The world has enough decorated war heroes and enough talking media zeroes,

enough credentialed academics and enough mrarthin runners always so athletic.

Enough fashion icons with their tapered pants and collared shirts,

enough fashion model, beauty queens, those always drunken flirts,

enough burboun drinkers who always forget to use their blinkers,

enough barrel chested players, those long ago varsity lettermen,

enough big house owners who go around married to their closet stoners.

No peak will ever be high enough and no valley will ever see their presence at the bottom with all the left over losers who will never be able to do all that they have done,

where the sun goes for days and nothing brings it out again or relieves the constant strain of not living up to the ways and means htat their examples set,

Enough of all of them!

They forget that I was there the whole time they were and I saw everything they saw over anfd over again and that I was always the one who saw it for what it was.

(I have no interest in unblemished heroes – those who were never real and who never let us down.)

Enough of trying to prove myself, do you ever get tired of trying ot run that fast all the time?

Enough of trying to cram more and more into tight pants, don’t they weigh you down on that constant uphill climb?

Enough of the perfect life, enough of the perfect portraits and the total lack of strife.

Doesn’t that burboun sting your tongue? – Does that cigar really taste that good or is that just a song that you have already sung?

If you are lucky in the end you will maintain your dignity.

If you are lucky you can find a way to let others help you bear some of the burden.

If you are lucky in the end you can rely on your faith and remember what awaits.

(just be sure to remind eveyone how big your house is.)

“Qui totum vult totem perdit”

You who have everything has to have even more, there has to be something left in the bottle to fill the remaining space in the cup, enormous blessings already poured.

You who have so much,

more than you will ever need,

always piling up more and more,

that bottomless consumer creed.

You who have already gone further than most will ever dream still have to stand out front polishing those chrome fenders to an unending gleam.

“Quid totum vult totum perdit”

You with the prestigiosyu job all young and priveledged,

owner of all these commendations, words from the higher ups,

sharing drinks and conversations and your lips to those silver cups.

you who I remember as young and unfocused, trying hard to be somebody, always a follower but then again, never bowing down to anyone.

“Poi s’ascase nel fuco chegli affina”

Then you wait and consider all that has come to pass, and when it comes to pass you to will pass – just as he did, alone and almost without his dignity.

What good will all you have done then do then?

(about the same it did for him – still gone and unable to remember anything or even what it was he had.)

And then there is me, who in his heart of hearts, knows he has more than I ever dreamed I would,

who has had enough of shallow relationships with unattainable people and cant stand the thought of another party of puffery where they all sit around and talk about their new cars or their gross income.

All those season ticket holders and enough of the Ivy League crew and their fancy western homes that have their parties with their tuxedos and all their best freind guests.

(Qui totum vult totem perdit)

T.S. Deary – P.A.F.M.

Non omne quod nitet aurum

You are not who I once thought you were- gorgeous face, strong in body yet simple in mind,.

Showing true colors when invisible and just waiting slowly to strike unseen and showing fangs with full and beautiful lips.

I once defended you against an accusation that obviously hurt you – no I did not believe what was said – made it a point to tell you so as well, and how throw stones my way has tarnished my memory.

I know of dark places.

I know of deception behind lovely faces.

I know if fraud and deception.

I know of the lure of evil, sly, reception.

I have seen those who glitter.

I have tasted what has since gone bad.

I have been astonished at how they become bitter,

and then stood aside after I have been had.

I have known your face in many places and the roots that hide there all go in the same direction.

You would have me believe that right is left and left is right and that I am wrong and only you are right.

Perfect husband and you the trophy wife with all the pictures to prove it are framed upon your face,

no room for mediocrity or anything that does not provide reflection,

just as long as all remind you and point to that constant chorus of perfection.

I bet you would never blister even in the sun or the raw nerve of the lights upon the shallow syllables of all your comments.

No one would ever dare to call you out or to ever put you down.

Never looking long enough to see the ones you have forgotten where you have never been- to busy contouring your eyebrows and painting up your secrets behind a pouty smile.

Just lace up the latest fashion, style your hair and run another mile.

Just go on and on and tell as often as you can how you are the one enlightened and how your man made you realize the wicked evil of your ways,

Then turn around and agree that women are mistreated and how the only church they need is the Church of Planned Parenthood and their highest sacrament given at the altar of partial birth abortion terminating life and destroying the bond of love – then turn and criticize those whose words offend you because authenticity never pays.

Cover girl face,

such a lovely place,

never deeply civil,

moral stand will shrivel.

Run the longest distance,

better than all of us,

just praise all of that persistence,

argument to aggress..

No argument from me, I remember to much and forget to little, there is no glitter in your gold, only from far away, in foolish light at all those cocktail parties and moments with friends just as shallow.

(attack the arguer and not his argument, certain you are smarter and better than all that.)

Moral grandstand,

I ma so far below you and down here I manage to forget and to cease to understand why you were ever worthy of any defense – my words must have been meant for someone else.

High maintenance,

high fashion,

much countenance,

such a morbid fashion.

Pointy fingers and making unrelated charges in the name of signalling virtue,

all this pieta ficta,

venom given to me – biting and sarcastic,

where I once saw gold in you,

I now see rust and decay.

A pretend funeral of virtue, long dead and gone.

Pretender of highest altitude then turn and pretend to fly away from those who cant be at your level,

(sacramentum Cenae)

Oh, that cover girl face,

I am sure you took him away to such a fantastical place.

A perfect state of sanctity and grace,

no guilt or awareness – not even a trace.

Perfect man, so handsome,

deep mind and then some,

he’s held your mind for ransom,

much better than being sad or lonesome.

You, so woke and unasleep – even censor jokes that offend your sensibilities.

Outraged over any perceived slight on women but still willing to demand abortion and sever the ties of mother and child- those fragile strings that hold us all together.

(sacramentum Cenae)

Pearls cast before swine,

one to many cups of wine,

just be sure to tell her she is fine,

use one or all – any fancy line.

All you are is a pretty face.

Inhabiting some glittering place.

Speak truth to power,

You, crumbling, fragile flower.

Inhabited ivory tower,

seeking growing power,

expecting others to sit and stay in place,

believing in the power of face.

(aliquid per nihil)

Iustus a pulchellus faciem……

T.S. Deary


Pictures Assembled From Memory III

for Maura…

So much was born from the way he sat at the head of the table with Maura’s chair close by.

(his hair growing whiter and whiter as the years went by.)

I remember how the words filled the space between himself and the child as if there was an invisible bridge between those generations.

(easily remembered origins that we all took part in over the years.)

So much has been built upon the way he sat at the head of that table telling stories, spanning generations.

(we were lucky for the times we shared and for the extensions of those times and all those echoes of laughter.

so much was learned by watching him and how he could hold Maura’s attention with hos facial expressions and gestures and how she was drawn to him and still carries hois presence in smiles and drying tears.

So much remains to be seen and remembered and reminded nd that even though the past becomes present and present becomes past, the future moments only disappear if we fail to remember how much we have and in the moments passing we forget to see what once filled that space between his chairs and hers.

T.S. Deary – P.A.F.M

6/7/21 – 7/3/21

There is no comfort in the moment

So now I am led again to this place,

still with this sad look upon my face.

To this barren place.

nothing grows,

cold and dark, like outer space,

some permanent concrete pose.

So now I am once again in this wilderness,

once again seeking the divine mad holy forgiveness.

In this rocky, dried up land,

neither here not there,

through my hands this shifting sand,

we grow apart, now a silent pair.

Where have you gone my girl, where will we end up, precious pearl, can’t we drink from the same cup?

How much further until we cannot turn back again and find what we have left behind, scattered across the floor like yesterday’s news.

Approaching the end of time, it seems, and no one can see what is written in my heart, to busy blaming and shoving, then comes the yelling and the angry words and you telling me you don’t know me.

There are flashbacks to better times and lighter days when there was some joy to be found in the shape of your eyes, when you smiled and held my hand on the way to the movies.

Now comes the point of no return at the precipice of change and nothing will ever be the same again – again you claim not to know me and I keep reaching as you turn away.

I feel myself getting older and you moving through the time and space that we inhabit and into an unknown void where I am here and you are there and there is nothing left to do or say.

This is not now,

Now is not then,

No one to tell me how,

Silly boys turn into lsot men.

The only time you know is now,

the only yesterday is forgotten,

no one to tell you how,

a branded one so troubled, to me never misbegotten.

There is no one, not one single person who has even tried to understand what it has been like watching you spit in my face and then turn form me and understand how much I still love you and want to reach you.

How about a fuck you to all those who just don’t get it and never will and then we can stop and try to understand each other and how we might be able to go forward from here, from this empty, barren place to a place where we smile at the sun and the rain?

I would rather die than ever see you be hurt and if I was and am the cause of that hurt I would rather die than deny someone I love so much a chance at restitution.

I want one more time when your hand is in mine and we walk happy and when your hair gets in your eyes and you don’t push my hand away when I go to push it back behind your ears.

This was unexpected,

like a pebble in my shoe and a grain of sand in my eye and it is an uncomfortable trying to move forward with you standing still, I will stand an wait outside your door until I am an old man and go to heaven with half my heart just to reach you and then to have you smile like you once did.

There will never be a time when this house is not your home and even the doors that you slam on me will always be unlocked so when you are to tired you can always come home again.

Some mornings when you are on the school yard with your proud swagger and easy bravado I wonder if you see me looking your way and without saying so admiring you and how beautiful you are, with your braided blond hair sometimes with it falling on your shoulders or gently blowing in the wind.

It is no comfort in the moment to be told you are just a teenager and this separation is part of growth and it does no good for me to hear any of that because what is happening here is so much deeper than that, you reject me form a sense of caution and a fear of abandonment and you seek to avoid becuase it is too painful for you to relive.I ma outside looking in like a stranger who you refuse to pretend is even you friend.

I am outside looking in and you cant even pretend that I am a friend and all the while deliver the hardest lessons I have ever learned, just because I want to love you does not mean you will receive it with joy.

All these shades of yesterday,

all this mental and relational tension,

your head full of all that tension that you can’t even mention,

left unsaid, all those things you have chosen not to say.

All these mental snapshots,

hanging in a dusty gallery,

no amount of genuine flattery,

like the silence descended on vacant, unused lots.

Then there are all the other issues,

so often cast aside like used tissues,

always boxed up and never opened,

keep those mental games away and let the blows be softened.

It is no comfort in the moment to hear what others have to say about where I went wrong and what should be done. Though they mean well i cannot see the comfort they propose.

It is no comfort in the moment to hear that you will come back when you are older, sometime far removed from now, no, it makes me angry to have to wait and then sad that no one understands me, no one comprehends how hurtful and devastating it is to me to lose you especially after all I went through to have you in my life.

I always knew the time would come for you to be on your own, I was just unprepared for you to leave me so soon.

3/8 – 3/21/21

T. Deary – P.A.F.M.

More to come…

The Niteful is posted but is not complete. I will be adding to it soon. T. Deary

“He was capable of being so kind to the children, to have them become fond of him, to bring them sugar, to think of small details of their lives and to do things we would genuinely admire…And then next to that…the crematorium smoke and these children, tomorrow or in a half hour he is going to send them there, well that is where the anomaly lay.” Auschwitz Survivor.