She is a lonely bird
Quiet and ill at ease,
Prone to flight
At the slightest stir,
Wanting to find a mate
And do the nesting thing,
Yet terrified of
The courtship game.
She tends to
Fly and hide
The moment a suitable bird
Sings his song
Or makes a move.
Her skittish nature,
Feigned disinterest,
And pretended
Apathy for romance
Discourages
Even the most ardent suitor,
Yet she curses
The fact of being alone.
Friday, October 31, 2008
The Purse Marathon
Cecilia and I were newlyweds,
Our marriage not yet a week old,
And we were in the process
Of moving from Los Angeles
To Miami, Florida.
We were towing a trailer
Loaded with all our worldly possessions,
Doing the highway marathon
To get there as quick as we could.
That meant long hours
Of tedious driving
Sandwiched between
Bouts of deep fatigued sleep.
Early one Mississippi morning
Cecilia left her purse
In a gas station restroom,
And we didn’t realize it was gone
Until we were already in Florida
Late that evening.
We were able to figure out
Which station it was
From our gas receipts,
And it had been found.
We didn’t know
Where we would be staying
Once we got to Miami,
So we couldn’t figure out
Anything else to do
Besides doubling back
And retrieving it
No matter how dog tired
And road weary we were.
At least we had sense enough
To drop the trailer,
And made much better time
Without that extra load.
When we got there,
All the cash had been removed.
We tried to make it back to our trailer
But we had been on the road
For close to twenty-four hours straight,
And were so exhausted,
Neither of us could see straight.
We stopped at a dumpy, little, old,
Dilapidated, wayside motel,
Hoping we could grab
A couple hours of sleep,
But the local bed bugs
Had other ideas.
They were out
In a bloodthirsty show of force,
And we tossed and turned
For a few sleepless hours
Before we gave up
The foolish notion of rest,
And got back on the road.
We looked back on that ordeal
As a baptism by fire,
Figuring if we could survive that
We would have
A pretty good chance
Of making it as a couple.
Our marriage not yet a week old,
And we were in the process
Of moving from Los Angeles
To Miami, Florida.
We were towing a trailer
Loaded with all our worldly possessions,
Doing the highway marathon
To get there as quick as we could.
That meant long hours
Of tedious driving
Sandwiched between
Bouts of deep fatigued sleep.
Early one Mississippi morning
Cecilia left her purse
In a gas station restroom,
And we didn’t realize it was gone
Until we were already in Florida
Late that evening.
We were able to figure out
Which station it was
From our gas receipts,
And it had been found.
We didn’t know
Where we would be staying
Once we got to Miami,
So we couldn’t figure out
Anything else to do
Besides doubling back
And retrieving it
No matter how dog tired
And road weary we were.
At least we had sense enough
To drop the trailer,
And made much better time
Without that extra load.
When we got there,
All the cash had been removed.
We tried to make it back to our trailer
But we had been on the road
For close to twenty-four hours straight,
And were so exhausted,
Neither of us could see straight.
We stopped at a dumpy, little, old,
Dilapidated, wayside motel,
Hoping we could grab
A couple hours of sleep,
But the local bed bugs
Had other ideas.
They were out
In a bloodthirsty show of force,
And we tossed and turned
For a few sleepless hours
Before we gave up
The foolish notion of rest,
And got back on the road.
We looked back on that ordeal
As a baptism by fire,
Figuring if we could survive that
We would have
A pretty good chance
Of making it as a couple.
The Pretense
Guests were treated to
An ostentatious display
Of calm civility,
The pretense
Of being a family,
But the moment
The guest departed,
The family would be
At each other’s throats,
Screaming
At the top of their lungs,
Hurling insults
Back and forth,
Venting their fury.
The family image
Was a façade maintained
Without regard to cost,
And it cost them plenty.
An ostentatious display
Of calm civility,
The pretense
Of being a family,
But the moment
The guest departed,
The family would be
At each other’s throats,
Screaming
At the top of their lungs,
Hurling insults
Back and forth,
Venting their fury.
The family image
Was a façade maintained
Without regard to cost,
And it cost them plenty.
The Poetry Reading
A motley cast
Of sorted characters
Gathered for
The weekly reading.
They were a mixture
Of men and women,
Young and old,
Who came to share
Or just to listen.
Their varied styles
Reflected the exotic richness
Of our language,
As well as the lawlessness
Of the poetic world.
I was intoxicated
By the beauty
And diversity
Of their works,
And was goaded
To join them.
Of sorted characters
Gathered for
The weekly reading.
They were a mixture
Of men and women,
Young and old,
Who came to share
Or just to listen.
Their varied styles
Reflected the exotic richness
Of our language,
As well as the lawlessness
Of the poetic world.
I was intoxicated
By the beauty
And diversity
Of their works,
And was goaded
To join them.
The Owner's Manual
When you were born,
No one gave you a manual
About how life is supposed
To turn out.
Your life was something
You were left to invent.
You learned the ropes
Largely by trial and error.
You judged and evaluated
What worked and didn’t.
You had successes and failures,
And from those experiences,
You gleaned the lessons of life.
You struggled with your humanity,
Questioned why you are here,
Sought your purpose in life.
You tried to understand
Why life occurs the way it does,
To make sense of it all.
Finally you concluded
What there is to do in life
Is to live it to the fullest,
Moment to moment,
Enjoying it while you can.
No one gave you a manual
About how life is supposed
To turn out.
Your life was something
You were left to invent.
You learned the ropes
Largely by trial and error.
You judged and evaluated
What worked and didn’t.
You had successes and failures,
And from those experiences,
You gleaned the lessons of life.
You struggled with your humanity,
Questioned why you are here,
Sought your purpose in life.
You tried to understand
Why life occurs the way it does,
To make sense of it all.
Finally you concluded
What there is to do in life
Is to live it to the fullest,
Moment to moment,
Enjoying it while you can.
The Oak Pit
It’s my kind of place,
Rustic in nature
With peanuts on the table
And peanut shells
On the floor,
The kind of place
Where I could bring my kids
And be a kid myself,
Where we could do battle
Throwing peanut shells
At each other.
The western antiquities
And the wooden picnic tables
Lend a certain hillbilly charm
To the meaty western fare.
The menu includes
Beef, pork, ham,
Chicken or sausage,
Sandwiches or dinner
Enriched with tangy
Bar-B-Que sauces.
The Oak Pit is located
In Oakview, California.
It’s a feeding trough
For locals, bikers,
And other passers through,
As well as for the occasional
Wandering writer like me.
Rustic in nature
With peanuts on the table
And peanut shells
On the floor,
The kind of place
Where I could bring my kids
And be a kid myself,
Where we could do battle
Throwing peanut shells
At each other.
The western antiquities
And the wooden picnic tables
Lend a certain hillbilly charm
To the meaty western fare.
The menu includes
Beef, pork, ham,
Chicken or sausage,
Sandwiches or dinner
Enriched with tangy
Bar-B-Que sauces.
The Oak Pit is located
In Oakview, California.
It’s a feeding trough
For locals, bikers,
And other passers through,
As well as for the occasional
Wandering writer like me.
The Missing Point
She rambled on,
Verbally zigzagging
This way and that,
Leading us
In no discernible direction.
There must have been
A point to her story,
But I think she got
So wrapped up
In telling her tale,
She completely forgot
To tell us the point.
Verbally zigzagging
This way and that,
Leading us
In no discernible direction.
There must have been
A point to her story,
But I think she got
So wrapped up
In telling her tale,
She completely forgot
To tell us the point.
The Little Superman
It was a momentary stage
He went through,
Cute while it lasted.
Maybe he had watched
A little too much television,
Seen one to many
Super hero shows,
Or possibly his imagination
Had not yet been stifled
By reality’s imposition.
The moment his mother
Dressed him
In that suit and cape,
He became Superman.
He pictured himself
Leaping tall buildings
In a single bound,
Being faster than
A speeding bullet,
And more powerful
Than a locomotive.
He flew around the house
For several days
Fighting invisible villains,
Being that capped crusader,
But once he tired
Of playing a super hero,
He refused
To wear the outfit again.
He went through,
Cute while it lasted.
Maybe he had watched
A little too much television,
Seen one to many
Super hero shows,
Or possibly his imagination
Had not yet been stifled
By reality’s imposition.
The moment his mother
Dressed him
In that suit and cape,
He became Superman.
He pictured himself
Leaping tall buildings
In a single bound,
Being faster than
A speeding bullet,
And more powerful
Than a locomotive.
He flew around the house
For several days
Fighting invisible villains,
Being that capped crusader,
But once he tired
Of playing a super hero,
He refused
To wear the outfit again.
The Ice Cream Song
It’s the sound of summer,
An American ritual
In towns and cities
Across this country,
The irresistible music
Of the ice cream truck
Making its rounds.
They carry an assortment
Of Popsicles and candy bars,
Snow cones
And chocolate Sundaes,
As well as
Other tantalizing treats.
Children today
Are still being trained
To respond
To the sound of that tune
Just as I was
A generation ago,
And I still get
The ice cream urge
Each time I hear that song.
An American ritual
In towns and cities
Across this country,
The irresistible music
Of the ice cream truck
Making its rounds.
They carry an assortment
Of Popsicles and candy bars,
Snow cones
And chocolate Sundaes,
As well as
Other tantalizing treats.
Children today
Are still being trained
To respond
To the sound of that tune
Just as I was
A generation ago,
And I still get
The ice cream urge
Each time I hear that song.
The Human Dart Board
That girl tried
Everything she could
To get under my skin.
It seemed like
Her whole purpose in life
Was to irritate me.
She would throw
Those nasty little barbs
My direction
From sunup to sundown
Just to pester me.
It fascinated me
How she could be so nice
To the rest of the world,
And would reserve
All her poison for me alone.
I guess that is what
Love looks like sometimes.
Everything she could
To get under my skin.
It seemed like
Her whole purpose in life
Was to irritate me.
She would throw
Those nasty little barbs
My direction
From sunup to sundown
Just to pester me.
It fascinated me
How she could be so nice
To the rest of the world,
And would reserve
All her poison for me alone.
I guess that is what
Love looks like sometimes.
The Hmong Refugees
The Hmong are a simple,
But hardy hill tribe,
Who were forced to flee
For their lives
When their side lost
In the battle for Laos.
They were mostly
Peasant farmers
Who came with nothing
More than the clothes
On their backs.
Their intricate embroidery
Depicting a land at war,
With planes bombing
And strafing the countryside,
Is sometimes seen
At local craft shows.
Few of them spoke English
When they came,
And they survived
As best they could
Working menial jobs,
Pooling their resources,
Living 15 or 20 to a house,
And growing much
Of the food they ate.
Many of them now
Have houses of their own
And they appreciate
Everything they have,
No matter how meager
It may seem to outsiders.
But hardy hill tribe,
Who were forced to flee
For their lives
When their side lost
In the battle for Laos.
They were mostly
Peasant farmers
Who came with nothing
More than the clothes
On their backs.
Their intricate embroidery
Depicting a land at war,
With planes bombing
And strafing the countryside,
Is sometimes seen
At local craft shows.
Few of them spoke English
When they came,
And they survived
As best they could
Working menial jobs,
Pooling their resources,
Living 15 or 20 to a house,
And growing much
Of the food they ate.
Many of them now
Have houses of their own
And they appreciate
Everything they have,
No matter how meager
It may seem to outsiders.
The Game of Life
It’s all a game, I say,
One we can choose
To play, or not.
We can be spectators,
Quietly watching
From the bleachers,
Or cheerleaders
Encouraging others
From the sidelines,
But if we really want
To live our lives,
We best be
On the field of play,
Challenging ourselves
And others,
Giving it our all,
Holding nothing back,
If for no other reason
Than to honestly say
We played the game.
One we can choose
To play, or not.
We can be spectators,
Quietly watching
From the bleachers,
Or cheerleaders
Encouraging others
From the sidelines,
But if we really want
To live our lives,
We best be
On the field of play,
Challenging ourselves
And others,
Giving it our all,
Holding nothing back,
If for no other reason
Than to honestly say
We played the game.
The Fountain of Youth
Most of us have memories
Of the fires of our youth,
Those red hot teenage passions
Which burned so bright,
The times when we were free
To fall hopelessly in love
With our latest flame.
Somehow we survived
Those tumultuous times
And many of us
Tell ourselves never again.
All too often that is true.
We grow older
And supposedly wiser,
But in the process
The spirit of being alive smolders
All but dying out.
Who is to say
We can’t reclaim our youth,
Rekindle the fire,
And re-ignite our passions
No matter how old we are.
I have seen it happen,
And us oldsters
Can put those youngsters to shame
If we can get the fire to burn.
Of the fires of our youth,
Those red hot teenage passions
Which burned so bright,
The times when we were free
To fall hopelessly in love
With our latest flame.
Somehow we survived
Those tumultuous times
And many of us
Tell ourselves never again.
All too often that is true.
We grow older
And supposedly wiser,
But in the process
The spirit of being alive smolders
All but dying out.
Who is to say
We can’t reclaim our youth,
Rekindle the fire,
And re-ignite our passions
No matter how old we are.
I have seen it happen,
And us oldsters
Can put those youngsters to shame
If we can get the fire to burn.
The Fountain in the Park
Gracing the center
Of Ojai, California
At the entrance
To Libbey Park
Lies a circular
Concrete fountain.
On hot summer days
And warm summer nights
Local children
Can often be seen
Bathing within its waters.
Each evening
As the sky darkens
And dusk settles in,
The lights to the fountain
Are turned on
Creating an idyllic spot
For late night strolls
And romantic interludes.
Young couples wander by
Enjoying its watery ambiance
And often stop
And celebrate the wetness
By splashing each other.
Of Ojai, California
At the entrance
To Libbey Park
Lies a circular
Concrete fountain.
On hot summer days
And warm summer nights
Local children
Can often be seen
Bathing within its waters.
Each evening
As the sky darkens
And dusk settles in,
The lights to the fountain
Are turned on
Creating an idyllic spot
For late night strolls
And romantic interludes.
Young couples wander by
Enjoying its watery ambiance
And often stop
And celebrate the wetness
By splashing each other.
The Essence of Life
I find my life
Can be dissected
Into bite size segments
Consisting of simple episodes
And morsels of conversation.
If I am able to suitably
Refine and purify
Those bits and pieces,
I might get to
To the essence of life.
In sharing that,
I would likely show
How much of life
We all have in common.
Can be dissected
Into bite size segments
Consisting of simple episodes
And morsels of conversation.
If I am able to suitably
Refine and purify
Those bits and pieces,
I might get to
To the essence of life.
In sharing that,
I would likely show
How much of life
We all have in common.
The Day JFK was Assassinated
I remember that day
As if it were yesterday.
I was in seventh grade
November 22, 1963,
When the teacher got a call
On the classroom phone.
I knew immediately
Something was drastically wrong.
Her body tensed
As she screamed NO!
Then began crying
And in tears told the class
President Kennedy
Had been shot to death.
John F. Kennedy embodied
The spirit of this country,
Made us proud
To call ourselves Americans.
He inspired our effort
To land a man on the moon,
And he was the one
Who championed
The US Peace Corps
Which I was to serve in
Many years later.
The trauma of that day
Lingers on in the national psyche.
It was a moment of vulnerability,
Fear and confusion
Welded into the consciousness
Of our nation.
We grieved and sighed
In collective disbelief.
Our hero was dead.
As if it were yesterday.
I was in seventh grade
November 22, 1963,
When the teacher got a call
On the classroom phone.
I knew immediately
Something was drastically wrong.
Her body tensed
As she screamed NO!
Then began crying
And in tears told the class
President Kennedy
Had been shot to death.
John F. Kennedy embodied
The spirit of this country,
Made us proud
To call ourselves Americans.
He inspired our effort
To land a man on the moon,
And he was the one
Who championed
The US Peace Corps
Which I was to serve in
Many years later.
The trauma of that day
Lingers on in the national psyche.
It was a moment of vulnerability,
Fear and confusion
Welded into the consciousness
Of our nation.
We grieved and sighed
In collective disbelief.
Our hero was dead.
The Communion of the Fire
I study the contours of your face
In the light of the fire
As the flickering flames
Cast varied shadows
Across your features.
I see the fire
Reflected in your eyes,
And I imagine you see
The flame in mine as well.
As we share
The communion of the fire,
The heat of the flame
Between us
Toasts the night.
In the light of the fire
As the flickering flames
Cast varied shadows
Across your features.
I see the fire
Reflected in your eyes,
And I imagine you see
The flame in mine as well.
As we share
The communion of the fire,
The heat of the flame
Between us
Toasts the night.
The Choice
We are given a choice.
We can live our lives
Reacting to circumstances,
Buffeted by the prevailing
Winds of happenstance,
Or we can decide
To take charge and determine
The course of our lives
Independent of whatever else
May be happening.
The moment we make
The qualitative decision
That our lives are about something
Other than struggle to survive,
A whole world of possibility
Opens its doors to us.
We can live our lives
Reacting to circumstances,
Buffeted by the prevailing
Winds of happenstance,
Or we can decide
To take charge and determine
The course of our lives
Independent of whatever else
May be happening.
The moment we make
The qualitative decision
That our lives are about something
Other than struggle to survive,
A whole world of possibility
Opens its doors to us.
The Capitol March
In early spring 1970,
The season of delirium
On Michigan State University campus,
Protest marches
Against the war in Vietnam
Were in full swing.
A march to the State Capitol building
In Lansing some seven miles away
Had been organized.
I decided to tag along
With some forty thousand others.
The line stretched out for miles
Four to six abreast
And I was somewhere in the middle.
The riot police were out in force,
But we were an orderly crowd,
Mostly singing chants for peace.
I was half way there
When sirens started to scream
In the distance,
First one, then two, then dozens.
We were frozen in place
Not knowing what was going on.
The mood became explosively tense
As each of us prepared to run.
This struck fear in my heart
For I realized I was trapped
By the surrounding walls
And the sea of humanity around me
With nowhere to go.
Many of us would have been
Trampled and killed
Had the crowd started to run.
This was a time hatred abounded,
And the nation was torn apart
By those for and against the war.
A single spark
Could have ignited a riot,
And caused a catastrophe.
Something major was going on
And we didn’t have a clue
What it was.
Everyone waited nervously
Wondering and speculating
What would happen next.
Finally the word came down
That a drunk in an ugly mood
Had driven into the crowd
Hitting a couple policemen in the process
And injuring a number of marchers.
Somehow sane heads prevailed
And both the drunk
And the injured were rescued
Without further incident.
The march eventually continued
And I made it to the Capitol
Where everyone seemed to be
In a festive mood.
We crowded around the building
Getting our pictures taken
By cameramen with high powered lenses
Hanging out the Capitol windows.
I walked back to campus
With my friend, Carla.
Enjoying the rain along the way.
Some people stopped
And offered us a ride,
But we simply grinned
And quacked at them
Proceeding on our way,
Toward a perfect end
To an eventful college day.
The season of delirium
On Michigan State University campus,
Protest marches
Against the war in Vietnam
Were in full swing.
A march to the State Capitol building
In Lansing some seven miles away
Had been organized.
I decided to tag along
With some forty thousand others.
The line stretched out for miles
Four to six abreast
And I was somewhere in the middle.
The riot police were out in force,
But we were an orderly crowd,
Mostly singing chants for peace.
I was half way there
When sirens started to scream
In the distance,
First one, then two, then dozens.
We were frozen in place
Not knowing what was going on.
The mood became explosively tense
As each of us prepared to run.
This struck fear in my heart
For I realized I was trapped
By the surrounding walls
And the sea of humanity around me
With nowhere to go.
Many of us would have been
Trampled and killed
Had the crowd started to run.
This was a time hatred abounded,
And the nation was torn apart
By those for and against the war.
A single spark
Could have ignited a riot,
And caused a catastrophe.
Something major was going on
And we didn’t have a clue
What it was.
Everyone waited nervously
Wondering and speculating
What would happen next.
Finally the word came down
That a drunk in an ugly mood
Had driven into the crowd
Hitting a couple policemen in the process
And injuring a number of marchers.
Somehow sane heads prevailed
And both the drunk
And the injured were rescued
Without further incident.
The march eventually continued
And I made it to the Capitol
Where everyone seemed to be
In a festive mood.
We crowded around the building
Getting our pictures taken
By cameramen with high powered lenses
Hanging out the Capitol windows.
I walked back to campus
With my friend, Carla.
Enjoying the rain along the way.
Some people stopped
And offered us a ride,
But we simply grinned
And quacked at them
Proceeding on our way,
Toward a perfect end
To an eventful college day.
Stopover at the Miramar
We had no idea what to expect
As Peace Corps Volunteers
Assigned to Thailand.
A group of us were on our way
For a two year assignment
To a country few of us
Knew anything about.
We assumed
We would be roughing it,
Living in the jungle somewhere.
We had each mentally
Prepared ourselves
As best we could
For the unexpected,
Having no idea what
We would actually encounter.
We weren’t told very much
Before we left,
Except that the people
Are largely apolitical
And smile a lot.
It turns out the students
Were a little more political
Than anyone realized,
And were in the process
Of overthrowing the government
In a violent revolution
While we were on our way there.
Rather than put us down
In the middle of a battle field,
The airlines put us up
In the Miramar Hotel
In Hong Kong for a day
Waiting to see what developed.
It was one of the finest hotels
In the world at the time,
Certainly the ritziest
And most elaborate
Any of us had ever seen.
We were in for a bit of culture shock.
This was a far cry from the jungle
We had been anticipating.
Our rooms were equipped with
The latest in electronic gadgetry
Such as vibrating beds,
Flashing disco lights,
A quadraphonic sound system
And electronically controlled curtains.
When we got through playing with those,
We were in for another treat.
Every meal was a feast fit for a king.
There were more varieties of food
To choose from
And ridiculous quantities if it
In the dining room
Then any of us imagined possible,
And all of it was good.
There were at least
One or two servants
For each of us.
If we took a sip from a glass,
It would be refilled
By the time we put it down.
The dining room
Was ornate beyond belief,
Several stories high,
With theatrical or circus acts
Going on over our heads.
We would scurry out
Between meals
To experience the sights and sounds
Of Hong Kong,
Shopping until we dropped,
And reassuring ourselves
That this was real.
It is amazing how fast
We adapted to this life of luxury,
We couldn’t stop giggling,
Amusing ourselves
That roughing it
Was so much different
Than we expected.
We were in for a rude awakening
When we shipped out
To Thailand the next day.
By Thai standards,
Our hotel in Bangkok
Was decent
Through not extravagant,
Except coming from the Miramar,
It seemed trashy in comparison.
Later many of us
Would come to appreciate
The simple amenities at that hotel
Like hot and cold running water
As luxuries beyond measure.
As Peace Corps Volunteers
Assigned to Thailand.
A group of us were on our way
For a two year assignment
To a country few of us
Knew anything about.
We assumed
We would be roughing it,
Living in the jungle somewhere.
We had each mentally
Prepared ourselves
As best we could
For the unexpected,
Having no idea what
We would actually encounter.
We weren’t told very much
Before we left,
Except that the people
Are largely apolitical
And smile a lot.
It turns out the students
Were a little more political
Than anyone realized,
And were in the process
Of overthrowing the government
In a violent revolution
While we were on our way there.
Rather than put us down
In the middle of a battle field,
The airlines put us up
In the Miramar Hotel
In Hong Kong for a day
Waiting to see what developed.
It was one of the finest hotels
In the world at the time,
Certainly the ritziest
And most elaborate
Any of us had ever seen.
We were in for a bit of culture shock.
This was a far cry from the jungle
We had been anticipating.
Our rooms were equipped with
The latest in electronic gadgetry
Such as vibrating beds,
Flashing disco lights,
A quadraphonic sound system
And electronically controlled curtains.
When we got through playing with those,
We were in for another treat.
Every meal was a feast fit for a king.
There were more varieties of food
To choose from
And ridiculous quantities if it
In the dining room
Then any of us imagined possible,
And all of it was good.
There were at least
One or two servants
For each of us.
If we took a sip from a glass,
It would be refilled
By the time we put it down.
The dining room
Was ornate beyond belief,
Several stories high,
With theatrical or circus acts
Going on over our heads.
We would scurry out
Between meals
To experience the sights and sounds
Of Hong Kong,
Shopping until we dropped,
And reassuring ourselves
That this was real.
It is amazing how fast
We adapted to this life of luxury,
We couldn’t stop giggling,
Amusing ourselves
That roughing it
Was so much different
Than we expected.
We were in for a rude awakening
When we shipped out
To Thailand the next day.
By Thai standards,
Our hotel in Bangkok
Was decent
Through not extravagant,
Except coming from the Miramar,
It seemed trashy in comparison.
Later many of us
Would come to appreciate
The simple amenities at that hotel
Like hot and cold running water
As luxuries beyond measure.
Shell Scavengers
I love being
The first one
On the beach,
Immediately after a storm,
After the surf
Has ceased its war
With the beach.
The best time
Is early morning
Before anyone else has risen.
I relish the freedom
To meander back and forth
Seeing no footprints
Other than my own,
Soaking up the solitude,
And breathing in
The fresh ocean air.
Most of all,
I enjoy scouring
The wave cut benches
Searching for Conch shells
And other treasures
Exposed by the storm,
Before they are plundered
By marauding shell scavengers
Trying to beat me to the find.
The first one
On the beach,
Immediately after a storm,
After the surf
Has ceased its war
With the beach.
The best time
Is early morning
Before anyone else has risen.
I relish the freedom
To meander back and forth
Seeing no footprints
Other than my own,
Soaking up the solitude,
And breathing in
The fresh ocean air.
Most of all,
I enjoy scouring
The wave cut benches
Searching for Conch shells
And other treasures
Exposed by the storm,
Before they are plundered
By marauding shell scavengers
Trying to beat me to the find.
Salzberg Salt Mine
Straddling the Austrian–German border
Is a famous salt mine
That has been worked
For more than a thousand years.
There was a time
When its salt
Was more valuable than gold
And wars were fought
Over its control.
The Salzburg mine
Is still in operation today,
But was also
A major visitor attraction,
At least when
My daughters and I
Stopped by.
Seeking adventure,
We jumped at the chance
To opportunity to explore
The famous mine.
The suspense mounted
As each of us was suited
From head to toe
In white coveralls
To protect our clothes
From the salt.
A train took us
Into the bowels
Of the mountain
Where we disembarked.
A sign at the entrance
Informed us we would be going
1750 feet deep into the mine.
We walked through
Labyrinthine passages
Of white crystalline salt
Listening to the guides
Regale us stories of the mine.
There were several highly polished
Wooden slides
Set up so that we had no idea
How far down they went.
The sign at the entrance
Was fresh in our minds
And we knew the train
We came in on
Traveled a level track,
So we had to slide blind
Wondering if each slide
Would take us
A quarter of a mile down.
My daughter, Ruby,
Tried to be brave,
But clung to me
In mortal terror
As we went down.
I enjoyed that!
Inside the mine
We encountered a variety
Of fascinating sights
Including religious shrines
And tributes to various emperors
Who had ruled the area.
There was a boat
That traversed the still waters
An underground lake,
But the thing that intrigued us
More than anything else,
Were two miners
Who had been killed
In an ancient cave-in,
Then pickled by the salt
That they were attempting to mine.
They were partially excavated
And left hanging
Half way out of the walls
In which they were entombed
Wearing their final
Expression of agony,
Frozen in time,
And displayed in a particularly
Germanic fashion.
The last I heard,
The mine is no longer
Open to tourists,
But if you ever get a chance,
It’s well worth seeing.
Is a famous salt mine
That has been worked
For more than a thousand years.
There was a time
When its salt
Was more valuable than gold
And wars were fought
Over its control.
The Salzburg mine
Is still in operation today,
But was also
A major visitor attraction,
At least when
My daughters and I
Stopped by.
Seeking adventure,
We jumped at the chance
To opportunity to explore
The famous mine.
The suspense mounted
As each of us was suited
From head to toe
In white coveralls
To protect our clothes
From the salt.
A train took us
Into the bowels
Of the mountain
Where we disembarked.
A sign at the entrance
Informed us we would be going
1750 feet deep into the mine.
We walked through
Labyrinthine passages
Of white crystalline salt
Listening to the guides
Regale us stories of the mine.
There were several highly polished
Wooden slides
Set up so that we had no idea
How far down they went.
The sign at the entrance
Was fresh in our minds
And we knew the train
We came in on
Traveled a level track,
So we had to slide blind
Wondering if each slide
Would take us
A quarter of a mile down.
My daughter, Ruby,
Tried to be brave,
But clung to me
In mortal terror
As we went down.
I enjoyed that!
Inside the mine
We encountered a variety
Of fascinating sights
Including religious shrines
And tributes to various emperors
Who had ruled the area.
There was a boat
That traversed the still waters
An underground lake,
But the thing that intrigued us
More than anything else,
Were two miners
Who had been killed
In an ancient cave-in,
Then pickled by the salt
That they were attempting to mine.
They were partially excavated
And left hanging
Half way out of the walls
In which they were entombed
Wearing their final
Expression of agony,
Frozen in time,
And displayed in a particularly
Germanic fashion.
The last I heard,
The mine is no longer
Open to tourists,
But if you ever get a chance,
It’s well worth seeing.
Paternal Instinct
Her long auburn hair
And pretty smile
Caught my attention
The moment I saw her.
She was sitting there alone,
Calm and quiet,
With the contented look
That pregnant women
Sometimes get
When they are at peace
With the process
They are going through.
Her radiant glow
Contrasted greatly
With the tint of sadness
I saw in her eyes.
She told me that she
And the baby’s father
Had gone separate ways,
But she had no regrets.
She was elated
About having a baby
And I could tell
She would surely make
An awesome mother.
Her love for the coming child
Was written all over her face.
What surprised me though
Was the power
Of the paternal instinct I felt.
Though it was not my child,
I wanted to take her in.
I didn’t want her to go
Through the pregnancy alone,
Or the child to be born
Without knowing a father.
I wanted to hold her,
To take care of her
And to make sure
There was someone there
For her and the baby.
Apparently I was not alone
In that reaction
For someone else had already
Stepped into that role.
And pretty smile
Caught my attention
The moment I saw her.
She was sitting there alone,
Calm and quiet,
With the contented look
That pregnant women
Sometimes get
When they are at peace
With the process
They are going through.
Her radiant glow
Contrasted greatly
With the tint of sadness
I saw in her eyes.
She told me that she
And the baby’s father
Had gone separate ways,
But she had no regrets.
She was elated
About having a baby
And I could tell
She would surely make
An awesome mother.
Her love for the coming child
Was written all over her face.
What surprised me though
Was the power
Of the paternal instinct I felt.
Though it was not my child,
I wanted to take her in.
I didn’t want her to go
Through the pregnancy alone,
Or the child to be born
Without knowing a father.
I wanted to hold her,
To take care of her
And to make sure
There was someone there
For her and the baby.
Apparently I was not alone
In that reaction
For someone else had already
Stepped into that role.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Overcoming the Differences
Often when we look
At each other,
All we tend to notice
Are the differences
Between us,
The barriers
That prevent us
From knowing
One another.
It can appear
That no bridge can span
The chasm between us,
But I question
Whether or not,
The division is a deep
As it seems.
Beneath our carefully
Manicured facades,
Hidden by our eccentricities
And our exaggerated
Variations in style,
Are striking similarities.
In reality we have
Much more in common
Than our first glance
Might have us believe,
And in recognizing that,
Lies the possibility
Of our brotherhood.
At each other,
All we tend to notice
Are the differences
Between us,
The barriers
That prevent us
From knowing
One another.
It can appear
That no bridge can span
The chasm between us,
But I question
Whether or not,
The division is a deep
As it seems.
Beneath our carefully
Manicured facades,
Hidden by our eccentricities
And our exaggerated
Variations in style,
Are striking similarities.
In reality we have
Much more in common
Than our first glance
Might have us believe,
And in recognizing that,
Lies the possibility
Of our brotherhood.
Oratory Instinct
We were born
With an unrepressed
Oratory instinct,
A gift for making
Ourselves heard,
And registering
Our complaints,
But we quickly learned
To hold back,
Not to be so adamant
With our demands.
We gradually grew
Timid and shy,
And became
Reluctant to speak out.
The years
Of forced restraint
Nurtured our fear
Of public speaking
Into a formidable
Impediment to our lives.
Sooner or later
The urge to be free
Of the constraints
Of our past,
To be able to speak
And be heard,
Has us confront
Our fear of speaking.
That is often when
We discover
A Toastmaster club
In our neighborhood
That we begin
To master
Our original instinct.
With an unrepressed
Oratory instinct,
A gift for making
Ourselves heard,
And registering
Our complaints,
But we quickly learned
To hold back,
Not to be so adamant
With our demands.
We gradually grew
Timid and shy,
And became
Reluctant to speak out.
The years
Of forced restraint
Nurtured our fear
Of public speaking
Into a formidable
Impediment to our lives.
Sooner or later
The urge to be free
Of the constraints
Of our past,
To be able to speak
And be heard,
Has us confront
Our fear of speaking.
That is often when
We discover
A Toastmaster club
In our neighborhood
That we begin
To master
Our original instinct.
One Way to Raise a Family
In American Samoa,
I met a family
Living on a large tri-maran,
A three hulled ocean craft.
They were in the process
Of sailing around the world,
And the parents
Were home schooling
Their kids along the way.
They would study a country,
Then actually go there,
Learn the language
And experience
The culture first hand.
It seemed like
Such an idyllic way
For children to be raised,
And they were probably getting
The finest education
The world has to offer.
If I had it to do all over again,
I think that is the way
I would educate my kids too,
Watching them grow,
Being there every step
Of the way.
I met a family
Living on a large tri-maran,
A three hulled ocean craft.
They were in the process
Of sailing around the world,
And the parents
Were home schooling
Their kids along the way.
They would study a country,
Then actually go there,
Learn the language
And experience
The culture first hand.
It seemed like
Such an idyllic way
For children to be raised,
And they were probably getting
The finest education
The world has to offer.
If I had it to do all over again,
I think that is the way
I would educate my kids too,
Watching them grow,
Being there every step
Of the way.
Ode to Sandi
She’s a high spirited filly
Frolicking in the Oregon hills,
A feisty backwoods
Mountain mama
With a heart of gold
And a passion for living.
She’s an eagle
Spreading her wings
And beginning to fly
Wherever the spirit
Takes her.
She’s also a gentle wind
Blowing through the trees,
Kind of soft and easy,
With a scent of jasmine
Upon its breath,
The picture of serenity.
She’s all these things
And maybe more.
She’s a beautiful lady
In love with life,
Giving her heart
To the world,
Mothering her kids
Even though they’re grown,
And getting mothered back.
She’s a strong-willed,
Independent lady
Tackling life
On her own terms.
Frolicking in the Oregon hills,
A feisty backwoods
Mountain mama
With a heart of gold
And a passion for living.
She’s an eagle
Spreading her wings
And beginning to fly
Wherever the spirit
Takes her.
She’s also a gentle wind
Blowing through the trees,
Kind of soft and easy,
With a scent of jasmine
Upon its breath,
The picture of serenity.
She’s all these things
And maybe more.
She’s a beautiful lady
In love with life,
Giving her heart
To the world,
Mothering her kids
Even though they’re grown,
And getting mothered back.
She’s a strong-willed,
Independent lady
Tackling life
On her own terms.
The Spirit of Africa
He was born in a humble village
In a far away land,
But although he had left there
More than 30 years before,
The spirit of his people
Still pulsed through his veins.
He had been one
Of the fortunate few
Who had managed to escape
The grinding poverty,
Hunger and depravation
That had sapped the will
Of those who remained.
He had gone on,
And against incredible odds,
Obtained a first rate education,
And had done very well for himself.
He vowed when he left
That he would return
And give back to his people,
And the time had come.
It was still a land
Encumbered by poverty,
Periodic famine,
Floods and drought,
War and perhaps
Most devastating of all,
Political corruption,
But the spirit of Africa
Is something
People are born with,
And never loose.
They may leave,
But their hearts
Stay behind,
And in their dreams
Lie the hope
For a better tomorrow.
In a far away land,
But although he had left there
More than 30 years before,
The spirit of his people
Still pulsed through his veins.
He had been one
Of the fortunate few
Who had managed to escape
The grinding poverty,
Hunger and depravation
That had sapped the will
Of those who remained.
He had gone on,
And against incredible odds,
Obtained a first rate education,
And had done very well for himself.
He vowed when he left
That he would return
And give back to his people,
And the time had come.
It was still a land
Encumbered by poverty,
Periodic famine,
Floods and drought,
War and perhaps
Most devastating of all,
Political corruption,
But the spirit of Africa
Is something
People are born with,
And never loose.
They may leave,
But their hearts
Stay behind,
And in their dreams
Lie the hope
For a better tomorrow.
Dana
Dana was my grandmother
On my father’s side.
She lived with her daughter,
Aunt Dofeen
And son-in-law,
Uncle George
A block over from us
In San Diego.
She was born in Virginia
About the time
Of the Civil War,
And went on to marry
A rather storied
Naval captain
Who apparently led
One of the ships
That took Manila
In 1898 during the
Spanish American War
My grandparents
Were stationed
In the Philippines
For many years afterwards
While my grandfather
Gallivanted around the orient
And played explorer
Throughout the South Pacific.
My father was actually
Born in the Manila
Back in 1908.
Dana went on to outlive
My grandfather
By at least forty years,
And when I knew her,
She was already
Extremely elderly
And quite senile.
I never got to hear her
Talk about any of her experiences
During those early years,
Though I am sure
There was much to tell.
She was lucid enough, however,
To set money aside
For my private school education
And to make an investment
In a local bottled
Water company
In my name
That would later
Be worth
A small fortune.
She never seemed
To begrudge
The loss of her mind.
As I recall her,
She was always
Pleasantly demented,
Possessing both
The mentality
And the enthusiasm
Of a three year old
In a ninety year old
Arthritic body.
Her innocence
Endeared her
To almost everyone,
Especially to salesman
Selling Florida swampland
And western sagebrush farms.
She mainly busied herself
Writing letters to people
Who had died
Some fifty years before.
I remember one
Classic Dana incident,
In particular.
It was just after
She got home
From a short stay
In the hospital
Where she discovered
The pleasure of bedpans.
Dana must have thought
They were the neatest
Invention in the world,
For she brought
Some over for us kids.
For some reason,
My mother didn’t
Seem to be
All that amused
By Dana’s humble generosity
And aged thoughtfulness.
I only hope I have
Half as much character
And just as much fun
When I reach that age.
On my father’s side.
She lived with her daughter,
Aunt Dofeen
And son-in-law,
Uncle George
A block over from us
In San Diego.
She was born in Virginia
About the time
Of the Civil War,
And went on to marry
A rather storied
Naval captain
Who apparently led
One of the ships
That took Manila
In 1898 during the
Spanish American War
My grandparents
Were stationed
In the Philippines
For many years afterwards
While my grandfather
Gallivanted around the orient
And played explorer
Throughout the South Pacific.
My father was actually
Born in the Manila
Back in 1908.
Dana went on to outlive
My grandfather
By at least forty years,
And when I knew her,
She was already
Extremely elderly
And quite senile.
I never got to hear her
Talk about any of her experiences
During those early years,
Though I am sure
There was much to tell.
She was lucid enough, however,
To set money aside
For my private school education
And to make an investment
In a local bottled
Water company
In my name
That would later
Be worth
A small fortune.
She never seemed
To begrudge
The loss of her mind.
As I recall her,
She was always
Pleasantly demented,
Possessing both
The mentality
And the enthusiasm
Of a three year old
In a ninety year old
Arthritic body.
Her innocence
Endeared her
To almost everyone,
Especially to salesman
Selling Florida swampland
And western sagebrush farms.
She mainly busied herself
Writing letters to people
Who had died
Some fifty years before.
I remember one
Classic Dana incident,
In particular.
It was just after
She got home
From a short stay
In the hospital
Where she discovered
The pleasure of bedpans.
Dana must have thought
They were the neatest
Invention in the world,
For she brought
Some over for us kids.
For some reason,
My mother didn’t
Seem to be
All that amused
By Dana’s humble generosity
And aged thoughtfulness.
I only hope I have
Half as much character
And just as much fun
When I reach that age.
Geniuses in Everyday Life
There is a level
Of communication possible
Between people
That goes far beyond
The limits of normal conversation,
That explores entirely
New and uncharted territory,
And generates ideas
Never previously imagined.
In such a discussion,
A synergy develops,
Creating a master mind
Far more intelligent
And insightful than
Any single individual
Within the group.
Such a conversation
Always appears miraculous,
Leaving each participant in awe
Of the possibilities invented.
It’s a conversation of exploration
Between equals,
Where no one knows the answers,
Where “What if!” is explored
In all its ramifications.
Such conversations
Unfortunately are generally rare,
But they are frequently
Remembered as being
Pivotal in our lives.
What if you or I could generate
That extraordinary level
Of communication at will
Such that it became normal?
What then would be possible?
What if a business
Or an organization
Could foster such discussions
On a regular basis?
Might that group of people
Somehow change
The course of history?
If that could happen,
It would create a world
Where anything is possible,
Where each of us
Would show up as
Geniuses in everyday life.
That certainly appears to be
An idea worth exploring.
Of communication possible
Between people
That goes far beyond
The limits of normal conversation,
That explores entirely
New and uncharted territory,
And generates ideas
Never previously imagined.
In such a discussion,
A synergy develops,
Creating a master mind
Far more intelligent
And insightful than
Any single individual
Within the group.
Such a conversation
Always appears miraculous,
Leaving each participant in awe
Of the possibilities invented.
It’s a conversation of exploration
Between equals,
Where no one knows the answers,
Where “What if!” is explored
In all its ramifications.
Such conversations
Unfortunately are generally rare,
But they are frequently
Remembered as being
Pivotal in our lives.
What if you or I could generate
That extraordinary level
Of communication at will
Such that it became normal?
What then would be possible?
What if a business
Or an organization
Could foster such discussions
On a regular basis?
Might that group of people
Somehow change
The course of history?
If that could happen,
It would create a world
Where anything is possible,
Where each of us
Would show up as
Geniuses in everyday life.
That certainly appears to be
An idea worth exploring.
Charlotte's Charm
Charlotte was amazing!
She was a small, slender
Tropical island beauty,
An exotic mixture
Of Filipino and Japanese,
With long, long,
Silky, black hair
That hung almost
To the ground.
She had a gorgeous
Natural tan
That never faded
Even during the harshest
Michigan winter,
A warm easygoing smile
And a soft gentle style
That captivated us all,
But it was not
Her outer beauty,
That made her standout
As someone special.
We worked together
In Engineering Services
On the University campus
With over three hundred
Other people,
And she knew
Every single one
Of them by name.
Charlotte had
An encyclopedic mind
For details about people.
She could tell you
Their birthdays
And anniversaries,
As well as
The names and ages
Of their family members.
She made a point
Of getting to know people,
Discovering their interests,
And greeting each one by name.
She cast a spell over all of us
Simply by taking an interest
In who we were,
And letting us know
We were each
Worth remembering.
She was a small, slender
Tropical island beauty,
An exotic mixture
Of Filipino and Japanese,
With long, long,
Silky, black hair
That hung almost
To the ground.
She had a gorgeous
Natural tan
That never faded
Even during the harshest
Michigan winter,
A warm easygoing smile
And a soft gentle style
That captivated us all,
But it was not
Her outer beauty,
That made her standout
As someone special.
We worked together
In Engineering Services
On the University campus
With over three hundred
Other people,
And she knew
Every single one
Of them by name.
Charlotte had
An encyclopedic mind
For details about people.
She could tell you
Their birthdays
And anniversaries,
As well as
The names and ages
Of their family members.
She made a point
Of getting to know people,
Discovering their interests,
And greeting each one by name.
She cast a spell over all of us
Simply by taking an interest
In who we were,
And letting us know
We were each
Worth remembering.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Robot
He maybe a master
Of repetitive tasks,
But don’t expect him
To relish a challenge,
To solve a problem,
Or to reason out
A more effective way
Of getting the job done.
That just not the way
He is programmed.
He much prefers work
Where he can
Perform on autopilot
While mentally disengaged.
Procedural changes
Or trying something
New or different
Are approached with
Fear and trepidation,
And only after doing
The same task
Over and over again
Until it becomes routine,
Will he function effectively.
He is the quiet,
Unobtrusive
Company robot
Trying his best
Not to think.
Of repetitive tasks,
But don’t expect him
To relish a challenge,
To solve a problem,
Or to reason out
A more effective way
Of getting the job done.
That just not the way
He is programmed.
He much prefers work
Where he can
Perform on autopilot
While mentally disengaged.
Procedural changes
Or trying something
New or different
Are approached with
Fear and trepidation,
And only after doing
The same task
Over and over again
Until it becomes routine,
Will he function effectively.
He is the quiet,
Unobtrusive
Company robot
Trying his best
Not to think.
The Drive-In
Back in the fifties
And sixties,
Drive-in theaters
Were in vogue
Throughout much
Of the country.
Many a family
Got their start
In the back seat
Of a ‘56 Chevy
With a young couple
Pretending
To watch a show.
Modern theaters,
For the most part,
Seem to lack
The romantic ambience
Of those old drive-ins.
I suppose the advent
Of VCRs
Spelled the end
Of the drive-in era.
Young couples,
So inclined,
Now must go elsewhere
For their rendezvous.
And sixties,
Drive-in theaters
Were in vogue
Throughout much
Of the country.
Many a family
Got their start
In the back seat
Of a ‘56 Chevy
With a young couple
Pretending
To watch a show.
Modern theaters,
For the most part,
Seem to lack
The romantic ambience
Of those old drive-ins.
I suppose the advent
Of VCRs
Spelled the end
Of the drive-in era.
Young couples,
So inclined,
Now must go elsewhere
For their rendezvous.
Stages
Maybe because of me,
Or more likely,
In spite of me,
Our daughters
Continued to grow,
Passing from one
Humorous stage
To the next.
They grew like weeds
And blossomed
Before my eyes,
Stunning me
With the process
Of their becoming.
How could I,
A mere mortal,
Take credit for
Such beauty?
Or more likely,
In spite of me,
Our daughters
Continued to grow,
Passing from one
Humorous stage
To the next.
They grew like weeds
And blossomed
Before my eyes,
Stunning me
With the process
Of their becoming.
How could I,
A mere mortal,
Take credit for
Such beauty?
Seize the Moment
What does it take to have a
Substantive conversation
With the ones we love?
Does a trauma have to happen
Before we make the effort
To speak our heart
And say what is on our mind?
So many times
After something happens,
We lament most
That which we did not say.
Seize the opportunity now
Before it is too late.
Let no moment ride
Without having said
All that needs to be said.
Substantive conversation
With the ones we love?
Does a trauma have to happen
Before we make the effort
To speak our heart
And say what is on our mind?
So many times
After something happens,
We lament most
That which we did not say.
Seize the opportunity now
Before it is too late.
Let no moment ride
Without having said
All that needs to be said.
Riding the Short Bus
When she was a child,
She was one of those
Who rode to school
On the short bus,
The one on which
The retarded kids rode.
Though she eventually
Went on to graduate
From a major university
And built a successful
Business of her own,
It gave her no peace.
No matter how much
She accomplished,
She was still
Tormented by
The need to prove
She wasn’t retarded.
The short bus
Was a mental stigma
She harbored
That drove her
Relentlessly on.
It was both
The source of her success,
And the root
Of her eventual
Breakdown.
She was one of those
Who rode to school
On the short bus,
The one on which
The retarded kids rode.
Though she eventually
Went on to graduate
From a major university
And built a successful
Business of her own,
It gave her no peace.
No matter how much
She accomplished,
She was still
Tormented by
The need to prove
She wasn’t retarded.
The short bus
Was a mental stigma
She harbored
That drove her
Relentlessly on.
It was both
The source of her success,
And the root
Of her eventual
Breakdown.
Ojai Night Harmony
The bell tower
Stands before me,
Internally lit,
Silhouetted against
The indigo night sky.
At nine o’clock sharp,
The chimes are heard
Spreading a melody
Through the center of town.
I relax in
Quiet contemplation,
Enjoying the ambiance
Of the square,
The warmth of
A summer night,
And the company
Of my daughter
At a friendly
Old-world style
Italian eatery.
I watch in awe
As a sliver of a moon
Treks past the tower
On its nightly pilgrimage,
Then disappears
Into the blackness
Of the trees below.
The quiet sound
Of cascading water
From the fountain
Behind me
Calms my spirit
As I bask
In the magic
Of an Ojai night,
In absolute harmony
With the world
Around me.
Stands before me,
Internally lit,
Silhouetted against
The indigo night sky.
At nine o’clock sharp,
The chimes are heard
Spreading a melody
Through the center of town.
I relax in
Quiet contemplation,
Enjoying the ambiance
Of the square,
The warmth of
A summer night,
And the company
Of my daughter
At a friendly
Old-world style
Italian eatery.
I watch in awe
As a sliver of a moon
Treks past the tower
On its nightly pilgrimage,
Then disappears
Into the blackness
Of the trees below.
The quiet sound
Of cascading water
From the fountain
Behind me
Calms my spirit
As I bask
In the magic
Of an Ojai night,
In absolute harmony
With the world
Around me.
Medicinal Humor
It’s easy to laugh now
About all the things
I dealt with as a parent.
The struggles
I encountered
Seem hysterical
In retrospect,
But at the time,
My sense of humor
Was sorely tested.
I had to laugh
When things didn’t seem
All that funny,
And trust that the humor
Of the incidents
Would come to me later.
It was the humor
That got me by.
About all the things
I dealt with as a parent.
The struggles
I encountered
Seem hysterical
In retrospect,
But at the time,
My sense of humor
Was sorely tested.
I had to laugh
When things didn’t seem
All that funny,
And trust that the humor
Of the incidents
Would come to me later.
It was the humor
That got me by.
Driving My Kids to School
When my daughters
Were in their early teens,
I enjoyed driving them
To school
Each morning
Because it gave me
An opportunity
To talk to them
And to see
What was up
In their world.
It also amused me
Observing parents
Dropping their kids off
Three or four blocks
Down the street
From school.
This was either
Because the kids
Were embarrassed
Being seen
With their parents,
Or the parents
Were mortified
That someone might see
Them with their kids.
The way some
Of those kids dressed,
I wonder what
Their parents thought.
Who would want
To own that rebellion?
It made me appreciate
Just how lucky I was.
Were in their early teens,
I enjoyed driving them
To school
Each morning
Because it gave me
An opportunity
To talk to them
And to see
What was up
In their world.
It also amused me
Observing parents
Dropping their kids off
Three or four blocks
Down the street
From school.
This was either
Because the kids
Were embarrassed
Being seen
With their parents,
Or the parents
Were mortified
That someone might see
Them with their kids.
The way some
Of those kids dressed,
I wonder what
Their parents thought.
Who would want
To own that rebellion?
It made me appreciate
Just how lucky I was.
An Old Pair of Skis
Those skis don’t look like
The ones of today,
From what little I know
About the way skis look.
They are probably
Older than I am,
And at the moment,
That’s pretty old.
They are heavy
Wooden things
Whose history
I can only surmise.
They must have been
Used and abused
Down numerous slopes
Before advances
Of time and technology
Made them obsolete.
They probably
Haven’t been worn
In over half a century,
And have long outlived
Their original owner.
I can only guess
How many years
They must have
Sat in storage
Accumulating dust
Before being scavenged
By some enterprising
Interior designer
To decorate this restaurant.
The ones of today,
From what little I know
About the way skis look.
They are probably
Older than I am,
And at the moment,
That’s pretty old.
They are heavy
Wooden things
Whose history
I can only surmise.
They must have been
Used and abused
Down numerous slopes
Before advances
Of time and technology
Made them obsolete.
They probably
Haven’t been worn
In over half a century,
And have long outlived
Their original owner.
I can only guess
How many years
They must have
Sat in storage
Accumulating dust
Before being scavenged
By some enterprising
Interior designer
To decorate this restaurant.
A Thirst for Life
If I let fear
Hold me back,
And never took
A chance on living,
What kind of life
Would I have lived?
What stories would I
Have to tell?
Had I not perceived
Each day
As an adventure,
And ultimately
As a lesson
To be learned,
Would my life
Have been
Worth recording?
Let the record show
I thirsted for life,
And quenched
That thirst,
Yet the thirst goes on.
Hold me back,
And never took
A chance on living,
What kind of life
Would I have lived?
What stories would I
Have to tell?
Had I not perceived
Each day
As an adventure,
And ultimately
As a lesson
To be learned,
Would my life
Have been
Worth recording?
Let the record show
I thirsted for life,
And quenched
That thirst,
Yet the thirst goes on.
A Question of Direction
She is at a crossroads
Trying to decide
Which way to go.
There is the path
She knows so well,
The one she has been on
For most of her life
That no longer seems
The way to go,
And there are now
A multitude of other routes
That she can take,
But each one leads
In a direction unknown
And the mystery
Has her confused.
Which path should she choose?
Trying to decide
Which way to go.
There is the path
She knows so well,
The one she has been on
For most of her life
That no longer seems
The way to go,
And there are now
A multitude of other routes
That she can take,
But each one leads
In a direction unknown
And the mystery
Has her confused.
Which path should she choose?
A Balanced Life
The concept of
A balanced life
Is a fantasy
Born of a
Discontented mind.
The thought
That some ideal
Combination
Of work and play,
Freedom
And responsibility,
Family and career,
Will magically
Stabilize me,
And prevent me
From oscillating
From one extreme
To the other
Is ludicrous,
Yet it’s a mirage
I have chased
Most of my life.
A balanced life
Is a fantasy
Born of a
Discontented mind.
The thought
That some ideal
Combination
Of work and play,
Freedom
And responsibility,
Family and career,
Will magically
Stabilize me,
And prevent me
From oscillating
From one extreme
To the other
Is ludicrous,
Yet it’s a mirage
I have chased
Most of my life.
Single Noise
There are conversations
We have with ourselves
When we are single
And looking for a mate
That occupy our minds
Almost every waking moment.
When will I meet the one?
Where are they hiding?
Maybe I’ll find someone
If I go there or do that!
All the good ones are taken!
It should be easier than this!
It’s hopeless,
I’ll never find the one.
Nobody that I am interested in
Is interested in me.
I don’t have time for this!
It shouldn’t be like this.
Who wants to live their life alone?
I wonder what they would be like!
Well, no possibilities here,
As we instantaneously
Rate each person
In the room we are in.
We drive ourselves nuts
With our single chatter,
And only after we find someone
Does this noise inside our heads
Begin to quiet down
Giving us a chance to relax.
We have with ourselves
When we are single
And looking for a mate
That occupy our minds
Almost every waking moment.
When will I meet the one?
Where are they hiding?
Maybe I’ll find someone
If I go there or do that!
All the good ones are taken!
It should be easier than this!
It’s hopeless,
I’ll never find the one.
Nobody that I am interested in
Is interested in me.
I don’t have time for this!
It shouldn’t be like this.
Who wants to live their life alone?
I wonder what they would be like!
Well, no possibilities here,
As we instantaneously
Rate each person
In the room we are in.
We drive ourselves nuts
With our single chatter,
And only after we find someone
Does this noise inside our heads
Begin to quiet down
Giving us a chance to relax.
The Liar
As far as liars go,
He was about
As good as they come.
He had perfected lying
To an art form,
But it was a skill
That would cost him dearly.
He was in junior high school
When he decided
He would rather
Spend the day
At the lake
With his girl friend
Than go to school.
He called his mother at work
And told her
He wasn’t feeling good,
That he was
Going to stay home from school.
Just as he was ready
To head out to the lake,
His father came home
To find out what was the matter.
He couldn’t tell him the truth,
So feigned being sick.
His father took him
To the hospital emergency room
Where a doctor examined him.
Again he couldn’t tell the truth,
And convinced the doctor
That he had appendicitis
And was promptly operated on.
He did gain a special status
At the school
For the extent to which
Somebody would go
So as not to tell the truth.
His parents didn’t
Find out what really happened
Until many years later.
He was about
As good as they come.
He had perfected lying
To an art form,
But it was a skill
That would cost him dearly.
He was in junior high school
When he decided
He would rather
Spend the day
At the lake
With his girl friend
Than go to school.
He called his mother at work
And told her
He wasn’t feeling good,
That he was
Going to stay home from school.
Just as he was ready
To head out to the lake,
His father came home
To find out what was the matter.
He couldn’t tell him the truth,
So feigned being sick.
His father took him
To the hospital emergency room
Where a doctor examined him.
Again he couldn’t tell the truth,
And convinced the doctor
That he had appendicitis
And was promptly operated on.
He did gain a special status
At the school
For the extent to which
Somebody would go
So as not to tell the truth.
His parents didn’t
Find out what really happened
Until many years later.
The Sound of Fury
She was fit to be tied,
Angry to he Nth degree,
Seething in wounded indignation,
Loudly protesting
The worthlessness of
The man she married.
He was the cause
Of all her sorrows,
Or so she claimed.
If you listened to her,
He was as vile a character
As ever walked
The face of the earth,
A wicked monster
Who took sadistic pleasure
In making her world hell.
I think he left her
And that is the sound of fury
From a woman scorned.
It’s a common sound indeed.
Angry to he Nth degree,
Seething in wounded indignation,
Loudly protesting
The worthlessness of
The man she married.
He was the cause
Of all her sorrows,
Or so she claimed.
If you listened to her,
He was as vile a character
As ever walked
The face of the earth,
A wicked monster
Who took sadistic pleasure
In making her world hell.
I think he left her
And that is the sound of fury
From a woman scorned.
It’s a common sound indeed.
Yesteryear's Skates
I can remember
Learning to skate
With the old, metal
Clip-on skates
That attached
To the soles
Of my shoes.
That was back
Before the advent
Of Teflon wheels
And wheel bearings
That actually spin.
It took a fairly steep hill
To achieve
The breakneck speeds
We wanted.
I have no idea how
The “Flat-Landers”
Skated at all
Back in those days.
This was before
Skateboards
And inline skates
Were even invented.
I don’t suppose
One of those
Primitive skates
Is worth much
These days,
Not even as
A museum piece,
But the memories
Are priceless.
Learning to skate
With the old, metal
Clip-on skates
That attached
To the soles
Of my shoes.
That was back
Before the advent
Of Teflon wheels
And wheel bearings
That actually spin.
It took a fairly steep hill
To achieve
The breakneck speeds
We wanted.
I have no idea how
The “Flat-Landers”
Skated at all
Back in those days.
This was before
Skateboards
And inline skates
Were even invented.
I don’t suppose
One of those
Primitive skates
Is worth much
These days,
Not even as
A museum piece,
But the memories
Are priceless.
Three Blind Mice
As human beings,
We have practically
An infinite capacity
Make peace with
The conditions
Of our lives,
No matter how difficult
They may seem.
Our ability to do so
Is the key
To our resiliency
In the face of
Great challenges.
This was demonstrated
In a discussion I had
With three blind students
At the Braille Institute
Where I doing some
Volunteer teaching.
Each had gone blind
At a different time
In their life,
And found a way
To rationalize
That their particular time
Was the perfect time
To lose their sight.
One girl was blind
From birth,
So she has no idea
What she is missing
And was content with that.
One guy lost his vision
When he was eighteen,
And consequently
Never had to work.
He considered that
A compensating benefit.
The other student
Lost her vision
When she was in her sixties,
And figured
She had already seen
All she needed to see.
I was stunned
By the usefulness
And flexibility
Of their rationalizations.
We have practically
An infinite capacity
Make peace with
The conditions
Of our lives,
No matter how difficult
They may seem.
Our ability to do so
Is the key
To our resiliency
In the face of
Great challenges.
This was demonstrated
In a discussion I had
With three blind students
At the Braille Institute
Where I doing some
Volunteer teaching.
Each had gone blind
At a different time
In their life,
And found a way
To rationalize
That their particular time
Was the perfect time
To lose their sight.
One girl was blind
From birth,
So she has no idea
What she is missing
And was content with that.
One guy lost his vision
When he was eighteen,
And consequently
Never had to work.
He considered that
A compensating benefit.
The other student
Lost her vision
When she was in her sixties,
And figured
She had already seen
All she needed to see.
I was stunned
By the usefulness
And flexibility
Of their rationalizations.
The Crow
The crow is a sizable bird
With plumage
As black as coal,
Beady watchful eyes,
A birdly sort of intelligence,
And a loud mouthed caw
That sounds like a laugh.
“He is laughing at you!”
I used to tell my kids,
But it was me he mocks,
My kids insisted.
I have seen him fly
Many times
Attacked by a sparrow or two,
Birds much smaller
And far more agile than he.
Maybe my kids were right,
But he laughed with me,
Not at me,
For he understood
What it is like
To be pestered!
With plumage
As black as coal,
Beady watchful eyes,
A birdly sort of intelligence,
And a loud mouthed caw
That sounds like a laugh.
“He is laughing at you!”
I used to tell my kids,
But it was me he mocks,
My kids insisted.
I have seen him fly
Many times
Attacked by a sparrow or two,
Birds much smaller
And far more agile than he.
Maybe my kids were right,
But he laughed with me,
Not at me,
For he understood
What it is like
To be pestered!
Seafarer's Appetite
There is something
About being at sea
That fosters
A ravenous appetite.
Even the simplest fare
Can become
A mouthwatering delicacy,
And a common
Short order cook
Gets transformed
Into a master chef
Sporting a boat full
Of ardent admirers,
With me being
Foremost among
The worshipers.
About being at sea
That fosters
A ravenous appetite.
Even the simplest fare
Can become
A mouthwatering delicacy,
And a common
Short order cook
Gets transformed
Into a master chef
Sporting a boat full
Of ardent admirers,
With me being
Foremost among
The worshipers.
Modern Day Girl
She is a girl,
She is a lady
And she is the life
Of the party
With her green eyes
That sparkle
And the sassy way
She smiles.
The outfit she wears
With the silvery blouse
That dazzles reflectively
Draws every eye
In the crowd.
She’s dancing up a storm
And she sure knows
How to move
To emphasize the beat
And show off her body.
She is a free spirited soul,
Kicking up her heels
Enjoying herself
Being a modern day girl.
She is a lady
And she is the life
Of the party
With her green eyes
That sparkle
And the sassy way
She smiles.
The outfit she wears
With the silvery blouse
That dazzles reflectively
Draws every eye
In the crowd.
She’s dancing up a storm
And she sure knows
How to move
To emphasize the beat
And show off her body.
She is a free spirited soul,
Kicking up her heels
Enjoying herself
Being a modern day girl.
Lost in the Crowd
He recognizes the absurdity
Of feeling so lonely
In the midst
Of such a crowd,
But that recognition
Gives him no comfort.
The place is teeming
With people,
Yet he is lost
In that crowd
With almost no one
He can call a friend.
What he senses
Is not the proximity
Of those around him,
But their distance.
Even though he can’t avoid
Bumping into them,
They might as well be
A million miles away.
Of feeling so lonely
In the midst
Of such a crowd,
But that recognition
Gives him no comfort.
The place is teeming
With people,
Yet he is lost
In that crowd
With almost no one
He can call a friend.
What he senses
Is not the proximity
Of those around him,
But their distance.
Even though he can’t avoid
Bumping into them,
They might as well be
A million miles away.
Back In Circulation
She was an elegant lady,
Proud and free,
Independent and bold,
Yet she spent
The nearly ten years
After a nasty divorce
Playing it safe,
Afraid to open her heart,
To venture out,
Or to trust another man.
She never wanted
It to be that way,
But she allowed her fears
To overwhelm
Her naturally vivacious
And playful spirit.
She had a big heart
And a lot of love to give,
But it was caged
Inside her defenses.
When she finally drummed up
The courage
To go out on a date,
She couldn’t believe
How much fun she had,
So look out world,
The ice has melted,
And she is back in circulation.
Proud and free,
Independent and bold,
Yet she spent
The nearly ten years
After a nasty divorce
Playing it safe,
Afraid to open her heart,
To venture out,
Or to trust another man.
She never wanted
It to be that way,
But she allowed her fears
To overwhelm
Her naturally vivacious
And playful spirit.
She had a big heart
And a lot of love to give,
But it was caged
Inside her defenses.
When she finally drummed up
The courage
To go out on a date,
She couldn’t believe
How much fun she had,
So look out world,
The ice has melted,
And she is back in circulation.
A Real Haircut
For the village barber
In Southern Thailand,
I could pay him no
Greater honor
Than allow him
To cut my hair.
Half the village
Would turn out
For the spectacle
As he meticulously
Went about his work,
Basking in the glory
That would be
Talked about
For years to come.
It would be
His claim to fame locally,
And he savored
Every moment
Of the experience,
Prolonging it
As much as he could.
I, who am a glutton
For being pampered,
Relished every moment
As well.
Each hair, it seemed,
Was individually
Trimmed, combed,
And rechecked for perfection
Then cut again
With the simplest of tools
And the greatest of precision.
My face was shaved
And my sideburns
Were trimmed,
Even my nose hairs
Got adjusted.
After all that,
My head and shoulders
Were massaged as well.
This production
Would go on for hours
During which time
I frequently dozed off
In relaxed ecstasy.
For all that,
It might not cost me
The equivalent of
Fifty cents or a dollar.
Barbers over here
Think I am spoiled,
And maybe they are not
The only ones who think so,
But I assure you,
That is the way
A real haircut
Should be done.
In Southern Thailand,
I could pay him no
Greater honor
Than allow him
To cut my hair.
Half the village
Would turn out
For the spectacle
As he meticulously
Went about his work,
Basking in the glory
That would be
Talked about
For years to come.
It would be
His claim to fame locally,
And he savored
Every moment
Of the experience,
Prolonging it
As much as he could.
I, who am a glutton
For being pampered,
Relished every moment
As well.
Each hair, it seemed,
Was individually
Trimmed, combed,
And rechecked for perfection
Then cut again
With the simplest of tools
And the greatest of precision.
My face was shaved
And my sideburns
Were trimmed,
Even my nose hairs
Got adjusted.
After all that,
My head and shoulders
Were massaged as well.
This production
Would go on for hours
During which time
I frequently dozed off
In relaxed ecstasy.
For all that,
It might not cost me
The equivalent of
Fifty cents or a dollar.
Barbers over here
Think I am spoiled,
And maybe they are not
The only ones who think so,
But I assure you,
That is the way
A real haircut
Should be done.
Adventure Guides
My Alaska cruise
Was not a laid back,
Easy going,
Eat until you drop,
Type of trip.
A wide variety
Of rugged outdoor
Adventures
Were set up
To challenge us
At every port.
The guides
For those trips
Were all characters
In their own right,
And they obviously
Loved what they did.
Each one
Had a way of adding flavor
To our experience.
They weren’t rugged
Alaskan mountain men,
Not even the ones
Who led us ice climbing
On the Mendenhall Glacier.
They were all young
College kids
From somewhere
In the lower Forty-eight,
And that was
Their summer job.
It was certainly
One of the most
Exhilarating ways
I ever heard of
For a college student
To spend the summer
And finance an education.
Was not a laid back,
Easy going,
Eat until you drop,
Type of trip.
A wide variety
Of rugged outdoor
Adventures
Were set up
To challenge us
At every port.
The guides
For those trips
Were all characters
In their own right,
And they obviously
Loved what they did.
Each one
Had a way of adding flavor
To our experience.
They weren’t rugged
Alaskan mountain men,
Not even the ones
Who led us ice climbing
On the Mendenhall Glacier.
They were all young
College kids
From somewhere
In the lower Forty-eight,
And that was
Their summer job.
It was certainly
One of the most
Exhilarating ways
I ever heard of
For a college student
To spend the summer
And finance an education.
An American Tradition
Thanksgiving is
An American tradition,
A hangover from
Our Pilgrim past.
It’s the quintessential
Harvest holiday
Where we gather
Friends and family,
Stuff a gobbler
And then ourselves.
Mama will be
In the kitchen
Fussing and fretting
For hours on end,
Cooking that bird
To perfection.
The aroma taunts us,
Wetting our appetites,
Readying us
For the feast ahead.
It is a day of gluttony,
But no matter
How much we devour,
There is always
More then we can eat,
And the leftovers
Flavor numerous meals
In the days that follow.
An American tradition,
A hangover from
Our Pilgrim past.
It’s the quintessential
Harvest holiday
Where we gather
Friends and family,
Stuff a gobbler
And then ourselves.
Mama will be
In the kitchen
Fussing and fretting
For hours on end,
Cooking that bird
To perfection.
The aroma taunts us,
Wetting our appetites,
Readying us
For the feast ahead.
It is a day of gluttony,
But no matter
How much we devour,
There is always
More then we can eat,
And the leftovers
Flavor numerous meals
In the days that follow.
The Jellyfish
It’s a story
Often told
About a princess
And a toad.
The lonely princess,
Having given up
On the men
Of the kingdom,
Must search
High and low
For a suitable mate.
She usually finds him
Hopping around
And playing the field,
And acting very much
Like a toad,
But a single kiss from her,
And that one-day toad
Becomes a prince.
As the fairytale goes,
They then live happily
Ever after,
But all to often,
Her gallant prince
Changes back
Into a loathsome toad,
And no kiss
From that foolish princess
Will ever change him
Back again.
Often told
About a princess
And a toad.
The lonely princess,
Having given up
On the men
Of the kingdom,
Must search
High and low
For a suitable mate.
She usually finds him
Hopping around
And playing the field,
And acting very much
Like a toad,
But a single kiss from her,
And that one-day toad
Becomes a prince.
As the fairytale goes,
They then live happily
Ever after,
But all to often,
Her gallant prince
Changes back
Into a loathsome toad,
And no kiss
From that foolish princess
Will ever change him
Back again.
The Princess and Her Toad
It’s a story
Often told
About a princess
And a toad.
The lonely princess,
Having given up
On the men
Of the kingdom,
Must search
High and low
For a suitable mate.
She usually finds him
Hopping around
And playing the field,
And acting very much
Like a toad,
But a single kiss from her,
And that one-day toad
Becomes a prince.
As the fairytale goes,
They then live happily
Ever after,
But all to often,
Her gallant prince
Changes back
Into a loathsome toad,
And no kiss
From that foolish princess
Will ever change him
Back again.
Often told
About a princess
And a toad.
The lonely princess,
Having given up
On the men
Of the kingdom,
Must search
High and low
For a suitable mate.
She usually finds him
Hopping around
And playing the field,
And acting very much
Like a toad,
But a single kiss from her,
And that one-day toad
Becomes a prince.
As the fairytale goes,
They then live happily
Ever after,
But all to often,
Her gallant prince
Changes back
Into a loathsome toad,
And no kiss
From that foolish princess
Will ever change him
Back again.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
You Need Me
Freshman Year,
By a quirk of fate,
A beautiful coed
Sat next to me
In four of my classes.
She was an
Exotically cocky,
Flirtatious tease,
Who playfully
Tormented me
While I worked up
The nerve
To give her a call.
I finally did
Some three months later,
And true to character,
She responded
By proclaiming,
“You need me!”
Which caught me
Completely off guard
Even though
I had already come to
The same conclusion.
By a quirk of fate,
A beautiful coed
Sat next to me
In four of my classes.
She was an
Exotically cocky,
Flirtatious tease,
Who playfully
Tormented me
While I worked up
The nerve
To give her a call.
I finally did
Some three months later,
And true to character,
She responded
By proclaiming,
“You need me!”
Which caught me
Completely off guard
Even though
I had already come to
The same conclusion.
You Made My Day
I was strutting
Through the terminal
When I spotted
A good-looking lady
Coming in my direction.
We were doing
The girl – guy thing,
Checking each other out
In passing.
As we zipped by each other
I glanced back
And caught her
Looking back as well.
The only problem was
She forgot to look
Where she was going,
And walked straight
Into a column.
She turned a gorgeous shade
Of scarlet-crimson,
Blushing in embarrassment,
Caught in the act.
It was one of
The best acknowledgments
I ever received.
It made my day!
Thank you Pretty Lady
Whoever you are!
Through the terminal
When I spotted
A good-looking lady
Coming in my direction.
We were doing
The girl – guy thing,
Checking each other out
In passing.
As we zipped by each other
I glanced back
And caught her
Looking back as well.
The only problem was
She forgot to look
Where she was going,
And walked straight
Into a column.
She turned a gorgeous shade
Of scarlet-crimson,
Blushing in embarrassment,
Caught in the act.
It was one of
The best acknowledgments
I ever received.
It made my day!
Thank you Pretty Lady
Whoever you are!
Whose Child Is This?
We have seen this child
Be numerous things:
A spirited rascal,
An imp with a mischievous grin,
An innocent babe,
A ruthless tyrant,
A quiet angel
And a belligerent brat.
He is a product of love,
Or more likely, lust!
He is a complex beast,
This child of ours.
When he is good,
We swell with pride
And dance with joy,
Each proclaiming
Our genes at play.
When he is not,
And it is a battle of wits,
Us against him,
And we appear to be losing,
Then we each would claim,
“It is your genes,
Not mine!”
Whose child is this?
We ask ourselves,
Knowing and sometimes fearing,
He reflects us.
Be numerous things:
A spirited rascal,
An imp with a mischievous grin,
An innocent babe,
A ruthless tyrant,
A quiet angel
And a belligerent brat.
He is a product of love,
Or more likely, lust!
He is a complex beast,
This child of ours.
When he is good,
We swell with pride
And dance with joy,
Each proclaiming
Our genes at play.
When he is not,
And it is a battle of wits,
Us against him,
And we appear to be losing,
Then we each would claim,
“It is your genes,
Not mine!”
Whose child is this?
We ask ourselves,
Knowing and sometimes fearing,
He reflects us.
Who You Are For Me
You were born
To make a difference
In the world.
You are as human
As they come,
But you won’t
Let that stop you.
You are convinced
There is a purpose
To the trials
And tribulations
You face,
That you are being trained
For something great,
Though you have no idea
What that might be.
You have a heart
Filled with compassion,
And a keen sense
Of right and wrong.
You sometimes rave
At seeming injustices.
You thirst for knowledge,
And seek to understand
Why things are
The way they are.
You have the courage
Of your convictions,
The willingness to stand up
And be heard.
You have pride,
You have passion
And idiosyncrasies too.
You have a way
Of doing things,
A style all your own.
There is a vitality about you,
A determinedness
To make every moment count,
Not to miss a thing.
You are a dreamer
In pursuit of all
Life has to offer.
Your antics enrich my life
And I take pleasure in
Calling you my friend.
To make a difference
In the world.
You are as human
As they come,
But you won’t
Let that stop you.
You are convinced
There is a purpose
To the trials
And tribulations
You face,
That you are being trained
For something great,
Though you have no idea
What that might be.
You have a heart
Filled with compassion,
And a keen sense
Of right and wrong.
You sometimes rave
At seeming injustices.
You thirst for knowledge,
And seek to understand
Why things are
The way they are.
You have the courage
Of your convictions,
The willingness to stand up
And be heard.
You have pride,
You have passion
And idiosyncrasies too.
You have a way
Of doing things,
A style all your own.
There is a vitality about you,
A determinedness
To make every moment count,
Not to miss a thing.
You are a dreamer
In pursuit of all
Life has to offer.
Your antics enrich my life
And I take pleasure in
Calling you my friend.
Unanswerable Question
As a three year old
Sue was scolded
By her mother
For interrupting others
With her babble.
It was a seemingly
Innocuous incident,
But Sue interpreted
It to mean
She was bad,
Not good enough
To be heard.
From then on
She questioned
Whether or not
Anything she did
Was good enough.
She was driven
To perform,
To be the best,
To prove herself,
But nothing she did
Ever proved a thing.
No matter what
She accomplished
Or what acknowledgment
She received,
The question still remained,
“Was she good enough?”
It was a question
For which there was
No answer.
Sue was scolded
By her mother
For interrupting others
With her babble.
It was a seemingly
Innocuous incident,
But Sue interpreted
It to mean
She was bad,
Not good enough
To be heard.
From then on
She questioned
Whether or not
Anything she did
Was good enough.
She was driven
To perform,
To be the best,
To prove herself,
But nothing she did
Ever proved a thing.
No matter what
She accomplished
Or what acknowledgment
She received,
The question still remained,
“Was she good enough?”
It was a question
For which there was
No answer.
Encounter With a Genius
He was born blind,
But refused
To use that
As an excuse
Or to allow his blindness
To hinder him.
He had honed
His other senses
To such a level
That he practically
Had no need
For sight,
But it was his mind
That was truly
Extraordinary.
He had earned
A Doctorate Degree
In mathematics
From Brown University
Using his ability
To envision complex equations
Few seeing people
Could begin to grasp.
He could easily
Have become renown
In the field of
Theoretical mathematics,
But chose instead
To teach at the college level.
That is where I met him
As a lowly Freshman
Struggling with calculus.
Before the class started,
He had an assistant
Read the textbook to him,
And he memorized
The entire book verbatim,
And could recite
Any given page
Word for word
As if he was reading it.
He had an infallible
Photographic memory.
He could write
On the blackboard
Without seeing
What he was doing,
And could break off
For an explanation mid word
And return to the exact spot
Where he left off
And continue writing
As if he could see
What he was doing.
He never used a cane
Or a Seeing Eye dog,
Yet he could maneuver
Through crowds,
Go up and down stairs,
Cross streets
And find his way around
The entire campus.
He needed an assistant
To help him grade
Homework and tests,
But aside from that,
He had no need of eyes.
I was left in awe
By the invincibility of his spirit
And his dedication
To teaching mathematics
Against all odds.
But refused
To use that
As an excuse
Or to allow his blindness
To hinder him.
He had honed
His other senses
To such a level
That he practically
Had no need
For sight,
But it was his mind
That was truly
Extraordinary.
He had earned
A Doctorate Degree
In mathematics
From Brown University
Using his ability
To envision complex equations
Few seeing people
Could begin to grasp.
He could easily
Have become renown
In the field of
Theoretical mathematics,
But chose instead
To teach at the college level.
That is where I met him
As a lowly Freshman
Struggling with calculus.
Before the class started,
He had an assistant
Read the textbook to him,
And he memorized
The entire book verbatim,
And could recite
Any given page
Word for word
As if he was reading it.
He had an infallible
Photographic memory.
He could write
On the blackboard
Without seeing
What he was doing,
And could break off
For an explanation mid word
And return to the exact spot
Where he left off
And continue writing
As if he could see
What he was doing.
He never used a cane
Or a Seeing Eye dog,
Yet he could maneuver
Through crowds,
Go up and down stairs,
Cross streets
And find his way around
The entire campus.
He needed an assistant
To help him grade
Homework and tests,
But aside from that,
He had no need of eyes.
I was left in awe
By the invincibility of his spirit
And his dedication
To teaching mathematics
Against all odds.
Transformation
Transformation
Is the magic alchemy
Taking us instantaneously
From a world of I can’t
Into a world of I can
Without altering anything
In our physical universe
Other than our point of view.
Is the magic alchemy
Taking us instantaneously
From a world of I can’t
Into a world of I can
Without altering anything
In our physical universe
Other than our point of view.
The Storm's Aftermath
The storm struck
With all its fury
A week or two before,
Leaving in its wake
Wooden embattlements
Piled five feet high
Fronting the ocean,
And stretching in either direction
As far as the eye could see.
Twisted and knotted
Relics of trees
That once grew
Far back in the hills,
Logs stripped of bark,
Jetsam from the passing storm,
Litter the coast.
The sand had been washed away
Leaving only cobbles
On what used to be a beach.
Pieces of plywood,
Timbers large and small,
And entire trees are deposited
Helter-skelter
Along the shore.
Twisted shapes,
Wooden pieces
Sanded and carved
By the elements
Are being sorted and collected
By swarms of people
Working their way
Through the debris.
Reeds and bamboo
Are strewn about,
A large piece of piling,
Probably from the local pier,
And old tires
Complement the mess.
Rattlesnakes and rats
Reportedly populate the trash,
Having been washed
Out of the surrounding hills
Along with the rest of the litter.
Later the wood
Will be collected and burnt
In giant bonfires
On the beach,
A fiery tribute
To the power
Of the storm.
With all its fury
A week or two before,
Leaving in its wake
Wooden embattlements
Piled five feet high
Fronting the ocean,
And stretching in either direction
As far as the eye could see.
Twisted and knotted
Relics of trees
That once grew
Far back in the hills,
Logs stripped of bark,
Jetsam from the passing storm,
Litter the coast.
The sand had been washed away
Leaving only cobbles
On what used to be a beach.
Pieces of plywood,
Timbers large and small,
And entire trees are deposited
Helter-skelter
Along the shore.
Twisted shapes,
Wooden pieces
Sanded and carved
By the elements
Are being sorted and collected
By swarms of people
Working their way
Through the debris.
Reeds and bamboo
Are strewn about,
A large piece of piling,
Probably from the local pier,
And old tires
Complement the mess.
Rattlesnakes and rats
Reportedly populate the trash,
Having been washed
Out of the surrounding hills
Along with the rest of the litter.
Later the wood
Will be collected and burnt
In giant bonfires
On the beach,
A fiery tribute
To the power
Of the storm.
The Slug Bug Game
Among the many ways
My kids entertained
Themselves and us
Was the Slug Bug Game.
A Slug Bug is a
Volkswagen Beetle,
An extremely popular car
Back in the 60’s and early 70’s.
I had three of them
In my college days.
They haven’t been sold
Here in the United States
For twenty years or more,
So they are considered classics.
They came in a variety of colors
Including red, yellow,
Blue and green.
There are still a number
Of those old cars around
And our kids made a game
Of finding them.
The first child to spot one
Would yell “Red slug bug,
No punch back,”
If it was red,
Then proceed to hit the other.
Down each road and alley
They would search
As we drove along,
Vigilant and alert,
Each one trying to beat
The other to the punch.
My kids entertained
Themselves and us
Was the Slug Bug Game.
A Slug Bug is a
Volkswagen Beetle,
An extremely popular car
Back in the 60’s and early 70’s.
I had three of them
In my college days.
They haven’t been sold
Here in the United States
For twenty years or more,
So they are considered classics.
They came in a variety of colors
Including red, yellow,
Blue and green.
There are still a number
Of those old cars around
And our kids made a game
Of finding them.
The first child to spot one
Would yell “Red slug bug,
No punch back,”
If it was red,
Then proceed to hit the other.
Down each road and alley
They would search
As we drove along,
Vigilant and alert,
Each one trying to beat
The other to the punch.
The Real Writer's Cramp
To be a writer
Is to explore
The blending
Of words,
And subtleties
Of language.
Sometimes
In the process,
We inadvertently
Bend the laws
Of grammar
Or spelling.
All too often,
Those errors
Will embarrass us
By passing
Undetected through
A gauntlet
Of proof readers
Only to get stuck
In the craw
Of someone
Who is all too glad
To points out
Our verbal
Shortcomings
After the work
Has gone to press.
Is to explore
The blending
Of words,
And subtleties
Of language.
Sometimes
In the process,
We inadvertently
Bend the laws
Of grammar
Or spelling.
All too often,
Those errors
Will embarrass us
By passing
Undetected through
A gauntlet
Of proof readers
Only to get stuck
In the craw
Of someone
Who is all too glad
To points out
Our verbal
Shortcomings
After the work
Has gone to press.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Times of Crisis
I could easily
Get overwhelmed
By all the negative
Things happening
In the world.
Every newspaper
Seems to be full of
Doom and gloom,
The economy is
In a shambles
And people are scared.
I could become
A raving pessimist
If I let myself,
But what good
Would that do me?
I have learned
Not to give up
Without a fight.
A couple of my friends,
Who are normally
Upbeat and positive,
Have let their minds
Go South for the Winter,
And all they do
When they get together
Is commiserate about
Their respective misfortunes
And compound their fears.
Very little, if any, good
Ever comes out of
Such conversations.
My role is to infect them
With my positive attitude,
To get them to start
Noticing what they can do now
In spite of circumstances.
I can’t let their attitude
Affect my own.
Sure, they each have
Serious financial concerns,
But their money fears
Almost paralyze them.
Their respective businesses
Are in a tailspin,
And virtually the whole country
Is in a state of crisis.
The natural tendency for people
Caught in this situation
Is to hunker down
And try to wait
Until the conditions change.
The central theme
Is to spend nothing
And do nothing,
Hoping that they will survive
Until better times come.
The problem with that approach
Is that it leaves everyone
Worried about losing
What they have,
And powerless to recognize
And act on opportunities
Which may lie
Right under their noses.
Fortunately for them,
A new business
Was initiated back
When they still
Had faith in tomorrow.
The business is in
It’s infancy,
Just getting started,
But has remarkable possibilities
If we can act now.
For every reason
They come up with
Why they can’t build
The new business
Right now,
I must come up with
Two ways they can.
I must ensure
That we start off with
Incremental successes,
Small achievements
That can serve
As the foundation
For enthusiasm.
Fear of not having money
Is a whole lot more
Incapacitating then simply
Not having money.
Once the fear is mitigated,
It is amazing
How much can be accomplished
Without money.
It is almost miraculous
What happens
When a group of people
Use their heads
For something other than
Harboring fears.
Get overwhelmed
By all the negative
Things happening
In the world.
Every newspaper
Seems to be full of
Doom and gloom,
The economy is
In a shambles
And people are scared.
I could become
A raving pessimist
If I let myself,
But what good
Would that do me?
I have learned
Not to give up
Without a fight.
A couple of my friends,
Who are normally
Upbeat and positive,
Have let their minds
Go South for the Winter,
And all they do
When they get together
Is commiserate about
Their respective misfortunes
And compound their fears.
Very little, if any, good
Ever comes out of
Such conversations.
My role is to infect them
With my positive attitude,
To get them to start
Noticing what they can do now
In spite of circumstances.
I can’t let their attitude
Affect my own.
Sure, they each have
Serious financial concerns,
But their money fears
Almost paralyze them.
Their respective businesses
Are in a tailspin,
And virtually the whole country
Is in a state of crisis.
The natural tendency for people
Caught in this situation
Is to hunker down
And try to wait
Until the conditions change.
The central theme
Is to spend nothing
And do nothing,
Hoping that they will survive
Until better times come.
The problem with that approach
Is that it leaves everyone
Worried about losing
What they have,
And powerless to recognize
And act on opportunities
Which may lie
Right under their noses.
Fortunately for them,
A new business
Was initiated back
When they still
Had faith in tomorrow.
The business is in
It’s infancy,
Just getting started,
But has remarkable possibilities
If we can act now.
For every reason
They come up with
Why they can’t build
The new business
Right now,
I must come up with
Two ways they can.
I must ensure
That we start off with
Incremental successes,
Small achievements
That can serve
As the foundation
For enthusiasm.
Fear of not having money
Is a whole lot more
Incapacitating then simply
Not having money.
Once the fear is mitigated,
It is amazing
How much can be accomplished
Without money.
It is almost miraculous
What happens
When a group of people
Use their heads
For something other than
Harboring fears.
The Substitute
In all my years of schooling
There was one teacher
Who stood out
Head and shoulders
Above the rest.
He was a substitute teacher
For a single day
In my sixth grade class.
He somehow managed
In that short time
To teach us something
About ourselves,
How to tap the power within.
He explained how
We could go to sleep
And wake up
Exactly when we wanted
Without using an alarm clock.
He was the one
Who taught me
The art of the five-minute nap.
He talked of mastery,
Getting good at what we do,
How easy it is
If we don’t try to resist.
He taught us
We were capable of
Far more than we think.
He challenged us
To write an essay about
The power of our minds.
What was truly unique
Was that every one of us
Showed up the next day
With our essay complete,
Something none of us
Thought we could do,
Something no other teacher
Would dare request,
Much less expect.
It didn’t matter
That we never saw
That substitute again,
Or that our regular teacher
Was back that morning,
Completely dumbfounded
By all the work
We had done.
The substitute teacher
Taught us more in one day
Then some people
Learn in a lifetime.
There was one teacher
Who stood out
Head and shoulders
Above the rest.
He was a substitute teacher
For a single day
In my sixth grade class.
He somehow managed
In that short time
To teach us something
About ourselves,
How to tap the power within.
He explained how
We could go to sleep
And wake up
Exactly when we wanted
Without using an alarm clock.
He was the one
Who taught me
The art of the five-minute nap.
He talked of mastery,
Getting good at what we do,
How easy it is
If we don’t try to resist.
He taught us
We were capable of
Far more than we think.
He challenged us
To write an essay about
The power of our minds.
What was truly unique
Was that every one of us
Showed up the next day
With our essay complete,
Something none of us
Thought we could do,
Something no other teacher
Would dare request,
Much less expect.
It didn’t matter
That we never saw
That substitute again,
Or that our regular teacher
Was back that morning,
Completely dumbfounded
By all the work
We had done.
The substitute teacher
Taught us more in one day
Then some people
Learn in a lifetime.
The Mystery of You
There is something
Tantalizingly
Mischievous
And exotically
Unpredictable
About you.
No matter how well
I might think
I know you,
Your antics
Still manage
To surprise me
Every now
And then!
It’s the mystery
Of you
That keeps me
Entertained
And coming back
For more.
Tantalizingly
Mischievous
And exotically
Unpredictable
About you.
No matter how well
I might think
I know you,
Your antics
Still manage
To surprise me
Every now
And then!
It’s the mystery
Of you
That keeps me
Entertained
And coming back
For more.
The Mule Maker
He was an expert
At cultivating mules,
And his were some of
The orneriest,
Most stubborn,
Ones around.
He always seemed to be
In a battle of wits
With one mule or another,
And invariable
It was the mule who won.
He had tried everything
He could think of
To dominate those beasts,
To get them
To do his bidding,
But no amount of cursive abuse
Or honey-coated manipulation
Ever seemed to work.
He couldn’t force,
Trick, shame, or control
A one of them.
They just dug their heels in
And refused to budge.
It didn’t matter
If they were
The four legged
Or the two legged variety,
The results were the same.
By the time
He was done with them
They were enrolled
In being a mule!
At cultivating mules,
And his were some of
The orneriest,
Most stubborn,
Ones around.
He always seemed to be
In a battle of wits
With one mule or another,
And invariable
It was the mule who won.
He had tried everything
He could think of
To dominate those beasts,
To get them
To do his bidding,
But no amount of cursive abuse
Or honey-coated manipulation
Ever seemed to work.
He couldn’t force,
Trick, shame, or control
A one of them.
They just dug their heels in
And refused to budge.
It didn’t matter
If they were
The four legged
Or the two legged variety,
The results were the same.
By the time
He was done with them
They were enrolled
In being a mule!
The Mama Trauma
She worked hard,
Running herself ragged
Taking care of her child,
Fussing and fretting
Over every little thing,
Trying to do it all right,
Trying to guard against
Her child somehow being
Traumatized by life.
She did the best she could,
But it was a futile fight,
One she lost
Before she even started.
What she couldn’t see,
Or didn’t understand,
Was that her child
Was the center
Of the universe
In which she was born,
And it is always
A rude awakening
When the child discovers
She is no longer
The center of the world.
Running herself ragged
Taking care of her child,
Fussing and fretting
Over every little thing,
Trying to do it all right,
Trying to guard against
Her child somehow being
Traumatized by life.
She did the best she could,
But it was a futile fight,
One she lost
Before she even started.
What she couldn’t see,
Or didn’t understand,
Was that her child
Was the center
Of the universe
In which she was born,
And it is always
A rude awakening
When the child discovers
She is no longer
The center of the world.
The Making of Me
Some of my
Earliest memories
Are of building blocks
And tinker toys,
Lincoln logs
And red plastic bricks,
Erector sets,
And countless hours
Contentedly spent
Building fortresses,
Houses, bridges, roads,
Boats and trains.
One construction phase
Passed to another,
And soon I was assembling
Scale plastic models,
And mastering the art
Of paint and glue.
I went on to spend years
Teaching myself
The rudiments
Of carpentry,
Haphazardly building
My tree fort sanctuary.
I discovered an interest
In drawing
And an aptitude
For mathematics.
In retrospect
It seems there was
An obvious pattern
To my childhood activities
That inextricably led me
Down the path
Of life I chose.
No wonder
I eventually became
A civil engineer.
It was almost as if
It was preordained,
As if I had no choice
In the matter.
Not a moment
Of my youth
Was apparently wasted,
For had I not utilized
The days of my youth
As I did,
I might have missed
A step along the way,
And that single step
Could have changed
The course of my life,
And I could easily
Have missed
My calling.
Earliest memories
Are of building blocks
And tinker toys,
Lincoln logs
And red plastic bricks,
Erector sets,
And countless hours
Contentedly spent
Building fortresses,
Houses, bridges, roads,
Boats and trains.
One construction phase
Passed to another,
And soon I was assembling
Scale plastic models,
And mastering the art
Of paint and glue.
I went on to spend years
Teaching myself
The rudiments
Of carpentry,
Haphazardly building
My tree fort sanctuary.
I discovered an interest
In drawing
And an aptitude
For mathematics.
In retrospect
It seems there was
An obvious pattern
To my childhood activities
That inextricably led me
Down the path
Of life I chose.
No wonder
I eventually became
A civil engineer.
It was almost as if
It was preordained,
As if I had no choice
In the matter.
Not a moment
Of my youth
Was apparently wasted,
For had I not utilized
The days of my youth
As I did,
I might have missed
A step along the way,
And that single step
Could have changed
The course of my life,
And I could easily
Have missed
My calling.
The Loose Spoke
He was only
A single spoke,
One among many
In the wheel.
He didn’t think
He made
Much difference
And he was getting
Tired of carrying
His load,
So he decided
To relax
And loosen up a bit.
The load
He was carrying
Was shifted
To the other spokes
Of the wheel
Subtly changing
The balance
So the wheel
No longer
Rolled true.
What the loose spoke
Couldn’t see
Or didn’t understand
Was the part
He played
In the integrity
Of the wheel.
A single spoke,
One among many
In the wheel.
He didn’t think
He made
Much difference
And he was getting
Tired of carrying
His load,
So he decided
To relax
And loosen up a bit.
The load
He was carrying
Was shifted
To the other spokes
Of the wheel
Subtly changing
The balance
So the wheel
No longer
Rolled true.
What the loose spoke
Couldn’t see
Or didn’t understand
Was the part
He played
In the integrity
Of the wheel.
The Klutz
It only took a minute or two
Watching her
Fumbling around
And dropping things
For me to get the picture.
She was one of
The clumsiest people
I’ve ever seen.
She told me
It was hopeless.
Seven years
Of dance lessons
Had failed to provided
Even a smidgen
Of grace or coordination.
She had obviously
Collected ample evidence
Over the years
To convince herself
Beyond any doubt,
That was the way she was,
But what if its
Only a story
She made up
About herself,
A self-fulfilling prophesy?
What would it take
For her to question
Her long held beliefs
When doing so
Could transform
The quality of her life?
Watching her
Fumbling around
And dropping things
For me to get the picture.
She was one of
The clumsiest people
I’ve ever seen.
She told me
It was hopeless.
Seven years
Of dance lessons
Had failed to provided
Even a smidgen
Of grace or coordination.
She had obviously
Collected ample evidence
Over the years
To convince herself
Beyond any doubt,
That was the way she was,
But what if its
Only a story
She made up
About herself,
A self-fulfilling prophesy?
What would it take
For her to question
Her long held beliefs
When doing so
Could transform
The quality of her life?
The Fish Tank Phenomenon
It seems a most peculiar thing!
We are like fish
Swimming in a tank
Filled with a multitude
Of other fish,
All swimming
Elbow to elbow.
It’s so crowded,
We can hardly turn around
Without bumping
Into each other,
Yet we are plagued
By an irrational sense
Of being alone.
In the midst of
Overwhelming abundance,
We live from
Absolute scarcity.
Our feelings have
Little to do with reality.
The barriers between us
Are all inside our heads.
While we swim
Bumper to bumper,
We search for the one fish
Meant just for us,
Oblivious to the school of life
All around us,
With many a fishy story
About the one that got away
And the one that did us wrong.
We are such fascinating creatures
Locked in our isolation together!
We are like fish
Swimming in a tank
Filled with a multitude
Of other fish,
All swimming
Elbow to elbow.
It’s so crowded,
We can hardly turn around
Without bumping
Into each other,
Yet we are plagued
By an irrational sense
Of being alone.
In the midst of
Overwhelming abundance,
We live from
Absolute scarcity.
Our feelings have
Little to do with reality.
The barriers between us
Are all inside our heads.
While we swim
Bumper to bumper,
We search for the one fish
Meant just for us,
Oblivious to the school of life
All around us,
With many a fishy story
About the one that got away
And the one that did us wrong.
We are such fascinating creatures
Locked in our isolation together!
The Fifth Social Style
I fondly remember
A couple I know
Arguing about their
Respective
Social styles.
They were each
As amiable as could be
Until it came
To dealing
With each other.
They were so cute,
Like a couple turtles
Debating which one
Was thicker shelled,
Or more hard headed
Than the other.
They bantered
And badgered
Back and forth
Until I concluded
There is a fifth social style,
That of a belligerent amiable!
A couple I know
Arguing about their
Respective
Social styles.
They were each
As amiable as could be
Until it came
To dealing
With each other.
They were so cute,
Like a couple turtles
Debating which one
Was thicker shelled,
Or more hard headed
Than the other.
They bantered
And badgered
Back and forth
Until I concluded
There is a fifth social style,
That of a belligerent amiable!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Enemy
We are confronted
Time and time again
By the enemy,
The one who discourages us,
Deflates our balloon,
Or rains on our parade.
This enemy haunts
Our every move,
Follows us wherever we go
And stares back at us
When we look in a mirror.
Time and time again
By the enemy,
The one who discourages us,
Deflates our balloon,
Or rains on our parade.
This enemy haunts
Our every move,
Follows us wherever we go
And stares back at us
When we look in a mirror.
The Educated Man
He had a natural curiosity
Which led him
In a quest to understand.
He had studied many disciplines,
Spent years delving into religion
Philosophy, psychology,
Sociology, mathematics, biology,
Astronomy, chemistry,
Archeology, computers, physics
And numerous other sciences.
He sensed an underlying pattern
To the universe around him,
A central unifying theory
That tied everything together.
His inability to accept
Not knowing why
Things were the way they were
Drove him on.
He thought the knowledge he collected
Would give him answers,
Give him power over
The world around him,
But all it did was
Create a rigid structure
That imprisoned his mind.
The more he knew,
The less that was available to him.
It was the mystery of life
That nearly drove him crazy.
Which led him
In a quest to understand.
He had studied many disciplines,
Spent years delving into religion
Philosophy, psychology,
Sociology, mathematics, biology,
Astronomy, chemistry,
Archeology, computers, physics
And numerous other sciences.
He sensed an underlying pattern
To the universe around him,
A central unifying theory
That tied everything together.
His inability to accept
Not knowing why
Things were the way they were
Drove him on.
He thought the knowledge he collected
Would give him answers,
Give him power over
The world around him,
But all it did was
Create a rigid structure
That imprisoned his mind.
The more he knew,
The less that was available to him.
It was the mystery of life
That nearly drove him crazy.
The Desperate Search
Sometimes we try too hard
To find someone compatible
And end up scaring off
Any suitable prospects.
We act as if we are incomplete
Without someone by our side,
And there is an air of desperation
To our search,
An intensity to our efforts
That is clearly visible
To anyone around us.
We go places
Where we hope to meet
The person we are looking for,
And they never seem to be there.
We read all the books
On how to catch a mate,
And they are as elusive as ever.
We try to fix ourselves,
To make ourselves better,
More attractive to another,
But the more we fix,
The more there is to fix
In a never ending battle
With ourselves.
It usually isn’t until
We finally give up
Our manic pursuit,
And declare a truce
With ourselves
And the world around us,
That someone shows up.
To find someone compatible
And end up scaring off
Any suitable prospects.
We act as if we are incomplete
Without someone by our side,
And there is an air of desperation
To our search,
An intensity to our efforts
That is clearly visible
To anyone around us.
We go places
Where we hope to meet
The person we are looking for,
And they never seem to be there.
We read all the books
On how to catch a mate,
And they are as elusive as ever.
We try to fix ourselves,
To make ourselves better,
More attractive to another,
But the more we fix,
The more there is to fix
In a never ending battle
With ourselves.
It usually isn’t until
We finally give up
Our manic pursuit,
And declare a truce
With ourselves
And the world around us,
That someone shows up.
The Desert Basin
The arid wind continuously blows
Across the desert basin
Picking up grit as it goes,
Sandblasting the buttes
And wearing cavities and crevices
In the walls of the cliffs.
Desert animals inhabit
The wind made hollows,
Hiding during the heat of the day,
And making their rounds at night.
The wind drops its dusty load
On the valley floor
Forming dunes of sand
Which build relentlessly
To towering heights,
And swallow the sparse
Desert vegetation.
Miners from a century ago
Tried their luck
At harvesting the desert’s bounty,
But all that remains
Of their tormented efforts
Are twisted relics,
Ramshackle shacks,
Rusting metal mining gear
And piles of excavated rock
Littering the ground.
It is a harsh
And unforgiving land
With a beauty all its own.
Across the desert basin
Picking up grit as it goes,
Sandblasting the buttes
And wearing cavities and crevices
In the walls of the cliffs.
Desert animals inhabit
The wind made hollows,
Hiding during the heat of the day,
And making their rounds at night.
The wind drops its dusty load
On the valley floor
Forming dunes of sand
Which build relentlessly
To towering heights,
And swallow the sparse
Desert vegetation.
Miners from a century ago
Tried their luck
At harvesting the desert’s bounty,
But all that remains
Of their tormented efforts
Are twisted relics,
Ramshackle shacks,
Rusting metal mining gear
And piles of excavated rock
Littering the ground.
It is a harsh
And unforgiving land
With a beauty all its own.
The Coach's Creed
I speak from my heart
And pour out my soul
Not knowing which words to use,
Yet trusting the perfection
Of the ones that come,
That they will covey
What needs to be said
To encourage you on.
I listen to your every word,
Noting precisely what you say,
And equally as important,
What you don’t.
I observe the subtleties of language,
How you say
What you say,
And where that leaves you.
I see in you
The potential to be great,
And confidently assert
That somewhere inside you
Is the will to carry on,
The courage to succeed,
The heart of a champion,
All that it takes to win.
I am not here
To tell you what to do
Or how to do it.
Your problems
Are not mine to solve.
You can do that yourself.
I am simply a dedicated observer
Telling you what I see.
As your coach
I sense where you resist,
Where you get overwhelmed
And normally falter,
Or fail to follow through
On what you say
You are committed to,
And I call you to account.
I am your coach
And I believe in you
Even when you stop
Believing in yourself.
I will be there for you,
Through the good times
And the bad,
Supporting you all the way.
And pour out my soul
Not knowing which words to use,
Yet trusting the perfection
Of the ones that come,
That they will covey
What needs to be said
To encourage you on.
I listen to your every word,
Noting precisely what you say,
And equally as important,
What you don’t.
I observe the subtleties of language,
How you say
What you say,
And where that leaves you.
I see in you
The potential to be great,
And confidently assert
That somewhere inside you
Is the will to carry on,
The courage to succeed,
The heart of a champion,
All that it takes to win.
I am not here
To tell you what to do
Or how to do it.
Your problems
Are not mine to solve.
You can do that yourself.
I am simply a dedicated observer
Telling you what I see.
As your coach
I sense where you resist,
Where you get overwhelmed
And normally falter,
Or fail to follow through
On what you say
You are committed to,
And I call you to account.
I am your coach
And I believe in you
Even when you stop
Believing in yourself.
I will be there for you,
Through the good times
And the bad,
Supporting you all the way.
Team
I find it fascinating to watch
A really great team
Work their magic.
Each member is competent,
Generally a master
In his or her own right.
Very little communication is required
To get the job done.
Each person knows exactly
What they need to do,
But it is more than just that,
They are unified on purpose,
And each member
Is acutely aware
Of the big picture
Of what the team is up to.
Breakdowns will occur,
But they are solved
Almost effortlessly.
It is almost as if
The team is in slow motion,
No wasted effort anywhere.
They seem to have a way
Of working together,
Even in tight quarters,
That is mutually complementary.
There is a synergy about the team
That makes the members
More than just the sum of the parts.
They all shine as a result.
The key question is,
What does it take
To create a team like that,
And why do they seem so rare?
A really great team
Work their magic.
Each member is competent,
Generally a master
In his or her own right.
Very little communication is required
To get the job done.
Each person knows exactly
What they need to do,
But it is more than just that,
They are unified on purpose,
And each member
Is acutely aware
Of the big picture
Of what the team is up to.
Breakdowns will occur,
But they are solved
Almost effortlessly.
It is almost as if
The team is in slow motion,
No wasted effort anywhere.
They seem to have a way
Of working together,
Even in tight quarters,
That is mutually complementary.
There is a synergy about the team
That makes the members
More than just the sum of the parts.
They all shine as a result.
The key question is,
What does it take
To create a team like that,
And why do they seem so rare?
Taming the Sadness
Sometimes a feeling
Of profound sadness
Will come over me,
And linger for a while
Seemingly without reason.
I will get to thinking
About the people I miss,
The ones I care about,
And the distance
That separates us.
Occasionally vivid images
Will come flooding back
Of places I have been,
Situations I encountered,
Or opportunities I missed.
I used to struggle with
Those melancholy feelings,
Imagining them
To be my enemy,
And the more I resisted them,
The more they persisted.
Then I noticed something
Rather interesting,
When I was writing,
The melancholy feelings
Tended to add
A certain romantic quality
To my words,
And I liked the effect.
Those feelings soon became
One of my most powerful tools,
A friend I could call on at will.
Of profound sadness
Will come over me,
And linger for a while
Seemingly without reason.
I will get to thinking
About the people I miss,
The ones I care about,
And the distance
That separates us.
Occasionally vivid images
Will come flooding back
Of places I have been,
Situations I encountered,
Or opportunities I missed.
I used to struggle with
Those melancholy feelings,
Imagining them
To be my enemy,
And the more I resisted them,
The more they persisted.
Then I noticed something
Rather interesting,
When I was writing,
The melancholy feelings
Tended to add
A certain romantic quality
To my words,
And I liked the effect.
Those feelings soon became
One of my most powerful tools,
A friend I could call on at will.
Sweet Blood
She was a pin cushion
For every mosquito,
Flea or fly
In the vicinity.
She was cursed
With a body chemistry
That drove them wild.
They would go into
A frenzied attack
The moment she arrived,
And would follow her
From room to room.
They just couldn’t seem
To get enough of her blood,
And over the years,
She had given plenty.
If she was in a crowd,
They would land on her
And no one else,
In fact,
She was good person to have
Around at a party.
For every mosquito,
Flea or fly
In the vicinity.
She was cursed
With a body chemistry
That drove them wild.
They would go into
A frenzied attack
The moment she arrived,
And would follow her
From room to room.
They just couldn’t seem
To get enough of her blood,
And over the years,
She had given plenty.
If she was in a crowd,
They would land on her
And no one else,
In fact,
She was good person to have
Around at a party.
Soul Mate
The romantic in me
KNOWS
That somewhere
OUT THERE
Is a person
MEANT FOR ME,
My ideal companion,
MY SOUL MATE!
Within the confines
OF MY MIND
Lies a portrait of
THE RELATIONSHIP
We will have
ONCE WE FIND
Each other,
AND WE WILL
Each keep looking
UNTIL WE DO.
KNOWS
That somewhere
OUT THERE
Is a person
MEANT FOR ME,
My ideal companion,
MY SOUL MATE!
Within the confines
OF MY MIND
Lies a portrait of
THE RELATIONSHIP
We will have
ONCE WE FIND
Each other,
AND WE WILL
Each keep looking
UNTIL WE DO.
Smother Love
Love is the most powerful force
In the universe.
There are many types
Of love, of course.
There is the huggy, kissy, smoochy
Kind of love
A mother gives a child,
A love that feels so good
When you are down,
The “I’ll take care of you”
Kind of love.
This I call
Smother Love
Mothers are good at it,
Yeah, they are,
But there is another kind of love
That powerfully states
“I believe in you,
You have what it takes,”
A love that says
“And this too shall come to pass!”
A love that stands for
You having a life you love,
Spreading your wings
And learning to fly.
It is a statement of faith
That somewhere deep inside you
Is something beautiful to see
Waiting to come out.”
That is the love I give,
A love that sets you free.
In the universe.
There are many types
Of love, of course.
There is the huggy, kissy, smoochy
Kind of love
A mother gives a child,
A love that feels so good
When you are down,
The “I’ll take care of you”
Kind of love.
This I call
Smother Love
Mothers are good at it,
Yeah, they are,
But there is another kind of love
That powerfully states
“I believe in you,
You have what it takes,”
A love that says
“And this too shall come to pass!”
A love that stands for
You having a life you love,
Spreading your wings
And learning to fly.
It is a statement of faith
That somewhere deep inside you
Is something beautiful to see
Waiting to come out.”
That is the love I give,
A love that sets you free.
Serenity
There is a state of peace,
That we sometimes find,
Where we take things as they come
With a calmness deep inside.
The Eastern philosophers
Have for ages taught
Contemplating, meditating
Creating that quiet within.
It is the magic of accepting
Rather than contesting,
A refusal to fight,
Or even to judge.
For some of us
Serenity may be found
In a clear mountain stream,
Or the stillness of a lake.
It is the feeling of being
At ease with life,
Content and complete,
Present to it’s beauty.
It is simply knowing
Things will happen
Exactly as they should
Without force on our part.
That we sometimes find,
Where we take things as they come
With a calmness deep inside.
The Eastern philosophers
Have for ages taught
Contemplating, meditating
Creating that quiet within.
It is the magic of accepting
Rather than contesting,
A refusal to fight,
Or even to judge.
For some of us
Serenity may be found
In a clear mountain stream,
Or the stillness of a lake.
It is the feeling of being
At ease with life,
Content and complete,
Present to it’s beauty.
It is simply knowing
Things will happen
Exactly as they should
Without force on our part.
Animal House Pranks
There was a movie
That came out
A number of years ago
Titled “Animal House”
That movie was probably
A fairly accurate depiction
What it was like
My Freshman Year
At Michigan State University.
I was assigned to Shaw Hall,
Then the largest all male
Dormitory in the world,
Where I was introduced
To college pranks
As a form of
Intramural competition.
There were a lot of
Talented pranksters
Among the 3000 guys
Living in that dorm.
It was room against room
And floor against floor
In competition
To “outprank” each other.
There were plenty lesser stunts,
Not quite state of the art,
Like putting shoe polish
One the phone receivers
Or “cellophaning” the toilets
Late at night
To catch them
When they least expect it.
We learned the art
Of wedging a door shut
By jamming objects like
Pencils or pennies
Between the door and the frame.
One of the dirtiest tricks of all
Happened when someone
With a deep understanding of fowl,
And the mess they tend to create,
Led a bevy hungry ducks
One winter day,
One cracker at a time,
Up three flights of stairs
And left them in someone’s room.
Winter was open prank season.
One set of roommates returned
From the Christmas break
Only to find their window left open
And their entire room
Embedded in three inches
Of frozen Jell-O.
One trick was a feat
Of pure engineering mastery,
And after all,
Engineering was what
I was in school to learn.
A mattress was tied to a rope
And hung out a window
While the other end of the rope
Was tied to the handle of the door.
Then the hinges were removed
And the door was locked
Ever so carefully.
When the roommate returned
With date in tow,
And opened the door,
It flew across the room
Crashing into the wall
With a horrendous noise
That reverberated through the halls
Ending any possible secrecy
To their midnight rendezvous.
The following year
Women were integrating into the dorm
Taming the place down,
And I was fortunately left
With little to do but study.
That came out
A number of years ago
Titled “Animal House”
That movie was probably
A fairly accurate depiction
What it was like
My Freshman Year
At Michigan State University.
I was assigned to Shaw Hall,
Then the largest all male
Dormitory in the world,
Where I was introduced
To college pranks
As a form of
Intramural competition.
There were a lot of
Talented pranksters
Among the 3000 guys
Living in that dorm.
It was room against room
And floor against floor
In competition
To “outprank” each other.
There were plenty lesser stunts,
Not quite state of the art,
Like putting shoe polish
One the phone receivers
Or “cellophaning” the toilets
Late at night
To catch them
When they least expect it.
We learned the art
Of wedging a door shut
By jamming objects like
Pencils or pennies
Between the door and the frame.
One of the dirtiest tricks of all
Happened when someone
With a deep understanding of fowl,
And the mess they tend to create,
Led a bevy hungry ducks
One winter day,
One cracker at a time,
Up three flights of stairs
And left them in someone’s room.
Winter was open prank season.
One set of roommates returned
From the Christmas break
Only to find their window left open
And their entire room
Embedded in three inches
Of frozen Jell-O.
One trick was a feat
Of pure engineering mastery,
And after all,
Engineering was what
I was in school to learn.
A mattress was tied to a rope
And hung out a window
While the other end of the rope
Was tied to the handle of the door.
Then the hinges were removed
And the door was locked
Ever so carefully.
When the roommate returned
With date in tow,
And opened the door,
It flew across the room
Crashing into the wall
With a horrendous noise
That reverberated through the halls
Ending any possible secrecy
To their midnight rendezvous.
The following year
Women were integrating into the dorm
Taming the place down,
And I was fortunately left
With little to do but study.
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Arguement
His two brothers were arguing
Back and forth
Over nothing in particular,
And everything in general.
Neither one was really listening
To what the other had to say.
Each was adamant
That he was right
And the other brother was wrong.
He tried to mediate,
But they weren’t listening to him either.
He wondered why
He felt so powerless
Until it was pointed out
He was being
Just as righteous as them.
Underlying his insistence
That it shouldn’t be that way
Was his judgment
That both were wrong
For the way they were being.
It didn’t seem to be a message
Either was willing to hear.
Back and forth
Over nothing in particular,
And everything in general.
Neither one was really listening
To what the other had to say.
Each was adamant
That he was right
And the other brother was wrong.
He tried to mediate,
But they weren’t listening to him either.
He wondered why
He felt so powerless
Until it was pointed out
He was being
Just as righteous as them.
Underlying his insistence
That it shouldn’t be that way
Was his judgment
That both were wrong
For the way they were being.
It didn’t seem to be a message
Either was willing to hear.
Romance
Romance is the spice
That gives exotic flavor
To the things I do,
The people I meet
And the places I go.
It has the ability to make
That which is ordinary
Seem extraordinary.
I have been both
Moved by its presence
And driven by its absence.
I found that
Without its tangy influence,
Life becomes tasteless
And relationships go stale.
Preferring vibrant to bland,
I sought it out.
Imagining it to be a function
Of just the right setting,
Chemistry, place or time,
Some physical attraction
Sweeping me off my feet,
I intensified my pursuit
Of those elements.
My search got me into
Some interesting situations,
But the romance I found
Was fleeting at best.
It eventually dawned on me
That what I sought
Came from within, not without.
It was my mind at play
And nothing more,
A fictitious tale I invented,
A mood I set
And often blamed on others.
That gives exotic flavor
To the things I do,
The people I meet
And the places I go.
It has the ability to make
That which is ordinary
Seem extraordinary.
I have been both
Moved by its presence
And driven by its absence.
I found that
Without its tangy influence,
Life becomes tasteless
And relationships go stale.
Preferring vibrant to bland,
I sought it out.
Imagining it to be a function
Of just the right setting,
Chemistry, place or time,
Some physical attraction
Sweeping me off my feet,
I intensified my pursuit
Of those elements.
My search got me into
Some interesting situations,
But the romance I found
Was fleeting at best.
It eventually dawned on me
That what I sought
Came from within, not without.
It was my mind at play
And nothing more,
A fictitious tale I invented,
A mood I set
And often blamed on others.
Rebellion in the Ranks
He was a drill sergeant
In the Army
And he ran his home
As strict
As any unit in the field.
His wife and children
Were commanded
To toe the line,
To march in formation,
And to maintain
A stiff upper lip
While doing it.
Not even the slightest transgression
Of his orderly world
Was tolerated,
And has discipline was harsh.
Each of them chaffed
Under his iron-handed rule,
And one-by-one,
All eventually rebelled.
In the Army
And he ran his home
As strict
As any unit in the field.
His wife and children
Were commanded
To toe the line,
To march in formation,
And to maintain
A stiff upper lip
While doing it.
Not even the slightest transgression
Of his orderly world
Was tolerated,
And has discipline was harsh.
Each of them chaffed
Under his iron-handed rule,
And one-by-one,
All eventually rebelled.
Pitfalls of Proofreading
I, like most writers,
Am a perfectionist.
I take pride in what I write.
I read each narrative
Over and over again,
Searching for elusive errors,
Improper changes of tense,
More effective ways
Of saying what I want to say,
Yet time and time again
I overlook the obvious.
Some silly mistake
Will show up
After the work
Has been submitted
Or sent out
For the world to see.
I am selectively blind,
Reading what I intended
And not what is on the page.
I find it absolutely essential
To have someone else
Proof my work.
Even then
Mistakes still creep through,
Reviewers also tend to
Get used to my style,
Reading what I meant
Instead of what I actually wrote.
A good reviewer
Is worth his or her
Weight in gold.
Am a perfectionist.
I take pride in what I write.
I read each narrative
Over and over again,
Searching for elusive errors,
Improper changes of tense,
More effective ways
Of saying what I want to say,
Yet time and time again
I overlook the obvious.
Some silly mistake
Will show up
After the work
Has been submitted
Or sent out
For the world to see.
I am selectively blind,
Reading what I intended
And not what is on the page.
I find it absolutely essential
To have someone else
Proof my work.
Even then
Mistakes still creep through,
Reviewers also tend to
Get used to my style,
Reading what I meant
Instead of what I actually wrote.
A good reviewer
Is worth his or her
Weight in gold.
Ping-Pong War
Ping-Pong was a game
We took seriously
When I was a kid,
And our house
Was the center
Of the competition.
To stimulate our battles,
I came up
With the idea
Of playing for countries.
I drew up a large map
Showing all the nations,
States and areas
Of the world.
Those lands were divided
Between the competitors,
And each player
Was assigned a color
And given pins
To serve as flags
To mark their territory.
We went to war
With each other
Battling for countries
Trying to dominate the world,
Winner take all.
English was used
To put a spin on things
And to rebuild
The British Empire.
Even the Ottoman Empire
Was reborn.
The Soviet Union,
Canada and the United States
Were splintered
As state battled state.
We were Ping-Pong dictators
Long before Forest Gump
And the advent
Of Ping-Pong diplomacy.
Years later I traveled
Through many of those countries,
Chuckling as I remembered
Staking my flag in their soil.
We took seriously
When I was a kid,
And our house
Was the center
Of the competition.
To stimulate our battles,
I came up
With the idea
Of playing for countries.
I drew up a large map
Showing all the nations,
States and areas
Of the world.
Those lands were divided
Between the competitors,
And each player
Was assigned a color
And given pins
To serve as flags
To mark their territory.
We went to war
With each other
Battling for countries
Trying to dominate the world,
Winner take all.
English was used
To put a spin on things
And to rebuild
The British Empire.
Even the Ottoman Empire
Was reborn.
The Soviet Union,
Canada and the United States
Were splintered
As state battled state.
We were Ping-Pong dictators
Long before Forest Gump
And the advent
Of Ping-Pong diplomacy.
Years later I traveled
Through many of those countries,
Chuckling as I remembered
Staking my flag in their soil.
Panning for Gold
Countless tales have been told
Of the California gold fields,
And many a fool
Have been lured
To try their luck
Working the streams and rivers
For their legendary bounty.
Places like Goldfield,
Placer and Calaveras Counties,
Have become Mecca
For gold fevered idiots.
I know because
Once upon a time
I was one.
It is one of oldest follies
Known to man,
Panning for gold.
My brother, Lee, and I
Decided to try our hand at it.
How difficult could it be
To find a nugget of gold,
We each wondered.
My wife was smart,
She and the kids came along
Merely as spectators,
Innocent bystanders
There for a picnic
As much as anything else.
My brother and I
Must have been
A comical sight to see.
Both of us were on crutches,
Each with a leg in a cast.
We labored all day long
Trying our luck
With the pans,
But found nothing,
Except that the water was cold
And Plaster-of-Paris
Gets soggy when wet.
We chose a spot
Upstream of a dredge
Where six locals toiled
Sluicing truck load
After truck load
Of gravel and sand
Dug from who knows where.
From what we could see
We had it easy.
My wife and kids
Sat on the bank
Watching us work.
Every once in a while
She would ask us
Whether or not
We had found anything yet
In her bemused incredulous tone.
At the end of the day
We heard the guys
Working the dredger shout.
They had discovered some color,
A couple flakes of gold
And for this they were excited!
We looked at this tiny vial
That held their day’s findings
And we looked at them
Questioning their sanity!
It didn’t take much mathematics
To figure this definitely
Wouldn’t be our road to riches.
There are easier ways
To make a living
Than trying to glean gold
From those California rivers.
Of the California gold fields,
And many a fool
Have been lured
To try their luck
Working the streams and rivers
For their legendary bounty.
Places like Goldfield,
Placer and Calaveras Counties,
Have become Mecca
For gold fevered idiots.
I know because
Once upon a time
I was one.
It is one of oldest follies
Known to man,
Panning for gold.
My brother, Lee, and I
Decided to try our hand at it.
How difficult could it be
To find a nugget of gold,
We each wondered.
My wife was smart,
She and the kids came along
Merely as spectators,
Innocent bystanders
There for a picnic
As much as anything else.
My brother and I
Must have been
A comical sight to see.
Both of us were on crutches,
Each with a leg in a cast.
We labored all day long
Trying our luck
With the pans,
But found nothing,
Except that the water was cold
And Plaster-of-Paris
Gets soggy when wet.
We chose a spot
Upstream of a dredge
Where six locals toiled
Sluicing truck load
After truck load
Of gravel and sand
Dug from who knows where.
From what we could see
We had it easy.
My wife and kids
Sat on the bank
Watching us work.
Every once in a while
She would ask us
Whether or not
We had found anything yet
In her bemused incredulous tone.
At the end of the day
We heard the guys
Working the dredger shout.
They had discovered some color,
A couple flakes of gold
And for this they were excited!
We looked at this tiny vial
That held their day’s findings
And we looked at them
Questioning their sanity!
It didn’t take much mathematics
To figure this definitely
Wouldn’t be our road to riches.
There are easier ways
To make a living
Than trying to glean gold
From those California rivers.
Only a Conversation Away
Though he never liked
The feeling of being alone,
He preferred that
To empty-headed banter
Of normal conversation.
He was an intellect
In search of
Worthwhile dialog,
But finding none,
He remained silent.
He might have
Stayed that way,
Forever begrudging
His loneliness,
Had he not been drawn into
A chance discussion.
Once the conversational faucet
Was turned on,
Words flowed like water
And he drank
As if he was dying of thirst,
And perhaps he was.
They talked about life,
The issues of the day,
Their respective philosophies,
And anything else
That came to mind.
The group of them
Talked for hours on end,
As they talked,
Others joined in
Adding to the flavor
Of the conversation.
A young woman
Jumped into the fray,
And the two of them
Singled each other out
And settled into
An intimate dialog
That continues
To this day.
He never did like
The feeling
Of being alone.
The feeling of being alone,
He preferred that
To empty-headed banter
Of normal conversation.
He was an intellect
In search of
Worthwhile dialog,
But finding none,
He remained silent.
He might have
Stayed that way,
Forever begrudging
His loneliness,
Had he not been drawn into
A chance discussion.
Once the conversational faucet
Was turned on,
Words flowed like water
And he drank
As if he was dying of thirst,
And perhaps he was.
They talked about life,
The issues of the day,
Their respective philosophies,
And anything else
That came to mind.
The group of them
Talked for hours on end,
As they talked,
Others joined in
Adding to the flavor
Of the conversation.
A young woman
Jumped into the fray,
And the two of them
Singled each other out
And settled into
An intimate dialog
That continues
To this day.
He never did like
The feeling
Of being alone.
One Glance Is All It Takes
Stranger, Stranger, if by chance we meet
While on some uncharted path,
A moment’s glance is all we take
To size each other up,
But what does each of us really know?
Even in conversation, our distance grows.
We play the part, dancers on a stage,
Doing our thing, but nothing is done.
We speak our words,
But our words only hinder
Our hearing what the other has to say,
So strangers we usually part.
Once in a while, something happens.
We bridge the gap, if for an instant,
Our spirits touch, and we are moved,
Each refreshed . . . Fully alive.
I have seen it in your eyes,
When the earthy fires ignite.
A single glance was all it took
To know what words could not say.
In a moment’s eternity,
Intimacy was achieved,
If only in my mind.
No longer a stranger,
Now amorous friend,
By instinctual language bound.
A kindred spirit discovered,
Yet not a single word was said.
Should we meet again,
Let’s not let words get in the way!
While on some uncharted path,
A moment’s glance is all we take
To size each other up,
But what does each of us really know?
Even in conversation, our distance grows.
We play the part, dancers on a stage,
Doing our thing, but nothing is done.
We speak our words,
But our words only hinder
Our hearing what the other has to say,
So strangers we usually part.
Once in a while, something happens.
We bridge the gap, if for an instant,
Our spirits touch, and we are moved,
Each refreshed . . . Fully alive.
I have seen it in your eyes,
When the earthy fires ignite.
A single glance was all it took
To know what words could not say.
In a moment’s eternity,
Intimacy was achieved,
If only in my mind.
No longer a stranger,
Now amorous friend,
By instinctual language bound.
A kindred spirit discovered,
Yet not a single word was said.
Should we meet again,
Let’s not let words get in the way!
Nursery Rhymes
When the kids were young,
You read them
Nursery rhymes
And children’s tales,
Fascinating stories
Full of blood and gore,
Princes and princesses,
Wolves, bears, and pigs
And the little train that could!
The kids would fall asleep
Listening to the sound
Of your voice
Bringing those stories to life.
Mid tale, as the story took hold,
You would quietly
Put the sleeping child to bed
And think you were done,
But I too was listening,
And always wanted to hear
The story’s conclusion.
You read them
Nursery rhymes
And children’s tales,
Fascinating stories
Full of blood and gore,
Princes and princesses,
Wolves, bears, and pigs
And the little train that could!
The kids would fall asleep
Listening to the sound
Of your voice
Bringing those stories to life.
Mid tale, as the story took hold,
You would quietly
Put the sleeping child to bed
And think you were done,
But I too was listening,
And always wanted to hear
The story’s conclusion.
Missed Opportunity
I apologize
For not getting
To know you
While I had
The chance.
I foolishly allowed
Superficial banter
To masquerade
As real communication,
And totally missed
The opportunity
To discover
Who you are.
I failed to speak
My mind
Or to say
What I was
Really thinking.
I didn’t even let on
That I was interested.
Who knows
What intimacy
We might have
Achieved
Had I been
A little less
Circumspect.
For not getting
To know you
While I had
The chance.
I foolishly allowed
Superficial banter
To masquerade
As real communication,
And totally missed
The opportunity
To discover
Who you are.
I failed to speak
My mind
Or to say
What I was
Really thinking.
I didn’t even let on
That I was interested.
Who knows
What intimacy
We might have
Achieved
Had I been
A little less
Circumspect.
Meeting Adjourned
It was the first time,
And incidentally the last,
I ever held
A major business meeting
In my home.
I had an environmental
Engineering construction company,
And we were coordinating
Who would do what
On one of our projects.
It was a really big deal for me.
There were four of us,
Each a key player in the venture,
Gathered around a table
In the sunroom
When my Golden Retriever
Made his entrance.
He wagged his tail
And greeted each person there
With dogged enthusiasm.
I’m not sure
If it was age, breed, diet
Or just a comment
On what he thought
Of our discussion,
But just as he turned to leave,
He issued a loud
And smelly retort
That instantly
Broke the meeting apart.
And incidentally the last,
I ever held
A major business meeting
In my home.
I had an environmental
Engineering construction company,
And we were coordinating
Who would do what
On one of our projects.
It was a really big deal for me.
There were four of us,
Each a key player in the venture,
Gathered around a table
In the sunroom
When my Golden Retriever
Made his entrance.
He wagged his tail
And greeted each person there
With dogged enthusiasm.
I’m not sure
If it was age, breed, diet
Or just a comment
On what he thought
Of our discussion,
But just as he turned to leave,
He issued a loud
And smelly retort
That instantly
Broke the meeting apart.
A Sounding Board
Life has a way
Of delivering challenges
For us to endure
From time to time.
It could be the death
Of a loved one,
The end of a relationship,
Or possibly when
The best laid plans
Come to naught.
These are times
When we tend to
Feel very much alone,
When our emotions
Become jumbled
And we need
To sort them out.
It often helps
To talk to someone else,
Somebody who
Is willing to act as
A sounding board
As we work through whatever
We are dealing with
Without them telling us
What they think we should do.
That someone can be
A total stranger,
Or may not have a face at all.
This is why writing
Is so effective.
Whether on paper,
Or on a computer screen,
We can collect our thoughts,
Sort through them
And come to
Our own conclusions
Without either of them
Voicing an opinion
Or getting tired of listening.
Of delivering challenges
For us to endure
From time to time.
It could be the death
Of a loved one,
The end of a relationship,
Or possibly when
The best laid plans
Come to naught.
These are times
When we tend to
Feel very much alone,
When our emotions
Become jumbled
And we need
To sort them out.
It often helps
To talk to someone else,
Somebody who
Is willing to act as
A sounding board
As we work through whatever
We are dealing with
Without them telling us
What they think we should do.
That someone can be
A total stranger,
Or may not have a face at all.
This is why writing
Is so effective.
Whether on paper,
Or on a computer screen,
We can collect our thoughts,
Sort through them
And come to
Our own conclusions
Without either of them
Voicing an opinion
Or getting tired of listening.
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