RSS

Category Archives: Getting Old

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.

Advertisements
 

Tags: , ,

Notes Found On The Refrigerator June 2017

21st. century compass has no true North.

It circles quickly left— counter clockwise

 then, clockwise right—  endlessly spinning

in no direction

                                    —until you step on it.

                        Then…

                                    with crystal glass chips or plastic pieces

in the soles of your  steps—  they become new footprints.

Without arrows, digital flags, religion, or discrimination;

moving your steps equally forward in moral direction

for all the children

—We have wished for

Or given birth to—

Wishing peace in each movement

—life in progressive harmony.

—Forgiving each other in step

—without history’s cruel march

of forgotten sins.

*****

How dare you say I ran away!

I escaped!

            — Gun fire, violence in the street,

Whispers about how I look or speak.

I am huddled in an alley finding nothing new.

We agreed for something else—  beyond  boundaries

            —Kicking ass and often hitting the ground

covering our face, committed to our personal space.

I went over the wall

and fucked the barbwire

                                    — escaping with the  truth.

***** 

Ladies I would invite you up for champagne and lobster

but, since I can’t get it up anymore—

would you like cheese and crackers?

Oh, you old ladies of lords!

Let me open the door

and light a candle

that excludes us from history books

banishing us from false assumption

enjoying each others company

—eating crackers and cheese.

     *****

When I said— what I said

and then— did something different

It was not false.

I just moved on—

not convinced of that particular truth.

*****

Sooooooooo…

Scolding me at 70 years old,

having burst in my youth with fire,

is about as productive as a wet match.

 *****

Although, I believe in the right of your opinion

and should be shared—

I also believe  you will treat our intelligence

and our ignorance, with the stipulation—

of mutual respect.

*****

Why do you insist on haunting

me with my past?

I have been forgivin’

…and have made retribution

from history into history

as I have clicked my mistakes

Into humanities recycle bin.

****

The sun has set

into memories—

as so have you—

In the morning glow

of love— my  tears of dew

—misting rainbows from my heart

falling to the ground

eventually dries

in full sunrise

in my opening eyes.

Yes, I miss you.

Though I will rise to dance in the morrow’

with the day’s first quest

half-smiling—  after— sleeping alone.

*****

  All I can do, is adjust the jib until you hoist the sail”

                                                            —I said

As she was running calm waters with only the kicker on

                                                            —leaving the bay

Not needing any wind, just a cool facial breeze

                                                            —ignoring everything I say.

 Still—

in  silence, the wind picked up.

We stood nodding to each other, fore and aft, tightening the main sail.

                                                            —we sat together hand splashing water

                                                            leaning— into a beautiful day

*****

Life is not a bowl of cherries

it’s a nutty fruit bowl of reality

—in full color

transcribed from black & white

over dark ripened rectitude

—spoiled by miss-steps, success,

and the feeling

you’re the only cherry in the bowl—

with sprinkled sugar and heavy cream.

Perhaps, as sour or perky as we are

we still spit the pit onto the floor

of destiny—

bowing on or mats,  kneeling in our pews,

and howling at the empty bowl

—of the rising moon.

 

Tags: , , ,

Notes Found On The Refrigerator May 2017

Thankful twigs, children of the blight:

Used as kindling from Camelot to Brooklyn, with ancestry in branches of Majestic Elms—

Extinct in the flames of purification they crackled and glowed in memories

Of the beautiful Main streets with bustling thoroughfares.

—when they, in regal tradition, stole the whole show.

Some interesting research digging around on the subject (for whatever, when it popped up in my mind) about the Elm tree… and perhaps I was looking for something about our future? Understanding and approaching it with history’s humility

: https://growinghistory.wordpress.com/2012/02/28/some-history-of-historic-plants/

 

*****

            No matter where I have been, in my heart I have always heard “welcome son!” And, I am as sure as my sisters have heard addressed— personally to them. The question that accompanies such a greeting is; where exactly are we? That we are being received and welcomed? And, of course, how our etiquette suddenly begins and our exit should end.

Rain falls hard on thorns

Roses soon to bloom perk up

Both will co-exist

*****

Whoa, Silver! Here comes the black stallion to welcome the Pinto.

*****

I sit here by the firelight of life, feeling old, tired, and worn out.

I sit proud with a peaceful heart after battles lost and won—

I notice the imprint of my shield, above the fireplace,

Nicked and gashed in gallant memory as history touts.

It has been sold. Two weeks ago. For bread, vegetables, lettuce, meat,

And sprouts.

I am neither happy nor angry

Nor am I hungry.

 

Tags: , , , ,

Papa’s First Dance

It was never hard to find the lines

To greet you or your brothers. And, put them into a melody

For a song that sings in harmony

With love— for you.

Yes, you all have grown, still magically dancing,

Sliding off the top of my shoes—

Kissing my cheek without having to explain

Oops!

 

papas-first-dance

 
14 Comments

Posted by on January 7, 2017 in Children, Existential, Father, Getting Old, Love, Poetry, Spiritual, Zen

 

Tags: , , ,

A Private Conversation With Me And I

My life has misplaced my glasses,

The remote, and my e-mail password.

“Stop staggering,

Are you disoriented”?

Yes, someone has stolen my memory.

And, taken all the labels off the cans.

“Oh Shoot-MaHoot,

what are you going to do”?

Open one or two cans

And, expect a supper surprise! What else can I do

Go hungry— never knowing what else to do?

“Sounds right, eat right,

Walk it off, sing a song,

then take a shit

Before you go nite-nite.

 

Hmmmmmm…

 

Glasses, remote, and e-mail note

are balanced on the toilet paper.

left there last night,

busy thinking about tomorrow.

 

Oh, and your cup…

And tea bag

Are on the saucer

On the windowsill.”

Thanks, I remember—  now

I am, on my way there.

 
15 Comments

Posted by on October 29, 2016 in Existential, Getting Old, Poetry, Silly stuff, Zen

 

Tags: , ,

Saint Peter’s Orphanage 1950

Starless night, cold gray fog creeping up steel posted gates;

In spaces of bowing heads and hands being held,

Shadows grow and withdraw under muffled haloed lights.

 

Creeping through the entrance, they all looked up to see

Guarding the gate; a damp dew dripping concrete statue

Standing with a heel on a serpent

 an Archangel with flared wings wielding a sword.

Forever to be their best friend.

 

The witnesses passed by slowly. The children, carrying paper bag suitcases

In one hand and the other clasped tightly to each other.

 

Unpredictable darkness merges into a softly glowing doorway.

Their father quickly blesses himself

Whispering a Hail Mary, takes out four quarters.

 

Placing one in each daughter’s hand,

And slipping one in each boy’s pants pocket.

He gently knocks on a well-polished oak door.

 

Dim yellow light emerges.

Sister Saint Helen opens the vestibule.

 

Smiling, she places the paper bags on a large mahogany table,

Shushing them together, closing the heavy, silent, well oiled, orphanage door

She nods good-bye to the children’s father.

 

Sealed in, they become frightened like birds

With a broken wing.

 

 

Two bedroom flat above the American Legion, a band is playing downstairs.

Hat on the kitchen table, the young father sighs as he pops open a beer.

It’s been five years since the war.

Six years since he graduated High school

And, two years since the boy’s mother left them.

Acknowledging his inability

To come to grips with his situation;

Being abandoned by love, a turn of the cycle begins.

Tears blur his eyes; his heart sinks,

Then floats on Holy melancholy consolation.

 

1956

1956

(Forty years later, father having passed away in a veterans home)

 I’m sending you, mother and father, your youngest son September 24, 2016

Welcome him to a place where the Butter nut tree

And the bitter-sweet is still called home.)

 

rev:13

 
18 Comments

Posted by on October 2, 2016 in Getting Old, Love, Pine Cone Diaries, Poetry, thoughts

 

Tags: ,

Ms. Holly’s Electric Bill

    In her late eighties, Ms. Holly invited me over one evening for conversation and a glass of wine.  Upon my arrival, Ms. Holly politely greeted me at the door.  After being asked for my coat and hat, I was escorted to the living room and instructed to be seated.  I chose the couch instead of one of the many decoratively upholstered chairs. Ms. Holly quickly left the room which was well-lit with five or six lamps, some on end tables, and others on tall, ornate stands.

 

    Ms. Holly returned with a glass of wine in one hand, and in the other, a glass of water. She offered me the glass of wine. She started talking immediately, speaking without pause, walking towards her high-back chair. As she turned and sat down, she stated: “This is my opinion on very important matters.” She covered topics ranging from politics, family, and religion, to the economy and the new world order. At no time did she ask me what my thoughts were. Ms. Holly was very specific in her speech, using colorful words and illustrative detail. Although sometimes redundant, she was consistent in every repetition. Regardless, she hopped from one subject to the next, and suddenly, with quite the verbal grace and bow, splinter into a new conversation about her “opinion on a very important matter.” 

 

    Captured in the wonderful web of her experiences, imagination, and reality, I was finally asked: “So, what do you think?” Everything she related, positive or negative, seemed to be under Ms. Holly’s control, with its remarkable, opinionated unpredictability. Despite my interest in and enjoyment of her fascinating conversations, subjects discussed with redundancy stuck most in my memory. They were repeated so often that I remember them.

 

    I said, “The electric bill – it keeps going up and up and you can’t explain it! Is there any way you could cut the cost?” “I’ve tried everything,” she confidently stated as she got up, motioning with her hand towards the kitchen and left to refill her empty glass with water.

 

    I got up and turned off two or three lights in the room, then proceeded to join Ms. Holly in the kitchen. The kitchen was easy to find, well-lit with five or six lights. She nodded upon my entrance and continued to fill her glass with water. I began to turn off one or two lights before she sternly asked me, “What are you doing?” “Saving electricity!” I replied. “Let’s go in the other room,” she said, “and let me explain to you about life and the All living.”

 

    Upon entering the room, Ms. Holly turned on the lamps I had turned off.  I sat down, and in posture for debate and conversation, before Ms. Holly could sit or speak, I said, “You mentioned many times the cost of your electricity, and how that was your most unexplainable cost. So I went around turning some of the lights off, to lower your bill, incurred with keeping so many lights on.” There was a moment of silence. Ms. Holly arose, and then offered me her arm. She escorted me to the front door, handing me my hat and coat, explaining to me as we strolled, “I am alone… having all the lights on, with or without the electric bill, brings me comfort, anticipation, and peace. My best friend… my late friend, and my late Angel are still expected home.”

  

    Yes, Ms. Holly and I continued to talk often, with me, sipping my wine, listening intently; and her, drinking her water and telling me “her opinion on very important matters.”  Inevitably, the “electric bill” would come up, and of course, as I cleared my throat she would creatively, in the wink of an eye, divert the conversation. However, she continued to end our visits by offering me my hat and coat, stating, “I look forward to our next conversation, and, by the way, I’m still keeping the lights on.”

This Sunday, I discovered that all Ms. Holly’s expected guests had arrived.

    For now, I will keep my lights on and give “my opinion on very important matters,” particularly concerning the cost of my electric bill, which I cannot explain. I’m thinking, perhaps, Ms. Holly really had a better understanding of it. So, I sit with a smile and a heart full of joy in a well-lit house, waiting for my guests to arrive. I sit with great expectation.

Wind follows the stream

Electricity on trees

All has arrived.

 

Tags: ,

 
%d bloggers like this: