Landing

I sipped my slightly diluted coffee that came as the providence of whatever airline I was now travelling with, and let out a light sigh. What an odd dream, it seemed so real. I guess I’m not in college anymore; apparently I was mile high courtesy of Air France, I thought as a looked down at the napkin underneath my cup. What was I doing here? I looked up and realized the stewardess was handing out customs cards. I received mine and was informed via the Captain’s intercom that we would shortly be landing in London.
Beginning to fill it out, I realized that the card required an address of destination. This raised a new question, where was I going? This didn’t really seem all that important to me, but I knew I didn’t want to be deported so I had to come up with something. “Think, Jack… Think.” I tapped on the pull down tray for a moment as I pondered my options. What did I have on me? I pulled out my wallet. I found several hundred British pound notes, some fifties and a couple of twenties… Why so much cash? I removed the cash, I’d be a sitting duck for a pickpocket I thought, as I separated it and put it in my two front pockets and some in my sock, placing a single fifty back in my wallet.
Okay so my little problem was still not solved, where was I going? I had a drivers license, from Virginia, I pulled it out, hmm, organ donor, interesting, not too useful… bingo! A few business cards behind it, this could be the ticket I needed. What do we have?
The first was my own card, didn’t say what business, just my name, my cell number and the address to an apartment in Alexandria. I must work from home, rings a bell, although I still can’t remember what the heck it is I do, but it’s good to remember where I’m from. I placed that card aside with my license.
What else to we have, a card from a publishing house in London, there was an address and the name of a man, Nick R. Laudman. That’s right I’m a writer, my blogs full of poetry and adventures bumming around the US had been gaining readership and this guy wanted to meet me to discuss some ideas and possibly offer me a contract.
I quickly placed the card adjacent to the customs form and used this gem to fill in the details chuckling to myself; I’m probably supposed to meet with this man when I land. I’m not going to meet with anyone, at least not yet. I think I’ll have a night out, plenty of money to work with, if I was careful I could get on for a few days with absolutely no problems, I’m in London, why not go see what adventure the city had to offer.
I had never been to Europe or the UK, if this was going to be my first time it wasn’t going to be a dry meeting with some bore from a publishing house. I determined not to pick up my luggage, to avoid a potential run in with whoever was supposed to meet me at the airport. Yes, I thought to myself, for some reason I still can’t remember much, but I think I’ll take a couple of days and we will see what the streets of London have to offer while I ponder my purpose here.

Honey From the Hive and a Choice Made in Time

Vital signs, the pulse prances on
Like a sailors song, life rolls along
A man must believe
In such a happiness as he might conceive
If he wants to contrive
Of the sweet sweet honey
That comes from the hive
A sweet drool, a slow drip
Must ignore the crack of the wicked whip
All the evil that sand might supply
Only the power to wash away time
The coal man goes on with a happy hand
Mapping his woes on the banjo’s strands
Sorrow finds even the best of man
Will it beset his life’s trended stand?
A woman may work by the river all her days
Never even see the beauty in its winding ways
At one time black and white seemed brand new
The truth is grey is a timeless hue
Once the lively colors drain away
What days do your screens defend?
Will the wonder out way the wallow?
Do we live like we are alive?
Is our happiness too hard to swallow?
On through our numbered days
Beyond grey we must strive
Though a moment may be seeping with sorrow
Similar to a sandwich at the general store
Happiness is a choice made to order
True happiness is wrapped in time.
Do you believe in the honey?
Is that steady drip still alive?