The Dance...

  A Short story ..

There was a reason that Sam... was the best pool shooter in the place.
Sam was always the first guy in the pool hall, practicing and waiting,
like a lion waits in the grass...for his prey to come along.
When you play pool for money... you pay after every game.
 That was the unwritten, unspoken, pool hall's rules of playing pool.
 If you can't pay then don't play.

Thats the reason not to many guys would try to take him on, or try to win his money playing pool.
It was a losing proposition.

 P.J. was the kind of guy everyone hated, but would not tell him to his face.
 He was a bully and an asshole, the kind of guy who would play you all day for money and then when you were done playing and had him stuck for fourty or fifty dollars, he would tell you that he forgot his wallet. That he would pay you tommorow or the next time he would be in the place. 
It was his usual bullying tatic... because if you asked him for your money now, he would get mad and want to fight you.

Sam looked up and saw P.J. come waltzing through the door,  he just kept practicing.
It was like a ballet that Sam had danced ...many times before.
P.J. smiled and they looked at each other and smiled at almost the same time, they both knew what the other was thinking.
Sam thinking, here comes an easy mark...P.J. thinking... should I try him.
 "Whats up Sam?" P.J. said  as he sat down on the stool.
"Nothing P.J., whats up with you?" Sam replied.

 Sam kept on hitting the balls in a slow steady rhythm... until the pool table was cleared.
 Waiting for his opponent to speak those words, that he loved to hear.
"Want to shoot some Sam?"  he said as he got up and rounded the pool table, he walked to the other end and gathered the balls.
 He knew Sam would  play.
If they played for money...he knew Sam would play anybody.
P.J.actually thought that it was Sam's weakness... in a strange twisted way.
He already owed most of the regular guys in the poolhall money. So why not one more?

"Do you have any money P.J.?" Sam asked.
 "Yea, I do". P.J. answered. " Fuck you, Sam. What the fuck do you think I am ?"
That was usual intimidating tactic, start cussing real loud.
"Well, you owe almost everyone  that comes in here money, so what do you think ?" Sam  answered.
"I always pay Sam.", It might be later but I always pay." P.J yelled.
"Don't talk shit to me Sam, I'll fuck you up" P.J. said,  stopping and glaring at Sam.
 "If you don't have any money or you want to play on the wire *, I ain't going to waste my time with you." Sam answered very casually.

He already  knew P.J's  moves, intimidation would not work with him.
 Sam always kept his cool, that is why he was the best pool player in town...
Sam knew everybody's moves.

To Sam this would be easy money for him, but he had to dance the dance.
 He had to make his opponent feel good about losing their money to him.
That was his best move.
"O.K ...P.J.... rack'em up. let's play" !
"How much do you want to play for ?"... Sam said with a big smile.

The prey had come, the chase was over.
The feast had begun.

*On the wire, is a term used to describe a system of keeping track of who wins and who loses
 on a wire that runs across the top of a billiard table. The loser usually pays what is due at the end of the session of playing.

The Flower Watchers..

A tender flower grows...
somewhere in the world
Each day, she stretches toward the sun,
 growing more beautiful and special...
each day
bringing a smile to all...
who happen to look upon her

They  are in awe of her beauty, marveling
 at the creation of the Lord...
 Grow my sweet flower..
for you are special..
full of Hope and Faith

Someday there will be one
 who plucks you... for your innocence,
 because  he will want you for his own ..
 he will deprive the world
 of what the Lord has given... us
   
Or you will find your way... in the world
and understand... that your life is special
 and we...the flower watchers
 will not notice...
because we will have moved on...
 to the next flower

All but me...my flower...
for you will always be in my heart ..
 The memories ...of what we experienced
 will never be another's..
but a special moment known...
only between us

Blue Powdered Sky

How can I tell you... what I see
if you will not look...
for the reality..
let me  free you.. to
look into my mind..


Try to see images of...
a forgotten  place,
within the reason...
of eons past....time and space

Long lost words ...of forgotten prose
a timeless moon shows
a withered Rose

Blue powdered sky.. where eagles fly
a surreal lake ..
a sight to partake
only the eyes .. will be surprised
to find me there ...
breathing the air

While holding you .. in a scene so blue
 random words ...they fill my mind
let me share them... with you,
if you... be so kind..

A Poet's Words..

A poet uses words...
 like the clouds use the rain,
warming each soul, 
with drops of comfort,
whether with a chilling shiver...
or a refeshing awakening

 As each... feels something different
 when they experience... the sensation
of  each drop of water
 falling into their world.. softly,
 or each word...piercing

  The words of a poet... very often
 fall lightly...like snow
 on one's tongue..
each individual  flake
 unique... in it's own way,
 pleasing to the senses ...
yet disappearing...
after settling into the mind

 As thoughts of love
come from a place...deep within,
 yes .. even a heart of stone
 can develop cracks

 For time...can outlast and break
the heaviest of hearts..
 and love...will never die,
as it remains in the center
 of any mind ..
forever

What is my Love ....

What is my love.. 

as it floats lightly and high

but a tiny searching butterfly,

 who tries only ..

to reach the sky

As from each tender flower

it alights..

keeping  it's  focus

on loves... greater heights

 

 What is my love..

but a simple stream 

flowing softly... driven

towards it's dream

Knowing that it will

 reach it's end...perhaps 

finding love

around the next big bend

 

What is my love...

sometimes... a cloudy sky

 seeking the sun...

that rests on high

Filled with rays..of golden heat

growing stronger

 with  each heartbeat

 

Now you hold  my Love ...so tenderly

my love is yours..

no longer free

Like the butterfly... flying to the sky,

or the simple stream..

that haunts my dreams

For the cloudy sky... is the reason why

I have faith...my Love

you are the one...

 that warms my heart,

 with your golden sun

Out of Sight .. Out of Mind

I thought I saw the blur...
or was it the look in your eyes
 the one I had seen...
when I looked... to the skies

Was it the color
of what... your blue heart meant,
or had we played all
 of our mind cards...
 money saved... was all spent

Nothing left to lose...
 we bet it all
now... just waited for the thud
from the awful fall

Remember the river
the flowing water..as it passed
once gone under the bridge
 it became part of the last
 of what ...we knew
was a memory bright,
 now gone... but not forgotten
just out of our sight

I Know Why... the Caged Bird Sings...

 I  love this poem.. even though I did not write it ..


The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou

Seasons of Change

Seasons of change ....  yet I am the same
in my own mind... only when I look into the mirror 
do I see the reality of who I am, the bags under my eyes...
they stir my mind to thought

Am I getting enough sleep ..is that it...
 or is it just in my own mind...
 that I do not realize ...that my body is aging

Women constantly fear the onset of aging
noticing the single strand of one white hair..on their pretty head...
all the while  forgetting that...

They are still the beautiful person ..within
 they are still that young teenager...
 who got giddy... the first time
 that young boy noticed them,
 made them feel special..
touched their hand
 in a soft grip

Is that what our lives are all about..
 moments passed..so fast that...
we only remember them
 when the memories replay so slowly

Reminding us of  our times we had..
reflected in the mirror... of the seasons
 that passed.. shown in the true color
  of a single strand... of white hair