June 10 by The Running Son


“boy with stage fright” click4source





If there was a dress rehearsal
I don’t remember. My never ending questions
caused a reversal
of true growth to bending weathered bones
to avoid old nodes, never mending.

So the story goes. Then, I went
the path my parents chose, crying that
poems wont reject rocks thrown.
Now I send poems out like stones, eying
any who first cry out, or groan.

RunningSon, fone home! Your Father’s
gone silent, out like a pilot. His eyelet’s
too small to thread in and lately
he’s been bed-in and shut us out.
Crowded House now, and no place

to board a mouse comfortably,
much less me, the least likely
suspect to face this, first draft,
no flash cards or bath breaks, kissing
straight on the mouth

the death of a thousand resentments.
I rely on those. Need them, minus
a run-through, to expose the me you see
imposing myself, and my poetry,
on reality without rehearsal, or needed editing..





by Jim Aldrich

☀ ☁

All Poetry by RunningSon, aka Jim Aldrich

.namaste.   -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •-   .namaste.


2 thoughts on “̡̢Ϛtage~F̃right̡̢

  1. Wow. This brought back a bad memory for me. 🙂 My mom forced me to play a piano piece in church once. Her mother was there, and Mom wanted her to hear me play. I had no music, and had not played the piano in almost a month. It was a disaster. 🙂

    • Ouch. I got caught shoplifting at like 8, hoop earrings at sears (no my ear wasn’t pierced–they seemed cool). My moms sisters and mom were visiting…They paged them over the loudspeaker down to security…

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RFB editor Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013

RunningSon aka Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013 | This site is dedicated with the deepest gratitude to Dr. Cláudio Naranjo, whose writings gave me life.

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