June 6, 1971, my life changed forever. Coming home from my brother's high school graduation, I pulled out from a one lane side road into a two lane highway, just below the crest of a hill.
Another friend of mine was coming across the hill in a Camaro at eighty- five miles per hour. He skidded 248 feet, hit me and knocked me 98 feet into a telephone pole.
Dying the next day, in a coma for two months, my life, as I stated earlier, changed forever.
i am sorry
i am jubilant
there is no in between,
i am all the sorrow in the
world. I am the world’s
happiness. i see all
that there is. there is no other
but me. you are in my selfish
world, you give
me everything.
what do I give?
do I make you happy?
do I make you smile?
what can I do?
i will love you forever.
is that enough?
what is enough? is
forever the standard?
what if forever is what it is?
is that enough? i hope so.
i do not know what else to do.
should i do anything?
Hammontree
there was a time.
there was a time when we were in love,
but not quite enough.
isn’t our time now?
mistakes were made,
actions taken,
can they now be corrected?
can we be what we want to?
can we be what
were meant to be?
there was a time, now long
gone, a time when we were
everything to each other.
we are still the same, still
everything to each other. Our hearts beat as one,
there is no other for either of us.
we loved from the start,
happy together, but unable
to go the distance.
can we do this? can we
create the time, can we be what
we each need? what we know we are?
can we be the other half
of the puzzle? completing each
other, making love forever, being
the other half, being each other’s
cheerleader.
can the two of us
be one? can we be what
we both need? can our love be
unbounded, completing each other?
can we be? again?
Gary L. Hammontree
the ancient tractor sits outside
my grandfather’s barn,
rusting as it has
the last forty years.
the tractor,
tires long gone,
only spoked wheels left
along with the rusting body.
Inside, the smoke house, the loft, the steps
leading to it, worn, creaking.
the fields to the North and South
full of indian arrowheads, and
rows that once held
ears of corn, beans and
my granddaddy’s sweat.
G. L. Hammontree
walking the shore,
smells of the ocean
portuguese men of
war lying on the beach,
shriveling in the heat, still dangerous
with their sting. waves roll in,
fish suspended inside them, crashing ashore.
a stingray bursts from the sand, flying over
the ocean bottom.
sunbathers nearly nude catching rays,
oblivious to the world, intent on
baking to a golden brown, abusing their
skin, becoming prematurely old, for the
sake of color.
bronze is the color of choice,
the color most sought.
sunglasses, bikinis and beach towels,
these are the uniform of the day.
each sun worshipper soaking up
rays, until they bake.
then, rushing into the waves before
picking up their beach towels, straightening
their bikini tops and bottoms, they
retire from their day at the beach
ready to bake their
bodies
again another day.
Narcissus, lover that I am,
silent appreciation of myself
drunk with egocentric love.
Obscuring a vision of the world
dribbling down the court of life
a cowboy dreams, locked in time.
Caught in a series of endless whirlpools
washed ashore. The wanderer nears
the end of his journey.
Suddenly, silenced as if
someone had muffled his iguana.
Huckleberry Hound is running on all pistons.
Obscure thoughts of Arabia and
a waterfall, its
mist permeating the wind.
The messenger shivering outside
cold, yet his time has come.
November wind curls around the mountains.
A dazzling blue snake crosses the road
then, lays curled, waiting for someone to pass.
Hammontree
Ochre hills, spotted with creosote and Joshua trees,
scrape against a cerulean sky filled with
powder – puff clouds that float to the horizon,
their shadows creating islands across the desert
floor. A coyote darts over the hills
searching for a rabbit dinner. Roadrunners
scamper here and there, straining to see
danger.
There is danger, this is another world, Raw, sparse,
full of life. The wind blows sometimes
with the fury of a hurricane shaping and re-arranging
the land; covering and uncovering its history.
G. L. Hammontree
This is a powerful piece of poetry. The visualization is what writing is all about:
Me and Bobby Mcgee--
Busted flat in baton rouge, headin for the trains,
Feelin nearly faded as my jeans.
Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained,
Took us all the way to new orleans.
Took my harpon out of my dirty red bandana
And was blowing sad while bobby sang the blues,
With them windshield wipers slappin time and
Bobby clappin hands we finally sang up every song
That driver knew.
Freedoms just another word for nothing left to lose,
And nothin ain't worth nothing but its free,
Feelin good was easy, lord, when bobby sang the blues,
And buddy, that was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my bobby mcgee
From the coal mines of kentucky to the california sun,
Bobby shared the secrets of my soul,
Standin right beside me through everythin I done,
And every night she kept me from the cold.
Then somewhere near salinas, lord, I let her slip away,
She was lookin for the love I hope shell find,
Well Id trade all of my tomorrows for a single yesterday,
Holdin bobbys body close to mine.
Freedoms just another word for nothing to lose,
And nothing left was all she left to me,
Feelin good was easy, lord, when bobby sang the blues,
And buddy, that was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and bobby mcgee. -- Kris Kristofferson
"We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid." -Benjamin Franklin
You do not need a parachute to skydive.You only need a parachute to skydive twice.
Last night at 12:01, I turned 53 years old. Damn, where has the time gone? Now that I am on the backside of life, time seems to go by so much faster that it actually sucks. Sometimes it even sucks the life right out of you, other times, you're doing all you can do to just keep up. I feel fortunate though to have lived this long. A near fatal car accident in '72 (I was dying that night and in a coma for a month); helped to shape my view and my understanding of What I refer to as God and the world that we live in.
Having no recollection at all of the accident, even prior to impact, I had no time to ponder the validity of God or any other aspect of spirituality. Had I died that night on highway 53, I would never have been aware of any blessed state or lack thereof. What I prefer to think of as God was there though, I am sure of that. There is no logical explaination other than that for my survival. Of that I am certain.
What, or Who is God? We all have our own vision, a particularly personal one, one that is ours and ours alone. Human beings tend to turn to a God in time of extreme need. This fair-weather friend is not a God, but rather a pacifier. If, in fact we live in God daily, then we are at one with Him. Conversely, if we turn to God only in time of need, we do not know Him. Few of us live in a Godly manner daily and that, is the reason for His infinite forgiveness.
As I continue to age daily (damn it), I become more and more aware of a need for God. Is it our eventual vulnerability that manifests this need for a God?
Alternatively, should we daily establish our own particular relationship with a God as we know Him and live our lives accordingly? Should we accept the face of God as others see Him and accept Him as our own, or rather, should we, as I believe it was intended, create our own God individually, in order to have the closest, most personal relationship with our God?
My mother died on this date. This was a sudden thing, an unexpected thing, the kind of thing that you are never really"prepared" for. I mean she died from an incorrect catheter placement that became a massive infection causing sepsis and death within twelve hours.
I received the death benefit check from Mutual of Omaha today, March 15, 2005. I almost threw it out with the garbage thinking it was just a solicitation for life insurance, but something made me open it. It wasn't a lot of money and was split between my brother and myself, less than $10,000.00. But to me, from her it was all the money in the world. It just showed that at the very last, she was still taking care of and thinking of her boys. I had to cry a little bit at that, and say,"thanks mom, I love you too".
The worst part? I hadn't been able to see her, or more accurately, to take the time to see her in the last three years since she had her stroke. She died, I'm sure, thinking the best of me, me thinking the worst.
My mother was a difficult person sometimes to be around. She was one of those people who aren't happy unless they have something to bitch about. And she did. But at the same time she had the biggest heart I've ever seen and was an extremely sensitive person. So sensitive that she could be crushed by the slightest misguided word from you, but all the while wailing about them "damn" Republicans, or what a sorry skunk one of us was; usually the one that wasn't present.
For all of her faults, my brother and I never wanted for anything as we were growing up. I remember years going by, my mother never buying a new dress or shoes or anything for her, but my brother and I were taken to town every Friday evening and Saturday morning and Santa Claus always came to our house. My mother wouldn't have it any other way. She gave everything to her two boys and nothing to herself. For all of her life, that was the way it was.
I cried like a baby when my brother Steve called to tell me she was gone and later when I saw the website the funeral home had made for her. Pictures from throughout her life. Pictures when she was a 25 year old fox and pictures of with us as children at birthday parties, pictures of us together, my mom, and me as a father with my daughter, pictures of her and her grandaughter together. Those memories made me cry even harder. See, one more time I couldn't let go and go to her. I couldn't even attend her memorial service. Too much to do, to many other responsibilities at home. My brother tried to make me feel as good as he could telling me that she would much rather me stay in California and take care of the family and go to school. She was so happy, my brother said, that I had gone back to school after thirty years to finish my degree and teach. Her death just cemented that decision that much further. But the guilt that I was feeling for the many times that I had failed her, failed to live up to what she had wanted for me, was so big and so heavy that I couldn't get past it. I didn't think I could ever get over, ever forgive myself for not being there to say goodby and pay my respects to her. She had given so much of herself for all those years to raise us and provide for us.
Later, the next evening, as I was coming home from work, I was driving down a street near our home, and, this is the God's truth, I saw the biggest, brightest shooting star that I had ever seen. Suddenly a weight lifted and I said, "hi mom, I love you too". I knew at that exact moment that everthing was right. That that was her leaving and that everything was ok. God bless you mom.
That was then. This is now, September 16, 2006. I still talk to my mom, still stop to think about her every day. I have a picture on my desk of my mom and my wife, Judy, taken in Big Bear, about six years ago. I see that picture every day and thank God for giving me two of the best human beings I have ever known in these two women.
