Being a Loser

Losers must be courageous
These are the days of losing:
So let us go then You and I into the
Fields of Wonder.
First my mind wandered off,
Being that it was my most cherished asset
I was devastated awaking to find it gone,
Even the neurosurgeon failed to find it, He went in looking,
But came out empty handed, well not entirely,
In the midst of searching for it he found a tiny
Octopus which he delicately, carefully,
Removed strand by strand, cell by cell.
He looked in her eyes and touched her hand explaining to my Mother
that my mind may never come home again,
She will always be grateful to him for the tenderness.
He is a finder. Like Our Father, his gentle hand can touch brains and hearts.
He found her gratitude.
He is a brain angel that found the lymphoma.
Later, returning to work
I got mouthy and lost my job.
Tripping on my resentment,
Falling over the arrogance tumbling from my mouth
Wonder when I will learn to shut up?
Can I learn the power of silence?
Perhaps then I will find a new job.
Sobbing and pounding the streets, beating on stones
Does Not seem to help. Speaking honestly in
Interviews proves pointless.
I am officially old now and so I
Cross my fingers and pray that I
learn to dial it back.
I was practicing this tactic,
When I lost my lover.
She who lay by my nauseated weakened body
Countless evenings in ICU after doses of Methotrexate,
I lost my lover because I am too old,
I lost her because I am a loser,
I lost her because I lose all things,
I lost her because I lost the key to her heart,
I lost her because I am too close to the end of life’s race,
Bad breath of death lies heavy on my neck, altering the flavor of my skin,
She has loads of life left to live.
She needs someone to live it with her. What good is a dead lover?
I know now that wondering why is a waste of time, and yet after
forty four years of asking, I am still wandering on in search of WHY?
Why do I do that? I promised that I would ask
HOW instead, and I have been working on
How several months and yet…
I am not sure why I trip
Over endless unanswerable questions.
I trip and fall
Losing my identity in the snow.
The next morning, in the light of day,
Desperately raking ice, I search for my ID.
It is nowhere to be found. It is somewhere.
I am praying to saint Anthony and to God to help me find these
Missing things: I found my Mom.
The lost lover who once pulled me out of the closet,
Emboldened me to out myself to my Mom; thereby finding her.
So one thing I found, honest Mother’s love.
Love that I was ever afraid of losing. I gained through truth.
What else will I gain? Not to be greedy and promising to share
I plead with Saint Anthony, guardian of lost things, guide me to my
Finder self. Inconceivable, finding God.
Me and you and everyone we know are looking for that Everything,
No two could even agree upon the name and as of yet
Unbelievable remain the claims of the Unnameable’s existence.
Falling from the mouths of pontificates,
Iconoclasts everywhere arguing over Your name.
Perhaps you are the WORD. The clothing covering
All. Yes that is it. At last I find It!
Is that WHY I keep writing, Chasing the WORD.
Searching deeper and deeper within the WORD.
Thank you WORD for
Helping me find that which I have
Blindly lost.


About m.a. wood

writer, thinker, musician, teacher
This entry was posted in brain, finding WORD, losers, poem and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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