PoPo Teaches Grandpa A Lesson [rev2]

How stupid am I?

Well it starts out like this—

My Grandson, leaving a summer math class
carrying a piece of folded paper

—Followed by his gracious and grinning teacher

I asked, “What is that?”

Pointing to his hand holding the paper,

Hoping it wasn’t a note from the “warden”

Being shot by one of his righteous and never wrong Heroes.

He handed it to me—
It was a bunch of math problems
He needed to solve before tomorrow’s class.

Looking at it with a quick glance,

Spotting the first problem to be solved—

I asked, “What’s 9 times 3?”
Looking at the sky,

As we were going towards the car
Quietly said, “27”

Hmmmm!

Then he turned towards me and asked,
“What’s 9 times 0?”
I said “9”! Quite proudly—

 Both he and his teacher burst out laughing
As she patted my grandson

On the back, saying, “see you tomorrow.”

Opening our car doors, he said,
“Grandpa, you know what ever number times zero
Will always be zero.”

 Driving off

I looked in the rear view mirror
And saw him wearing my baseball cap
Usually left in the back—

He was wearing it backwards
And giving me this shit eatin’ grin.

It was a long ride back

Thinking how smart I really am.

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The House On Mason Road, In Sandwich, NH

The house on Mason Road

is set in the woods with a dirt driveway.

                                                —Mail box leaning

is the only indication of an entranceway.

Both for the snowplows and visitors.

—One, hopefully will miss—

The other, with blinker on

                                                —will turn in

Around the wooded curve to a clearing

where there, sits a house on Mason Road.

King, Princes, and Queen of the peaceful

Open Fire Tribe, harmoniously reside;

surrounded by pines, hardwoods,

                                                — and one apple tree.

Two Princes protect the entrance

With a bold plastic pink flamingo

                                                —ready to pounce

On imaginary villains who mean to do “good” harm!

Prince Popo? First with a plastic hammer; if the shadow has a cast.

Prince Gavyn? Waits for introductions, ducking once or twice

in the invisible clash… eventually both smile with relief

as they are greeted with the sight of bright  white teeth,

                                                —giving the signal to continue,

to all walk towards the fire

with hugs and handshakes when possible

                                                —Since most of them have their arms full.

Bringing food, twigs, beer, wine, whiskey, and wood

for an evening’s non-occasion meeting of the Fireside Tribe.

Conversation and laughter overtakes everything

as tradition prescribes,

                                                —they put all things,

other than their ancestors,

 And their continued fellowship

                                                —aside.

 

A Father’s Wedding Card To: Jessica and Dylan

“Over and over and over you begin.

Drop, fall, falling and fall

 In love again— as the seasons pass,

See your hearts reflection

Looking through the window

One elbow on the windowsill.”

 

You grew from a seed, fallen from an oak. In your fall

You were embraced in the womb of bright-colored fallen leaves

—quilted for the comfort of winter

—made just for you.

 

It is nature’s well-attended consummation.

 

Cleansed by snow, baptized in spring rain,

 Encouraged by the earth beneath you,

The sun of life above you—

You grew with patience, understanding, and perseverance.

 

 Now, having watched all seeds grow: let me fall again

—in age with roots entwined and with fallen branches

To nourish you, with patience, understanding, and perseverance

—to build your own home in harmony with nature’s beautiful quilt,

 

As you drop, fall, falling, and then fall in love again

Over and over and over, you begin.

 

 

The Meal

The meal, whether earned or grown,  

Prepared for yourself or by another,

Is one of the greatest gifts of all.

 

Intention that turns labor into delight,

 Into anticipation, preparation,

Hurry, and timing for moments to memory.

 

Set on clean plates, in wonderful presentation

Framed with silverware and folded napkins.

 

Once eaten, will disappear into joy and satisfaction,

As all the greatest gifts, do happen.

rev:3

 

Winter’s Lover

                I’m not getting around doing much reading lately. Listening to my own head and writing notes into drafts, into outlines, revised again and again trying to avoid the trash; has been taking the days. But, I continue my short walks through the woods outside my “cave” and enjoy autumn swooshing summer away in grand fashion; as the days get shorter and the nights get longer, she prepares for a great sleep over, getting completely naked for winter.

Fallen leaf in frost

Pines shelter an autumn grove

for winter’s lover

 

Strength Is A Child’s Journey

Child, oh child—unburdened before life.

Fallen star from the heavens—

Floating—on water’s golden light.

In that sunrise—

You carry wood, smile, and be polite.

Helpful as ever-present.

You placed yourself— in my heart

And lifted my life’s purpose—carried—

In your embracing arms.

We sit— in our own houses now.

I look at your photograph—loving you—

Remembering— how strong you are.

 

In The Hearth Of Our Hearts, Love Is Never Lost

 

Autumn wind, roaring announcement through

distance trees; a moment of rolling sound before we can see

the last clinging leaves, scatter in colorful confetti to dance at our feet.

Winter is coming, in celebration of the bereaved.

 

We remember those souls

buried below the frost; those we loved and those we lost.

Yes, let us leave the seasons’ past.

Gather the fire wood in our arms, and let us stack

 

the warmth of memories as we stand fast

embracing what we have, remembering great things

in the glowing, popping sparks, in the hearth

of our hearts, awaiting another spring.

 

Sophie’s Birthday Haiku(s) …An Age of Grace

“A piece of green pepper
fell
off the wooden salad bowl:
so what?”     Richard Brautigan’s  ‘Haiku Ambulance’

***

water in a bottle

from the spring through clean pipes

leading to the pond.

*

a yellow daisy

she loves me she loves me not

pluck the Sacred Crop.

*

a yellow daisy

a monk’s  bowl haircut of brown

yellow petals shorn.

*

darkness on the pond

silhouette closing temples

white in morning sun.

 

 

 

 

It is a short path

through the woods on my way home

sun shines on my door.

***

 

Notes Found On The Refrigerator: December 2014

Thanksgiving in Arlington 2014

Walking… the pace was quick,

Following from behind.

An old black man noticing wing tip shoes,

Heels worn, and needing a shine,

Stood in front of me pointing at my shoes,

Eyes crusted with his last night’s sleep,

 “I can fix that?” floated through a smile,

Snapping a clean white rag and with an ear to ear grin

Half whispers, “where you goin’ lookin’ like that?”

 

C’mon Pop! I heard a voice say.

I went around, following the call.

Trying to catch up in my saunter, synchronized in thought

Behind young feet, I crossed the street, to the other side

thinking, I know my shoes and their vast shiny miles.

I have no place I need to go! So, I follow from behind;

Traveling on busy city streets on a child’s path,

paved for shoes, just like mine

****

Christmas List

The only gifts

that are recognized as gifts

to be given away,

are those you once received.

Where, in the giving,

passing the significance,

you are just as astounded

as when you once received it;

with gratitude

and accepting its importance,

whether it’s a baseball hat,

or, a newly minted

silver penny.

 

****

 

The sounds of gaiety and murmur promised, as season and family unfolds,

prepares, in an old soul, with urgent activity.

Reaching highs and lows, bending and gathering, blending into hearing,

on a Holiday, the season and the family, gaiety and murmur,

in one peaceful, enlightened note

 

M’Lady

“Once upon a time,”… that was enough

To put you to sleep in the strength of my arms.

Let me warm your hands, now, as empty as mine.

 

(Both scarred with, “when we knew each other

Way back then.” In love and young.

 

We fought the fire and the ice; both, yours and mine.

…not to burn, nor to freeze, but, to keep us safe from harm).

 

We’ve seen love

Dressed to be kissed;

Sometimes naked, sometimes, dismissed.

 

We’ve seen love

Rejecting bliss;

Whether sweet, sour, or completely amiss.

 

We’ve seen love

 Described where only a poets soul

Still perplexed, tries and dies in an effort to surmise.

 

Oh, perpetual beautiful love!

So elusive cloaked in laughter and in darkness cries.

 

I had to be the villain; stealing a kiss

With arms extended,

Wrapped in a young corrupt heart;

 

When you didn’t insist for any other gift,

Embracing the fire of Joan of Arc.

 

What did I miss?

 

My shield is torn. My armor weak from worn.

Our victories?  Defeats without blessing;

When my actions were wrong.

 

And my surrender?

You said,

It, would have made me strong.

 

 

Kneeling, I await the sword upon my shoulder.

Or, my ride through the gate of aging rusted steel,

Un-knighted, head bowed on a horse as old as I.

 

We will ride rogue in the kingdom

Of M’Lady’s dream; love lost in my youth,

Having spent its final notice.

 

Whatever I have learned about love, I have learned from you;

Patience, understanding, perseverance, diligence, loyalty and acceptance.  

 

This lesson, having acted in primal ignorance,

I ask for your forgiveness before I cannot ride again.

 

I re-approach you, walking my horse.

I, without a sword, and he, without a saddle;

To my empty throne, with only enlightened arms.

 

Buried under, covered in decaying guilt, in the soil of time lies the treasure of life

I once declined. I shovel up debris, from its burial-place, sifting through the past,

Weeding the dirt for the clue, the space, to plant a bleeding heart.