Seems the memories...

Seems the memories
now come, then flee
and disappear
behind the walls
of age and time
and my troubled mind,
no more to hear me when I call.

They show their face
then leave a space,
a void to last
forevermore.
Taking one more part
of my breaking heart,
they turn away
and close the door.

Time now lost,
its drawers all tossed
from searching for
what might remain
of distant places
and forgotten faces,
all washed away
with yesterday's rain.

My book of dreams
and plans and schemes,
it seems is nowhere
to be found.
In the fading light
of the coming night,
it's buried deep
in covered ground.

Joseph Weilenbeck 11/17/2017

This Morning’s Sun Need Ne’er Have Shown

Why do you lie beside me still

    And stir not least upon my touch?
Do you lack strength, or maybe will,
    My trembling hand to even clutch?

Does morning hold no promise bright
    To coax your sleeping eyes awake?
Will they not lift but ever slight,
    In pity, my worst fears to take?

Why do your lips now grow so cold,
    Though bathing in the sun’s warm glow?
Is there not another kiss they hold?
    Nor one more smile for them to show?

Does your heart not have another beat,
    That I could feel upon my own?
If not, ‘tis all of my defeat.
    This morning’s sun need ne’er have shown.

Joseph Weilenbeck December, 1998 
Written in sympathy for a friend - whose husband unexpectedly passed away in their bed one morning

We drive by the flowers...

We drive by the flowers

    Looking through glass,
Missing the essence
    Of all that we pass.

We see only colors
    With no shape or line,
Their beauty and meaning
    Lost to our minds.

O Breath!

O Breath! Why do you despise me so?
That when I bid you come,
You defiantly go

And when, though reluctant, you enter in
You stubbornly refuse
To go out again

Both coming and going, you dig in your heels
And smile at the weakness
You make me feel

O Breath! I beg you, put your fight to rest
And come and go gently
To and from my chest

Joseph Weilenbeck 04/12/2018
On my struggle with COPD

No one to tell me why...

I now lie beneath freshly turned ground
And with eyes sealed shut, I look around
I see the earthworm pass me by
So I ask, but he cannot tell me why

With ears rendered deaf, over the din
Of my now silent voice crying out from within,
I hear a chorus of sprouts as they search for the sky
So I ask, but they cannot tell me why

No one knew why...

I once wrote a song...

    No one knew why
I once wrote a poem...
    No one knew why
I once painted a picture...
    No one knew why
I once shared my dreams...
    No one knew why
I once spoke of great ideas...
    No one knew why
I once lived...
    No one knew why

A poet's words...

A poet's words

scrawled in fading ink

on yellowing pages

Consigned

to an unmarked grave

and forgotten

Guarded by darkness

erased by time

touching no one

Joseph Weilenbeck  04/11/2018

If you have to ask...

Why does the artist
paint
what no one will see?
And, why does the poet
write
what no one will read?
Why does the musician
compose
what no one will hear?
And, why does the singer
sing
what reaches no other ear?
Why does each one
labor
for what others deem naught?
Why not just do what those others,
think
that he ought?

Why? O why? O why? O why?
Don't you know that it's just
that he must,
    lest he die?
But, if you do have to ask,
you may never know why.

Joseph Weilenbeck 2018

No Better Place

---

The Testimony of One Who Found Himself in . . .


No Better Place
By Joseph Weilenbeck

If only I could tell you. If only I had heard.
If only I had believed. If only . . .

The light and the voices in the room at last gave way to darkness and silence.  All pain, all feeling, ceased.  All sensation faded.  Only a vague notion of movement remained, though neither vision nor feeling survived to give credence to that notion. 

Thoughts of peace began to replace the pain and anxiety that had finally released their hold upon me.  And with those thoughts, came memories.  Memories of comfort felt in my mother’s arms, of reassurance heard in my father’s voice, of tenderness shared in my wife’s loving touch, and of joy celebrated in play with my daughter.

On and on and on...

I get up each morning

    and put on a smile.
I tell myself one more time,
    "Just pretend for a while."
I share a quick laugh
    with everybody I see.
And try to hide inside
    the pain that's crushing me.

Sometimes I make it,
    but sometimes I fall.
Sometimes I just wish
    they could see through it all.
But, no matter the facts,
    I keep up the act.
'Cause if I let go,
    I fear I'll never come back.

And so...

I take my show on the road,
    I drag it mile after mile.
I hold my head up
    and force smile after smile.
I say all the things
    that I'm expected to say.
If I can keep up the lie,
    maybe I'll last one more day.

And I keep hoping that I
    can bring this play to an end.
But I can't find the script
    to tell me how and when.
And I can't find the lines
    that I once knew were true.
Can't even say if this play
    will close before I do.

So, I keep up the act.
    I don't know how to turn back.
I Keep going on
    and on and on.
And I stay with the play
    day after day.
On and on
    and on and on and on.

Joseph Weilenbeck 10/15/2017

Karen's Eyes

Karen Carpenter (Photo Origin Unknown)

Karen's eyes
won't let me go.
So long closed.
So long still.
But still
they haunt me.

I see her eyes.
I see their light.
I see their darkness.
Beautiful eyes,
but sad.
Eyes that gave,
but could not receive.

I see the tears
we never saw.
I hear them fall
when I hear her song.
Each word...
each note...
looking for hope
while carried on a tear.

Eyes that I never knew
now touch my soul.
Tears that I never saw
now wash my heart...
then find their way
to my own eyes.

And as I listen
I see
Karen's eyes.
So long closed.
So long still.
And still
they haunt me.
Karen's eyes
won't let me go.

 Joseph Weilenbeck
~ after the anniversary of her death - February 4, 2017 ~

My Mother's Tears

My mother's tears

pour from her eyes
like the summer rain
on the mesa.
But they never touch me.
They never reach
the barren ground
that hides me.

My flesh,
my blood
long turned to sand,
leave only my bones...
lying and waiting
for my mother's tears

to find me.

Screams from the night,
from an endless night,
searched for an ear to hear.
But no one would hear
and no one would come.
Now only my bones
are left to cry out.

So, from my desert grave
again I scream.
But still
no one comes.
And my mother's tears
wait to find me.

Night after night
I look down
on the city.
But I have no eyes
to see the lights.
And day after day
I bake in the sun
and wait in the dark
for my mother's tears
to find me.

Joseph Weilenbeck 2015

For those found, and yet to be found, on Albuquerque's West Mesa -- and for their families.
Do not forget them, nor those not yet found.

Rise above...

The concept of finding the least common denominator may be useful for dealing with fractions, but it is not necessarily the best way to approach life.  Whether we are talking about our personal life, our professional life, our business, or our relationships with others – we can rise above the ordinary, the mediocre, the merely acceptable.  We each have the opportunity to add to the richness, the beauty, the goodness, and the humanity of life.  And, we should not dismiss such a notion as some mere greeting card sentiment.  It is easy, perhaps even popular, to be cynical – to be above it all.  But, we can choose another response and, in doing so, choose another outcome.

Sin's Siren Song

Sin’s Siren calls and beckons

    as on-course you mean to stay.

And the world, it points and pushes,

    till you turn to look her way.

Then your flesh too keen to listen

    takes its part in her dark play.

While the devil laughs and dances

    as you headlong go astray.

You know the rocks that line her shores.

    You know she’s but a liar.

Still you turn your bow the world’s way,

    as the moth turns toward the fire.

Your flesh now captain of your ship;

    sails billowed with desire.

While the devil in the crow’s nest gloats,

    and cackles from his spire.

But once her shores fade far astern,

    her pleasures all well gone.

And the world that you let steer her way

    leaves you too wounded to go on.

Your flesh that laughed through its brief night

    now cries with the new dawn.

While the devil celebrates and plays

    again sin’s Siren song.

Joseph Weilenbeck 10/19/2013

Like a ship within a storm...

Author's note:  I wrote this poem and song in 1992, as my father lay gravely ill. For a month, I stayed with him at the hospital.  My mother, as well as my wife, daughter, and sister stayed nearby.  I left the hospital only briefly for an occasional meal with my family.  I spent hours in meetings with doctors. I spent even more hours in the Chapel with my mother, praying for Dad and for strength to face whatever was to be. Dad experienced days of rallying, and days of decline.  Hope for recovery soon gave way to the beginning of grief, as he continued to weaken, and his condition continued to deteriorate.  I spent the last night in near darkness by his bedside, as life slowly left his body. I prayed, and wept, and gave thanks to God for this man who meant so much to me.  In the middle of this month-long ordeal, I wrote these words.

Like a ship within a storm...
by Joseph Weilenbeck

Lord, I don’t know how
I’ll make it through
Another day.
It seems the things
I’ve counted on
Are slipping fast away.

There is nothing near
That I can see
And cling to for support.
Just like a ship
Within a storm—
And far from any port.

The stress is high.
The day is long.
I’m frightened and alone.
Just like a ship
Within a storm—
So very far from home.

I feel despair
Engulfing me.
I fear that I will drown.
Just like a ship
Within a storm—
With no hope of reaching ground.

I’m at the edge
Where I can see
No future but to die.
Just like a ship
Within a storm—
Her stern tipped toward the sky.

I make one final
Desperate plea
To You in my distress.
Just like a ship
Within a storm—
Sending one last SOS.

Then with Your faithful love
You lift me
High above the storm.
And wrap protecting
Arms around me—
Keeping me from harm.

My fears now calmed,
My hope restored,
I know I’m not alone.
Just like a ship
Still in the storm—
But safely heading home.


Joseph Weilenbeck 1992