Category Archives: thoughts
Years have passed:
when we were young, we could tolerate physical pain,
emotional blizzards, and blinding rain.
We sought recognition, fortune, and sometimes illusions fame.
We chased stars in glittering summer nights keeping sentry for sunrise,
celebrating each dawn with a brand new name.
We could even cry, winning or losing, without forcing a fight.
We could talk, discuss, and compromise.
We recognize the beauty in unsuspected surprise.
We were always able to light a candle in the wind
Finding our way back home on sad dark nights.
We often laughed at ourselves. Believing that pennies
we flipped, fluttering to the bottom of wishing wells
We’d became Peter Pan and Wendy
never growing old. And, totally ignoring Tinkerbell,
we watch our directions flow.
Following our hearts and the work of our hands
we traveled roadways, highways, and paths;
where distance seemed far and time immeasurably fast.
We floated above concrete, soft tar, and beaches with ankle deep sand.
Even paths that were crooked and twisted in shallow water or on solid land.
We were always on each other’s map!
We frolicked in spaces that love only knows
where time, never existed;
along with places, where sadness, was only a short visit.
Eventually, I suppose, age and Peter Pan eclipses
those days, when we are young.
There is only time now:
when we are old. We sit with aches and pain.
Our clothes begin to slip or are frayed or they just don’t fit;
along with our recognition, fortune, and the reality of expected fame.
We wear sweaters and warm cotton hats on cool summer nights,
seeing only darkness as a distant fading light.
We Sleep uneasily on worn, thin but forgiving linen.
We, sometimes, forget ourselves with mixed memories,
stuttering on birthdays, which have evaporated in wishing wells.
We try to avoid being stubborn— guilt ridden for actions mistaken,
poor mathematical intelligence, slips of jealously, pride,
and recognize that we, as we knew, is we that is forgotten.
From steel to rust, from rock to gravel,
from coal to diamond
and back to dust.
The sound of muted bells tick off the clock, like muffled thunder
under the hoofs of deaths’ mercenaries; some from heaven,
and maybe one or two from hell.
We may shed a warm small tear, becoming a prism, to glitter
In the sliver of a waning moon; signaling with joy—
tomorrow’s brand new day,
with its bright sun chasing
A weathered Sundial’s ever-moving shadow
~The Night Before Breakfast~ Vol. I Another Draft Revision
Although I enjoy the ease of a sidewalk
I often preferred cutting across the lawn
I can only do one thing at a time
Even if takes me two
Or three tries
I was listening to music on my earphones
And found the sound unclear—
I adjusted the volume
I went to the settings
—no adjustment required.
Suggested, I plug them in
Did you find this helpful?
Yes, I knew I should be grocery shopping
A Writer’s Confession:
As a writer, I may not necessarily write about my own personal experiences.
Although they influence perception and understanding, they often are not themselves; the words that are written. They are only reflections of me as a writer.
My characters are in constant flux… as I… also see and feel my way through each moment—
experiencing what others and what I see, and what is being seen —what we universally have in common ambiguity. Often I am just a humble hapless observer making it written into words as only it could be, from the source of a perceptive and creative writer.
How are we able to see the darkness
in the center of the light
and be able to see the light
in the center of darkness?
We see its impermanence.
as in all nature
every day is greater
doing what you need
Contemporary Poetry has un-cuffed many creative minds
As the tide washes the shore with an ever-changing sea
As the ships sail away with Shakespeare and Yeats
Leaving us with Ferlinghetti*
“… Ferlinghetti, felt strongly that art should be accessible to all people, not just a handful of highly educated intellectuals”.
A storm is coming! What shall we do?
Where should we go?
Take care of things.
–Then safely and honorably leave.
—Settle in where you are now
Away from the path of the storm”.
A path we both have weaved
Crumbling— flooding— grabbing
The unborn, above the Holy indiscriminate stream.
A storm is coming! What shall we do?
Where should we go?
Let us follow our hearts
With the light of our soul.
When your heart and mind are in tune*
being Holy is being human.
*Tuning is the experiences between right and wrong
Celebrated and balanced without guilt or animosity.
There are three trees in this two-acre yard. The one palm tree in the front yard stands near the sandy part of the lawn, standing alone. It offers little shade, keeping the sand warm. I take comfort for its resilience, reaching stunted bright green leaves above brown, in a September Florida sun.
Awakened with the morning light and heat, at sunrise and sleepless till’ midnight, are the other two; one tall, the other a strapping offspring evergreen. They provide shade throughout the day on an oasis of shade in the back yard.
Gator and snake are dancing
Depression is not the snake that crawls up your leg. It is the caterpillar you kiss, before you turn into a butterfly for a day ending in despair. Or you go flying around the world without reason or care. I wear goggles and always know where I keep my parachute. Smiles.
Moon through pines needles— shines my path through night.
Swaying black maple branches along the way— gives light in-between dark shadows. Without discrimination —and without apology.
Love is not something you look for and find— It is something you discover and keep to yourself— in the darkness of your heart teaching you, waiting for your understanding…
To wake up, unable to hold it anymore having to share your discovery —a spark from existence, so small yet so bright, mutual hearts burst from darkness into light.
Note:Unfortunately I have very little service to read other’s creative work. I’ve been on a writing retreat in Pine Lakes Florida in the mist of Hurricane Irma. Just got electricity after five days… town won’t take anything but cash all atm(s) are down Sporadic wi-fi— using the generosity of a friends limited hotspot. Trains have canceled my reservation back to the NH mountains 3 times. Send me lawyers, guns, and money. 🙂