Living daily without Julie.

I have been called back from work for over a year. I have not been writing, only thinking about writing. Many great things have happened since Julies passing, in my family. Last week my oldest Son Andrew has his first college Concert,playing the Tuba. Julie loved the band and Music. I so wanted her next to me as he played his first concert.

I am dealing with Julie's loss one day at a time. Julie would talk to me and listen to my thoughts and dreams. She would tell me that I am the greatest brother in the world. I know if anybody reads this, they have lost someone like Julie. I write this to be closer to her, she lived off words thoughts and dreams.

I have this hole in my heart, since she is gone. I try to fill it up with food, Church, family,etc... The draft chills my whole body, I ache for her voice, hugs and punches. The only way I can soothe the wounds is with words. I know she with me, I just have to look for her.

We saved Julie's book collection last year. The rotten smell of mold wetness and death finally left them, after sitting in my garage. I came across some money and had a beautiful bookcase made in my basement. I could of got new floors, or took a vacation, but I needed to take care of the only thing I have of her. Next to me as I type these words are her books. Julie has a Edward Lear collection, a Russian Folklore collection and poetry. I know she worked so hard to collect these books,obsessively. Some of them have yellow post it notes, with her dust on them.

I am losing the battle some days, today I feel closer to her spirit as I type. While I work at the factory on third shift, I hear radios, humming lights and blowers. I will feel a chill in my chest, and weep for Julie. This happens every day, for about thirty seconds, and then I go back to work. I have been blessed with a good job, family, and having Julie in my life.

i

Poems are postcards with words instead of images.

Whenever something impacts me in my life I write a poem or story describing the moment. Our generation is losing this skill, imagination is in 3 D or High Definition. I challenge anybody to try and recreate a moment with words, Art or music. Enclosed are a few moments in my life.

Unemployed

Waking up to the aroma of silence.

I have lost faith.'

Walking in circles,chasing unknowns.

Woven tree's pass judgement.

Who am I ?

A image blowing freely.

Touching no foundations.

I am a shallow man.

Wallowing, digging fall Host as.


AFTER VISITING DA VINCI'S STATUE OF A HORSE
(FREDIC MEIJER'S GARDEN GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN, ANOTHER IN FRANCE.)


Chaperoning three-second graders-Andrew,Adrien,Nicholas.
Three wolf pups gazing at Cacti and flowers.
The boy's chase garden spiders.

Walking with my own trio of wild things,
grasping their limbs and tails.


Entering the butterfly sanctuary the lads stand still.
Spreading out their arms, still,

Underneath a cloud of Monarchs.
Hoping butterflies will land on their thin arms.

Running outside in the rough rain.
The pups look for a beaver in the pond.
Blown by the East wind,dancing.

Reaching the twenty five foot Horse statue.
Burnished ,strong stallion posing majestic.

Jumping up and down holding pointed umbrellas.
Trying to poke the stud's bronze genitals.
Little girls giggle watching.

Then back to the glass building.
where we sit at a round table.

Buying M MS candy from a vending machine.
I pour them on a Formica top,
watching six hands fight for primary colors.

Drinking bad coffee, thinking of the highlight of the day.
Wondering if I was the children's entertainment,
Or Cavello with the large tarnished cock.

Hannah

Hannah

Crawling on my bed, early 4:30

Hannah sticks her feet in my face.

A small blesssing, blond and innocent.

Sue and I dreamed of her, before birth.

Tired, I tickle her feet,nibling ten small toes.

"Daddy wake up," pulling on my receding hair with tiny hands,.

Quietly walking to the dark kitchen.

"Shh hush lets not wake up Mother."

She grabs a unopened box of cereal smiling at me.

I open it, grabbing her "Barney" bowl, and serve her.

Trying to leave She says, "Daddy wheres your bowl,sit and eat with me."

Together we eat, her smile binds me.

Gods gift slowly chewing, laughing,..

Watching a Infomercial.

Piss and Progress

When I was a forklift mechanic, I was impacted by certain sweat shops, during this job I was very stressed out.


Piss and Progress

Bins of polished water pumps

Smelted aluminum sears.

Skanky dark concrete floors

Impregnated by shavings

The dimly lit Men's room
Smells of faded paint

Mismatched porceain plumbing

Paxal and three broken urinals

Are both Pissy yellow

As the production goes on

Urine drips in beat.

Flowing in plastic 5 gallon buckets

"Piss and progress"

Shop Whore

I had a rough time in my life, and took a job that was not good for my state of mind. I read this and remind my self, "life is better."


SHOP WHORE

Blue men look down at me.

Pushing clay and ciggarettes with a broom.

WHITE service vans pull up dirty idling.

"Hello Tony" they say.

I bend down scrubbing Urinals

Joe walks in smelling of tobacco.

"These towel rolls are in wrong!"

"Damned Idiots around here.!"

I santify the floor with red shop rags.

Joe pulls down the towels with authority.

Walking out loudly saying
"men are Giants not Janitors."

Ladle number 5

I had a temporary job at a Grey Iron Foundry, this was the toughest job ever.



Ladle#5

I am a industrial mortal.

Holding the hoist control.

I move Ladle #5

Tilting left to right.

Blending coke-magnesium and copper.

Pouring ductile Iron.

Molding false Idols.

Humbled by man.

Edward Lear Julie's passion Wharf Wenches

I would call my Sister Julie almost every night, till her passing. Julie was working on a book of Edward Lear rewrites, and one night I helped her write this one in a hour long conversation. I feel her voice talking to me when I read this.

There was an Old Man of Marseielles
Whose daughters wore bottle-green veils;
They caught several Fish which they put in a dish,
And sent to thier Pa'Marseiles.

Edward Lear





Three fisher girls once wed a wily gent-
thier pa, at market sold them as a set.
The husband vowed he'd keep them innocent,
but knew--to sip six nipples-- he'd forget.

The wedding night, before thier ravishment,
the salmon-breasted girls lay on his bed
with waders on, a rubber regiment--
who tied him up with fishline, whacked his head.

The gent's estate was seaside, boat in back--
The widows with thier husband soon embarked.
His end? They said was a spendid cardiac;
though really he was cut bait for a shark.

The moral of this tale; three girls with knives
don't nessarily make the best of wives.



After two years after her passing, I am able to write this on my blog, for Julie. I submitt some of my own stuff too, but will do it only for Julie. Julie told me I was a good writer, and only when I touch the keypad, I feel her spirit.

Julies books. Gifts of Words.

I had over eight boxes of Jules books in my garage. I sorted all of the children's books by hardcovers, and soft covers. Those books were easy to go through. Julie thought a book had a pulse, breathed air,had a soul. She went to library sales,yard sales, and church sales saving books. I could feel her emotional high each time I looked through each book, looking for relics of her words or images. The authors were all good, for Julie had a Masters in Children's literature. I had to get them out of the house, they smelled of the Old house, and reminded me of her passing.

I was talking to my Pastor, explaining a person should be judged by the books in their library, knowing the read and retained all of that knowledge. Julie loved children's books, I touched each book hoping to feel her spirit,warmth and love. The books were cold,dead, and musty, my heart has hardened since her death. I have to let go of her material possessions, and remember her Dancing, and singing, loving life to its fullest.

I felt her spirit telling me to find good homes for her books. Thier is a strange Red haired lady like me at work, and I felt the urge to ask her if she liked Fairy Tales, Brenda's eyes lit up and squealed like child," I love those old fairy tales". I went in the Garage and scrounged up all of those Library Discards and moldy paperbacks of Fairy Tales and Brought them to work. When Brenda received them she was so happy, like Julie was .....

I boxed up at least 500 children's books, several of them copies of the same book, Julie could not let a good author be buried in the garbage or destroyed. Kristy my neighbor runs a preschool for Whitehall schools, She said she would sort them out and find proper homes for them, I know "Julie is smiling in Heaven, knowing small fingers are touching her books", passing on her love for the word.

I am down to three boxes of books, I have saved them for John her Husband to look at, my wife was sorting through them, telling me to get this done. I raged back at her "Don't touch my Sister's Books, their not just books, its all I have left of my Sister." Julies legacy is not just her being a Wife-Mother-Daughter as on her Grave Stone, its her love of Poetry and Books. I have a Wonderful BABA YAGA Collection and a Edward Lear Collection for John when he is ready for them.

I must say something only Julie could of told me," Books are not worth Money, Books are not meant to be sealed and Hoarded, they must be read". Someone said you should sell these books and Make some Money, "I can't sell these books,Julie never sold books, She gave them away as I will too."

I miss Julie on these warm Spring Days.

Mother put Silk Red Roses on your Bones.

You are surrounded by Turtles,Brass-Wood-Plastic.

Your Grave is the most eclectic like Angie's house.

Tears fall on the Blood Red Roses, I look Down At the new grass.

Hoping to hear your voice through the wind.

Whispering "I Miss you Julie." While you sleep below.