The Middle of Nowhere

When nowhere looked like a good place to be
I set up shop right there
I hung the sign above the door
And filled the shelves with nothing
Content with my plan
I advertised
To help me spread the word
Television, radio, websites and magazines
The world beat a path to my door
They bought as much as they could carry
And then came back for more
They filled their lives with nothing
They worked both night and day
To fill their homes with more of it
From the ceiling to the floor
What their neighbors bought
They bought as well
To even out the score
Nothing here and nothing there
Nothing in their eyes
Great arguments were lost and won
With nothing to describe
So here in the middle of nowhere
With nothing in their lives
They wonder who they all should be
But there’s nothing there to see.

T. Whitford 2/22/2016

Something to think about.

Something to think about.
As I watched the news this morning with my usual sense of awe and disgust of the irrationalities we as humans seem to impose against one another, I began to voice my opinions to the television, the dog and anyone else that would listen. Or at least pretend to. The dog only looks at me with those sad old eyes, the television certainly could care less and everyone else in the house merely shakes their head in agreement. I am convinced that they aren’t ...really listening anyway. Who wants to listen to the diatribe of a middle aged man first in the morning? I’m not sure I do at this point. I simply can’t help myself. Who doesn’t feel as if they have all of the answers? It certainly is easy, resting in the comfort of my Lazy-Boy Recliner. (Tony Whitford does not receive compensation for this product placement. It should also be said that he would accept compensation if said compensation were offered.) Let’s see where was I?

So let’s say for the sake of…discussion, that you were reading a science fiction novel. In this novel you learn of an advanced life form that rises from the mud of their existence to build sprawling civilizations across the planet they inhabit. They soon begin to question their existence. The meaning of life and the reasons for their morality and mortality, the lack of each and the purpose of their lives. And of course the fear of the unknown. Because of the need for answers they begin to believe that they have tapped into the realm of a supreme being who can answer these questions and give reason to the evil acts of their fellow lifeforms. To fill in the blanks that cannot be explained due to their own unavoidable ignorance so to speak. They call this new Supreme Being Zog.

As time goes by a number of the inhabitants of this world believe that Zog wants them to kill the lifeforms living across the valley (This is a lush, mountainous area, filled with wildlife and beauty) because they worship Zog differently than them. They soon begin to wage war against one another, burning the valley and killing the backwards, wrong believing, Zog loving enemy in an attempt to wipe them from the planet. Of course the lifeforms from across the valley retaliate and vow to see to the destruction of the other wrong believers. This begins an endless cycle of destruction, temple building, and the blowing up of said temples. Of course along the way they build weapons of war far greater and more terrible than any lifeform has ever seen, using all of the resources that help feed and house them. Which as you well know leads to the overall, ridiculous and inevitable collapse of their world.

How does that sound to you? Stupid? Absurd? Guess what? Yeah that’s right, you guessed it. You live across the valley. What do you say we leave Zog out of it and learn to live on this rock without the hatred, war, starvation, should I go on? Or maybe it’s just a novel and there are no similarities to us. You decide.
Tony Whitford
1/8/2016

The Door

The Door

He opened his eyes and looked at the clock. Something from a dream had woke him and something about the dream seemed to have opened a door, a door he closed again with the idea of possibly nailing it shut. This door, the door to his father’s room contained the memories of his fathers words and actions, his very essence, everything he could remember. He kept these items of the past locked away in a safe place to protect them. Hell who was he fooling? He kept them there to protect himself.

He touched the lamp by the bed, washing the table and floor with yellow light, and he turned off the alarm and he swung around and placed his feet on the floor, reaching back to scratch his neck at the base of his hairline.

His father held a persistent place in his memories. Floating through his days and his thoughts like an insolent ghost who cannot stay out of the places he does not belong. He sat looking at the floor, feeling the age in his back, feeling the years in his eyes and he tried to shake the thought of his father from his mind.

There were times when he still couldn’t actually believe he was gone, which was a foolish thought indeed—considering he’d been dead for forty six years.

He really didn’t know much about him. The kinds of conversations they had were of a parental nature and that of a father to his inquisitive young son. And most of the words were blurred like grease on a window, still there but unintelligible at best. He did know that he smoked, and drank. He knew that he fought in a war, and he knew that he loved several women. He knew that he played golf. He knew that he wasn’t very good at it—but he played anyway. He knew that he could play the piano but he never heard him play. And he knew that the he remembered the smile that brought tears to his eyes when he thought of it, just because he missed it so much.

Thoughts like these were something he’d grown used to. They came and went like a foggy mist, and burned away again when the son found the strength to shine. He looked at the tangle of covers beside him and he glanced at the man looking back at him reflected in the mirror hanging on the closet door.

He thought about how long it had been since he put the lock on the door of his father’s room hoping  to keep the memories hidden. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and instead of locking the door again, he pushed the door open in his mind as far as it would go, the door knob banging against the plaster with a satisfying thud.

He opened his eyes and he gathered up his clothes, his socks and shoes and cell phone and he said to himself, loud enough for his father to hear. Come on Dad, we gotta get ready to go to work, you’re making me late again.

He could feel the smile glowing behind him as he started down the stairs.

Tony Whitford

12/29/2015

Red White and Blue Son

I fought for this corner

Splitting my take was unacceptable

So I fought for the right to own it

And won

So now I keep it all

For me and mine

Food for my thoughts

You have more

You worked for it

But I work for mine too

 

Flying a cardboard flag

One arm makes it harder to hold

Harder to fold

I tried to keep a job

Though sometimes I see things

That make it hard to do

But I don’t complain

I walk the holy ground

My brothers helped defend

Some of them can’t walk at all

 

Need help

Homeless vet

Most people think it’s a scam

Too lazy to work

Must be crazy

Eyes averted

You see me

Watching the light

Doesn’t make it go away

 

I try to stay clean

I have a toothbrush in my pocket

Gas station bathrooms

Bottled water

Hotel rooms

Stained and broken

Wash my clothes when I can

 

Can’t help this time

That’s okay

I’ll be here tomorrow

Flying my flag

Standing under the red, white, and blue sun

Still here

Still proud

Try to take me down

My colors don’t run

 

Tony Whitford © 8/10/2015

 

 

 

NOISE

 

 I tried not to say the words

Tried not to speak

Tried not to hear my thoughts

The noise they would release

My mind would not be silent

My heart would not be quiet

No amount of meditation

Could convince them to be still 

No sleep

The words continued

No gate

The words contained

Broke through the wall of will

Like water crashing from the sky

And as the words fell between us

I saw it in your eyes

The light that filled my rooms with hope

Began to dim

A joy you held so near

Felt smaller now

Pulled at the seams

Less important

And frayed

Betrayed by my words out of place

 

If I could take this moment

And change it back to then

If I could pull them back

Change them in some way

They would not be the words

I choose today

But the past cannot be swayed

The line must read the same

They remain throughout our lives

Lying between us

The dust will not cover them

The weeds will not grow

Great stones have given way

And I see them everyday

I tried not to say the words

Tried not to speak

Tried not to hear my thoughts

The noise they would release

 

Tony Whitford 7/22/2015 ©

 

 

 

 

Turn To Stone

Standing quietly, watching over the hill filled with monuments to the dead.
Never pausing to rest.
Never seeking shelter from the rain or cold.
Never hiding his eyes from the pain.
Never turning away from the awful grace of God, the savageness of man, the hate we feel for another.
He waits for us to see, he waits for us all to be - the ones who will hold out their hands, in that single act of kindness that can transform the fury, that will transform the suspicion, that will carry us, one and all, to the promised land.
This land of ours, this land of milk and honey, of mercy and love, of forgiveness.
Will we shelter them?
Will we feed them, educate them, listen...when they speak, hear... what they say?
Or will we turn away, turn to stone, and stand on the hill - filled with monuments to the dead?

Tony Whitford
  6/28/2015

The Water Never Lasts

 

Few have left the battle
None have ever won
Rusting swords still rattle
Bring you bullets, join the fun

Lawyers, blood, and money

Fill this paper lovers dreams

Swim through mud to find them
In a dying magazine

On a hill far away

From a room yesterday
Out of space
Out of time
Out of money
Out of mind

Be the veil, be the bride

With a word we divide
Out of money
Out of time
We’re out of space
Never mind

Someone bring the wine this time

The water never last
Wrapped in secret smoke we climb
The mountains of the past

Mother television can you

Tell me what to know
Tape my eyes wide open
I don’t want to miss the show

Take my hand and love me

Can you tell me where to go
I’m afraid I’m ordinary
Temporary, I don’t know

 

Tony Whitford © 5/20/2015