If you could have anything,

what would you ask for?

If the whole word was a possibility,

would you want that sweet moist long kiss from a gorgeous blond,

on a moonlit tropical beach, as you both take you clothes off to dive into that ocean.

 

If you could have anything,

what would you ask for?

Maybe you would want the latest and greatest turn your wrist into an electronic miracle

that lets you surf the web faster than anyone you know,

that would make the whole world a possibility, for you?

 

If you could have anything,

What would you ask for?

What if you live in Syria and the combatants carpet bombed your house while your parents were home?

What if the ocean rose and stole your child and village away?

What if the militants exploded an IED that stole the love of your life from you?

What if the plane carrying your family was shot by a warring party?

What if the rains caused a mud slide and you live in a rural village so that the mud is even now covering your body and about to cover your mouth?

What if you had no food and your infant son could not suckle from your breast and looked at you that one last time before closing his eyes?

if you could have anything,
would you ask for one more minute,
to hold onto them,
before your world changed forever?

 

If you could have anything?

Would you give some of it away?

Because if you are reading this on one of your multiple computers or mobile devices,

to most of the world,

You already do have everything.

 

In my twenties, searching through a dusty attic,
I found an old coat.
It was a stylish long coat.
With that, and a beret, I made my way,
through many a wild night.
I was still wearing that coat the fall I met my wife.

When I asked,
I was told it was my uncle’s coat.
Long discarded years ago,
as he formed a family,
and moved from being a young man to a husband and father.

My uncle seemed to always have a smile.
He was so full of wit and wisdom and life.
We thought of him as the great Adventurer,
our own living version of Davy Crocket.

My brothers and sisters recall many stories of my uncle.
What I recall is how he made my mother, his sister, smile;
how he obviously still loved and cherished his wife;
how he loved his children, my cousins.
What I recall is how he showed that love,
often with affection and that smile.
My sisters recall his dog.

When it was my turn to move from boyhood to husband and father,
that coat ended up in my attic.
Like my uncle my life turned to more serious things.
Time and days passing,
as my own children grew and then spread their wings.

The fall is ending and the winter snows are not that far away.
My Aunt and I talked.
My uncle has enjoyed his last fall.
Somewhere now.
my uncle is on his next journey,
I’m sure he’s smiling.
I’m sure he has a story to tell.
I’m sure he’s carrying a fishing pole.
I’m sure he’s pausing, looking for his Mary Jo.
I’m sure he’s whistling for that dog.

Now that winter is around the corner,
Maybe its time to take down that coat from the attic.
Brush it off, and remember.

Cuando era joven
Soñé sueños de un joven
Cuando yo era viejo
Soñé sueños de un anciano
Cuando desperté me di cuenta
Que el sueño era la realidad
y que la realidad era el sueño.
Si yo sueño contigo
¿Va a ser real
o simplemente una gota de limón
dada por una taza de té
en la parte posterior de la tortuga
en la que el mundo descansa,
mientras sueña.

When I was young
I dreamed a young man’s dreams
When I was old
I dreamed an old man’s dreams
When I awoke I realized
That the dream was the reality
and that reality was the dream.
If I dream of you
Will you be real
or simply a lemon drop
left by a tea cup
on the back of turtle
on which the world rests,
while dreaming.

When the day dawned,
that first pink light of day,
streamed across your faces as each of you lay sleeping.
You lived, you breathed, you had dreams.

By days end, the three of you and four others,
all lay bleeding, for what strange twisted reason?
It does not really matter.
By days end, your three young lives were gone.

What was left was the grieving.
The questions, the questioning.
The finger pointing, the assuming.
The chest thumping, the grandstanding.

But for those closest to you,
for those you held most dear,
comes the realization,
that pain and sorrow, those two melancholy twins,
have depths that they did not know existed.

And what of my city, my town, my street?
What of those who did not know you?
What of those whose daily lives,
daily take them past the place your blood was spilled?

After the TV lights have left,
After the outrage has died,
After all but those who loved you most,
have forgotten your names.

How can we continue to honor your lives?
How can we not look at the particular whys,
but instead at the broader why,
Why in this City, on that night,
were your three black loved lives deemed so cheap.

As the day ends, and the sunset moves to dark.
Know that many loved you.
Many who never knew you in life, now care for you in death.
Know that in some hearts your deaths have ignited small flames.

Those flames and those embers of those flames,
those flames that call for equality, equal opportunity, and hope,
are the only flames after all,
that can burn away the past,
and bring about a new glorious dawn to a better world.

Part 12

Moving along, the road seems endless
We ride over miles of road and trails.
We do not think, as we ride, about what lies beneath.
We do not think of water running under this or that bridge,
As we speed across the top.

We do not think of that water,
endlessly wearing away at the foundations of that bridge.
We may even stop and admire the view
of all that water endlessly flowing.
Endlessly eroding those rocks and steel.

How like life.

We so often live just on the surface.
It is, after all, uncomfortable to think about the foundations,
of our carefully and precariously built up lives.
To think of those tensions,
and of those seconds, minutes, and years
endlessly rolling by
slowing and inevitably, eroding away, our allotted time.

© Dan DeMarle – photo taken by Dan DeMarle 2015

Part 11

There is a cabin by the side of the road.

If you drive by you will not see it,

the road is narrow there, and you need to keep your eyes ahead.

If you bike by it. You will miss it.

Its just after the top of the hill.

After that long ride, you are just beginning to shift gears to enjoy that long down hill.

If you come from the other side, you are tired after that long climb

and you’re also full from the cake at the internet cafe, you surely stopped at,

at the bottom of the hill.

So either way, you won’t see it.

The only way to see it, is to walk by it.

Its a long walk, and you have to climb up that hill.

Even then you may be tired, or distracted by your electronics.

Even then you might walk by and never look to the side.

Its not a great shame, even then, because you will continue on with your life as it has been.

However, if you climb that hill, and see the cottage.

Go through the gate.

Duck under that branch, but be sure not to touch it.

Knock once at the cottage door, but don’t go in.

Go around the back behind the cottage.

There you will find a very large cat.

Don’t answer her first question.

Answer yes to the second question, but don’t, whatever you do, drink the tea.

When she offers you a chance to go through the back gate.

Trade her that thimble you have been carrying for the key.

You did remember the thimble, correct?

If not a bit of ear wax, might suffice.

Now open the gate, with the key

Now go up that path into the woods.

And after that,

Well,…

after that, of course,

your life will never be the same again

© Dan DeMarle – photo taken by Dan DeMarle 2015

Part 10

There are people who prefer to live their whole lives,

without ever leaving home.

They travel the same roads,

back and forth,

throughout their lives.

The routine and predictability feels attractive and safe,

Life can feel like living cuddling under a well loved blanket.

 

As for me, give me a hill to climb,

a wind to ride into,

a rain to soak me through.

If you never ride up that hill,

you may never ever get to see the sea.

And the sea, that ever changing sea.

what deep and roiling secrets do you hold for me?

 

© Dan DeMarle – photos taken by Dan DeMarle 2015

Part 9

When life is one long ride up a hill…

When it feels like life is heading you into a deep dark tunnel.

When the sky is dark and the rain is coming.

Remember when you are in the midst of that dark tunnel,

that you have a roof over your head.

Remember when you are riding through that cold wet miserable rain,

that your not in a tunnel.

Also remember in those moments,

to look around…

Because,

there are sure to be flowers,

if you look.

 

© Dan DeMarle – photo taken by Dan DeMarle 2015

Part 8

Friends won’t let their friends drink and ride.

Friends will, however, let you draft off them as you ride up or down a hill.

A good friend knows when they need to take the lead, because your legs are getting tired.

A good friend also knows when to let you take the lead,

because you just need to let the beast out.

A good friend also knows how to help pace you,

so both you and they can have a beautiful ride.

 

© Dan DeMarle – photo taken by Dan DeMarle 2015

Part 7

If Karma is a bitch, I would like to be the father of her litter.

 

© Dan DeMarle – photo taken by Dan DeMarle 2015