SILENCE

Can I go, quietly, away...

let my friend have the final word?

Can I control the things I say

like some tweetless breed of  bird?

Can I leave well enough alone…

keep my imagination mute??

Can I turn off my smarty phone,

become a stringless kind of lute?

You know I AM a simple man….

of cotton shirt and denim pant….

Be quiet…..yes…...I think I can!!!!!

But you know better……friend…….

I can’t!!!

Echo

He lives within the shadow of a dream
and hides when a reality comes near.
But shadows aren’t as harmless as they seem
for deep within the darkness lives the fear

that ghosts can be of substance in the soul,
that dreams can turn to nightmares on demand.

To bolster his imaginary role,
with manufactured bravery he'll stand

to shout his sweetest nothings to the wind,
as if to test his non-existent bond.
Although he knows her life will never end,
he’s so afraid his love will not respond...

he shouts “I love you” just for the reply
and hopes the echo doesn’t reckon why

Knightly

Without a thought or ounce of will,
for certain not as planned,
the beauty of another thrill
is making its demand.

How can I fall in love again
my heart has run this course?
And who would bet an also-ran,
a gray, uncertain horse?

A dirty trick for hopeless fools
is this October wind
that blows the sails and all the rules
but how can I pretend

the evidence is plain to see,
I fall for you each night--
and when it's dark... ... ... and in between
those periods of light.

The blue in the drab

On April 22, 1969 (my 21st birthday) I started a yearlong assignment at the U.S. Naval Communications station at Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam.I lived on a small U.S. Navy base built in the sand near a beautiful beach on the central coast of South Vietnam about 240 miles north of Saigon. I spent the year missing my life and my new wife and marking time until the day I could return to "the world".  

We were near a very large U.S. Army installation and my Navy friends and I enjoyed wearing our “Blue” Navy Dungaree working uniform in the middle of a zillion Army dudes in “Olive drab” greens. I particularly enjoyed visiting the Army NCO club ("Non commissioned officer club" in Army speak). Looking at our denim bell bottoms and shirts with unfamiliar markings, they would often try to stop us at the door. I guess they didn't believe we were U.S. Military, much less NCO’s, but when they checked our ID's they would, reluctantly, let us in.  I was issued greens, as you can see from the photos below, but seldom wore them.

I arrived and left Vietnam (12 months later) with a group of friends who had been, previously, stationed with me aboard the "Essex class" Aircraft Carrier USS Oriskany. A couple of these friends are in the group photo posted below the poem. Over the years we've lost a few of these guys but 47 years later (and counting) I'm still friends/brothers with several of the fine "young men" in the photo.

So......that explains ....the poem...

I wonder who was this shadowy boy

tucked, for a year, on a shelf…

wearing the blue in the midst of the drab,

and sharing the joke with himself?

Going through motions and flubbing his lines,

enduring mysterious rules,

caring for nothing but breathing the air,

he suffered innumerous fools.

Living was something he’d do in his sleep,

safe in his comforting nest,

dreaming the future, ignoring the past,

shunning and doubting the rest.

His singular focus was joining the world,

escaping his prison of sand…

closing the circle and purging his mind...

surviving to leave with the band.

~Dean Neighbors ~

Cool Papa Bell

A legend, name of Papa Bell,

from baseball’s storied past

was known for one important skill;

his feet were rather fast.

Josh Gibson said of Papa’s speed,

“This man, there is no doubt…

could flip the switch and be in bed

before the light went out.”

Now physicists have since opined

that this could not be right…

to do this thing ol’ Papa’s speed

would bypass that of light.

But I submit to you, please rest

assured this is no lark,

twas not the speed of light he passed

but, rather, that of dark.

Dean

Bob and Little Bob

A little Angel, hands o­n hips,
sings, loud and clear, the “sunshine” song,
and when the song has left her lips
she wonders how I sang along.

“My ‘little Bob without a curl’
my Mother sang that song. I knew
another Bob, another girl,
another Angel much like you.”

She doesn’t know “the rugged cross”;
your other song, (she’s o­nly three).
She doesn’t know she soothes my loss
with timeless magic; memories…

of mother singing to her boy,
of Bob and little Bob… and joy.

Dawn

On the trailing edge of night,

in a gallery on high,

hangs an ever-changing painting

on a canvas made of sky.

Using colors mixed from starlight

on a palette made of love,

He creates enduring splendor

in His work of art above.

At once static and dynamic

as it flows around the Earth,

it epitomizes hope

as it symbolizes birth...

it changes every moment,

stays a moment, then it's gone...

yet exists for all eternity;

the miracle of dawn.

~Dean Neighbors~

On the trailing edge of night,

in a gallery on high,

hangs an ever-changing painting

on a canvas made of sky.

Using colors mixed from starlight

on a palette made of love,

He creates enduring splendor

in His work of art above.

At once static and dynamic

as it flows around the Earth,

it epitomizes hope

as it symbolizes birth...

it changes every moment,

stays a moment, then it's gone...

yet it's constant through eternity;

the miracle of dawn.

Peggy Zuegma

Peg fueled my desire and my car
and I laid a plan and an egg.
I stepped to the challenge and bar
in courting disaster and Peg.

I held peggies hand and her jacket
and tripped on my words and her hem
according to buddy and hackett
my chances and ankles were slim

When I popped balloons and the question
she hammered out rules and some dents
I held Peggies hand and attention
her gaze and her dog were in tents.

I thought she'd show promise and up
but her beau won the girl and the day
left holding the bag and her pup
I was taken aback and away.

Jelly

I love the simple ways of you,

the black and white and lovely. Stark
simplicity is what you do;
it's sun or shadow, light or dark.

You dance your dance, you take your stand
the conversation’s short and sweet
with friends who, briefly, held your hand,
with those who offer life’s deceit.

And love lives in a reference book,
as lessons learned so long ago.
You know the page but never look
and, like as not, it’s better so.

“Oh, lunch.”, I hear you softly mutter, 
“Jelly, bread and peanut butter.”




I love the simple ways of you,
the black and white and lovely. Stark
simplicity is what you do,
it's sun or shadow, light or dark.

You dance your dance; you take your stand.
The conversation’s short and sweet
with friends who, briefly, held your hand,
with brownies that you'll never eat.

The past is just a reference book
with lessons learned from long ago.
You know the page but never look
and, like as not, it’s better so.

“Oh, lunch.”, I hear you softly mutter,
“Jelly, bread and peanut butter."



Jelly. V2


I love the simple ways of you,
the black and white and lovely. Stark
simplicity is what you do,
it's sun or shadow, light or dark.

You dance your dance; you take your stand.
The conversation’s short and sweet
with friends who, briefly, held your hand,
with lovers you may never meet.

The past is just a reference book
with lessons learned from long ago.
You know the page but never look
and, like as not, it’s better so.

“Oh, lunch.”, I hear you softly mutter, 
“Jelly, bread and peanut butter.”