it's late
I sit alone
with myself
an old friend
this body has changed
Today I noticed wrinkles
on my fingers in places
that don't knuckle
telltale signs of
a bath too long??
or a life immersed
in the later footprints
of ones passage
there is snow in my hair
but it's June
scars mark my body
like roadmaps
to possible exits
that I missed
along the way

I have painted
and sculpted
smiles on many faces
my work is world wide
but I remain
a small person
5 foot ten
in wrinkling flesh
unable to recover
a new canvas
for my life
or smooth away
the lines I have
sculpted by stress
in my flesh
my songs are cries
to all who are
yet passing
through the stages
I left long ago
where I took my bows
and encores
where I endured the boos
and catcalls
and exited far to soon
savour each moment
study the flawless
skin of your youth
the sheen of well oiled hair
gleaming in the sun
pay attention to the breath
as it enters and exits
for I have been
where it does
not respond
and know the hell
of suffocation
value it all
every minute
do not scoff me off
as just another older man
no one is immortal
the bend ahead
holds wrinkles and gray
and melancholy thoughts for you
slow down
it all can
be made to wait longer
the clock goes way too fast
look around you
right now
and get an image
to cherish when
the world abruptly changes
in that moment when 
it's too late
and you sit alone
with yourself
an old friend

It's Late.    by Matthew F. Blowers III

Sitting in a graveyard
where moonlight illuminates
the many mounds left here
grass dunes washed up by
the tides of life's exits

a place to reflect
on how short this travail
will be granted me this century

surrounded by the shells
of others
who once dreamed
once loved
and so many of them
gone too soon

I can almost hear
the waves of grief
the roar that still resounds
within the hollows of
each shell
embedded here beneath
the sands of time

teenagers killed by
a sudden crash
no pause to breathe
one instant
laughing-living
next the splintered glass
and then no more

young men who
stood beneath a flag
absorbing several rounds
and falling drunkenly
to heroes claims
and twenty-one salutes

young babies
nap beneath pink stones
with scattered toys above
and pinwheels turning
in hypnotic lullabyes
from the flowered breeze

Memorial Day has passed
but here it lingers
with the fluttering flags
and pastel wreaths
that will remain
long after July
has kissed old June adieu
and joined the past
in yellowed calender pages

I sit within my car
with windows down
and hear a quiet
like no other
silence ever
could unviel
and I find peace
six feet above
eternal rest

for I at least
can be assured
of this
my final destination

It is a lovely place
amidst the stones
far past the shores
of now

if you just look
beyond the tides
of life
and find the tiny bits
of color
decorating grassy dunes
that hold the shells
that death deposited
across the sands of time

The Sands Of Time.   by.  Matthew F. Blowers III

In these troubling times when 
women's rights are again under attack
by men who have no rights to decide
what a woman can do with her body,
Let us remember another man who 
was a dictator and who  tried to. Control
The people under him and sadly 
because of this a young girl died 
long before her time.

A Lament Over Anne Frank's Brevity
.
Will there be an acknowledgement
after I gasp my last breath,
of just how much I 've lost when:

"The sun is shining, the sky is deep blue,
there's a magnificent breeze,
and I remain longing...really longing.

As my soul rises from silent flesh,
till I am gazing on the ruin of time,
exacted in scars and wrinkled folds
in what was once me.

How much more
horrible it must have been,
for Anne who died
so young and fresh.
To gaze on life's perfections
never realized,
pale skin that never
truly knew true love,

Or passion's kiss 
babies, and laughter,
home and hearth of her own.
or just long hours of dawdling
in the sunsets of middle age.

What should have
been her joyous teen years,
were spent in furtive seclusion,
an addict of fear, in a attic of fear,
and yet she savored every breath,
parceling it out in 
heart rending words
before the Nazi maggots 
consumed her.

Perhaps I will think of her,
when my time is done,
and be extremely grateful for
the wondrous amount of
life I was granted.

Then I will turn, and go
whistling my way up
that tunnel of light
to where all unfinished
earthly dreams become
at long last heavenly.

Perhaps we'll
share some tea,
as I pore over all of the
latest, brightest chapters
that have graced her
eternal safe haven
in God's attic above.

A Lament On Anne Frank's Brevity. - Version 2

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The Hollow-Days Of Addiction.
(A Christmas message for all )

Christmas has come back again
For the third year in a row
And we haven't seen 
our precious son
Ever since he had to go
To jail then off to rehab
Then violating 
two probation's
the court ordered no contact
So we've had no conversations
Cause he'd abused 
his Mom so much
Leaving her soul terrified
and came after me so angrily
Every time that he got high
we both tried in 
every way we could
But then we had to say goodbye....


Christmas on drugs and alcohol 
Was never a good mix
Hanukkah plus cruel addictions
Just brings candle sadly lit
Santa Claus and faith in God
Are not enough to bring a fix
Only he can save himself
No one else can heal his needs
That have made both our hearts bleed
while he spends his hollow days
Struggling to find ways to succeed.


He'll spend another Christmas
In sober living all alone
Far away from both his parents
Knowing that he can't come home
And it cuts us deeply to the bone
Cause our tough love is no fun
But drugs and alcohol have stolen
Our most precious son
Until he proves that he is cured
and his addictions are all done.

So if you too are like our son
Suffering the same afflictions
I hope this poem moves you to flee
Back to the true life 
you've been missing
Because those who 
love you can't survive
Living with the endless friction
Of your lies and thefts 
And thier hopes left swept
Underneath your opposition
Your loved ones all must separate
themselves from your positions
Of your loving highs even as they cry
Over your tragic conditions
Leaving you alone 
while they sit at home
Praying for you and each one wishing
That you will give all that you've lost
Some serious recognition
Before you end up lying 
Under a marble inscription
that leaves them all 
Without your love
Another victim of addiction
so many others just like you 
Have faced Death's Benedictions....



By- Matthew F.Blowers III-(C)-2022
at Art-Whimsically Yours Studio
This poem is dedicated to ny son,
my only child who has been 
through his fault alone absent from
my wife and I for 3 years 
without contact

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