade. I never talked to her. But I was curious about the tattoo. I'm sure that plenty of people have asked her about it. I often wonder how people feel about strangers asking them about their tattoos. Some are so obvious but I am sure that many others have very sentimental and personal meanings.)

Kevin The Afternoon Guy

Hey Kev,
 Sharlene here. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry that I didn't come and see you last time I was in Connecticut. I was up there visiting my family. I knew you were hosting an open mic night. I think it was in Cromwell. I hadn't run into you in a long time. The last time we spoke on the phone was one of us saying to the other.."hey, sorry..it's not gonna work out this time." I'm sure I said I'd pop into wherever you were going to be doing the dj thing or hosting next time I was around. We weren't that close you and I, but I've known you for years. And it was always nice to run into you. I wish I had made more of an effort last time. Now, it's weird. Your "going away" party is going to be next week and I'll be in Connecticut, but I won't be able to make it because my little brother is having surgery that day.
 All this has really made me sad. It seems that we as humans, friends, always think, "hey I'll see you next time".  Well, now there will not be a next time.
 Remember that time that I was in Connecticut by myself some random summertime when you were still hosting at the bar on the riverside in Hartford. I didn't know you would be there. I was looking for Kim. Last I'd heard she was working there part time. Turns out she wasn't working there anymore but I saw you on stage and stuck around for awhile. We had a great time. You could really make a person feel at ease.
 And then, way before that, there was a night that I ran into you because my shift had been cut. I'd been working in Hartford. It was a slow night and they didn't need me. I went into the dark basement bar on Asylum Street. I don't know the name of it. But you were there with Gina Crash. The three of us hung out for a few hours. You were always somewhere doing something.
 I'm glad that I met you. I remember when you were working at WILI and Roger took me to the station to meet you. It was late at night. You showed us the studio and put on an extra long song so you could come outside and smoke and visit with us.
 And then when Roger and I were breaking up and you told me that the pain would pass. That he did love me. That we just weren't right at that time. It really helped.
 You are a good guy. You sure did live life to the fullest. I remember seeing you onstage at a Radio 104 Earth Day celebration in the park in Hartford. In KTAG uniform. Khaki shorts, flip flops, denim shirt, bandana. You really had a blast when you had the spot light. Microphone in hand.
 You had a really nice smile when it was the real smile and not the crazy face. But crazy face was part of the performer. And performer you certainly could be.
 I know that many people are saying some great things about you and sharing stories on your facebook page. It really is nice to see all that outpouring of emotion and memories. I just hope that all those people didn't say "hey I'll catch him next time" like I did. I hope that you were happy in your life and I hope that the performer in you wasn't hiding the real you from the people nearest to you. Like I said we haven't been in touch in a long-long time, so I don't know what lifes been like recently.
 I really do hope that this new gig, the one the "going away" party is for, will bring you all the peace, happiness, beer, beach, and Jaeger you want.
 See ya next time,
Shar