My Reason for Being

It’s the question
I have asked myself
A thousand times
And maybe more,
What is my purpose
In being here,
What am I
Supposed to do?
I have always assumed
There was a reason
For everything
I had to go through,
That the any mistakes
I say I made,
Had to be made,
For there was always
A lesson to learn,
Or some insight to be gained.
Did I have to take
Such a circuitous route
To get where I am,
Or was it simply
The only path for me,
Given what I didn’t know?
I stumbled or tripped
Any number of times,
But each time I got up again,
And continued on the road.
I was never sure
If the path I took
Was the only one for me.
I could have gone
A million different ways
Then the way I went,
And I will never really know
Where any of the other
Paths might have led,
Except that my life probably
Would have turned out
Completely different.
Was some destiny
Predetermined for me,
And have I already
Fulfilled that destiny,
Or is my true purpose
Yet to come?
I think to the day I die,
I will always speculate
On why I am here,
And whether or not
The path I took
Was really right for me.

I Was There When

It is incredible
The changes
I have witnessed
In the last 50 years.
I remember when
Color televisions
Were first introduced.
I was there
For the change over
From the old
Tube type radios
To transistors.
I saw tape recorders
Shrink from
Bulky reel to reel models
Down to handheld
Digital units.
I watched as
Records and record players
Disappeared.
I was there when
Cell phones
First became popular,
And I saw
Handheld calculators
And computers
Revolutionize the world.
I was there
Before fax machines,
And those infernal
Answering machines.
I saw the Internet
Pull the world
Closer together,
And I saw photography
Revolutionized
By the advent of
Digital cameras.
I was there
Long before Teflon
And microwave ovens,
And before men
Went to the moon.
I was there when
Fountain pens
Were still popular,
And stay pressed clothes
Were introduced.
I was there before
Skate boards
And roller skates
With Teflon wheels.
I was there when copy machines
Replaced the mimeograph.
I watched as VCRs
Came and went.
I was there when
Floppy disks
Actually flopped.
When I was in high school,
Computers used
Paper cards and tape,
And a single computer
Filled an entire room.
The PC had yet
Been invented.
I was there when
The computer monitors
Became flat screens,
And laptop computers
Were first introduced.
I was there when
John F. Kennedy
And Martin Luther King
Were shot.
I was there when
Paint was lead based
And so was gasoline.
I was there when
Asbestos was used
In almost everything,
And I was witness to
The Twilight Zone.
I was even there
For Elvis Presley
And the Beetles.
The world is changing
Faster and faster,
And who can say
What other changes
The next fifty years
Will bring.

Mental Playtime

One of the many lessons
Life has to teach us
Is the art of using
Our time wisely.
None of us can claim
We are 100% efficient,
Or that we use our time
Being fully productively,
In fact, we are far from it.
We may try
Not to waste time,
But all to often,
We catch ourselves drifting off,
Loosing focus,
Disconnecting from
What we are doing.
Or just spinning our wheels
Lost in never-never land.
Most of us spend
Much more time
Then we care to admit
Simply daydreaming,
Our minds entertaining
Themselves and us
With wild imaginings
Seldom based on reality.
We may flip our computers on
And start playing solitaire
Instead of being productive,
Or we may be driving
And momentarily lose track
Of where we are
And what we are doing.
It happens to all of us.
While it is important
To pay attention to
What we are doing,
We must learn to accept
The need for a certain amount of
Mental playtime
In our daily routine.
The difficulty we frequently face
Is keeping our mental recreation
Within bounds
So that we actually accomplish
Something during our day.
Somewhere in life,
Most of us come up
With a balance of work and play
That allows us to get by
Without being too hard on ourselves
For the time we waste.

The Passion of Youth

It was a class
Of 24 students
Ostensibly there
To learn English,
But I was there
To talk about life.
There was a mix
Of high school
Age students,
About half of the class
Were University students
Or had just graduated,
And the rest were
Adults of various ages.
What I was looking for
Were the passions
That motivated them in their lives,
The things they were
Enthusiastic about.
What truly amazed me
Was that each high school student
Had a very clear picture
Of what they wanted to do
With their lives.
One young girl wanted to be
A doctor,
And another boy was planning
To be a geneticist.
Even a fool could see
The power of their passion,
For their faces lit up
When they spoke of
The careers they intended to pursue.
I have no doubt
That each of those young students
Will eventually become
Leaders in their field,
But when I talked to the older ones,
Most were unemployed
And worrying about the future.
It seemed like all the passion
Of their youth
Had evaporated, and I wondered
Where it went.

The Shooting Gallery

It was a class full
Of rambunctious, hyperactive
10 and 11 year olds,
In a Turkish-American
English language school
And they wore me down
With rapid fire questions.
I was brought in to teach
Conversational English
As a native speaker,
And the class was primed
And ready for me
With a steady barrage
Of inquiries only kids that age
Could come up with.
Some of the children
Could hardly stay
In their seats,
They so were excited
To interrogate me.
It is amazing how much energy
Kids that age have,
And I could barely keep up,
Shooting back answers
As fast as I could,
And was almost ready
To call it a day
And go back to bed
By the time the class was over.

Spider

Spider is a card game
That comes on almost
Every computer sold,
And it may be
The most diabolically clever
Waste of time
Every invented,
For in every corner
Of the globe,
Men, women and children,
Scientists and engineers
Doctors and lawyers,
And even corporate executives
Are wiling away the hours
Repetitively playing
That foolish game,
Many addicted to
Its mindlessness
Just as I am.
I sometimes wonder
Who invented it,
And if they make
A small royalty
Off every copy sold.
Wouldn’t that be
A tidy fortune?
Just imagine
If someone could collect
All the hours spent,
And put that time
Towards something useful,
How much more
Could be accomplished.

Three Medical Students

There were three
Young students
About to enter
Medical school.
There was one
Whose father
And grandfather
Were both doctors,
And it was
A foregone conclusion
Almost from the day
He was born
That he would also
Become a doctor,
So he never really had
Much of a choice
In the matter.
There was another
Who was excited
By the money
That doctors make,
And she was clearly
After the money.
The third student
Had a passion
For internal medicine
And a fascination
With the chemistry
Of the human body.
Medical school
Will be tough
For all of them,
But I am willing to bet
That the one
With passion
For the practice
Will be the one
Who ends out
Becoming the best
Medical practitioner.

As a Teacher

Occasional in the course
Of our lives
We will have the opportunity
To be instrumental
In life of another person,
To be the pivotal point
At which a major decision
Is made by them
On which direction
They choose in life.
Sometimes we can be
Their inspiration,
Sometimes we can be
Their mentor,
Or sometimes we just
Happen to be
In the right place,
At the right time
With the right person,
And we read
The barometer of their passion,
And simply tell them
“Yes” You can do that.
We are in position
To see the future
Long before it unfolds,
And we merely tell them
What we see,
But in the telling,
The future is set.
This is an everyday possibility
In the life of a teacher,
And I think this is what
Every great teacher lives for.

Passion

I think happiness is
A measure of the passion
We have in our lives.
I have noticed that the
Happiest people I meet
Are always the ones
Who have something
They love to do,
And are doing it,
Or a least they are
Studying to do it,
And they are so close,
They can virtually taste it!
Sometimes we can
Find ourselves in a position
Where our job
Is clearly not our passion,
But we can still be happy
If we have something else
We love to do.
Maybe we love to travel,
And each chance we get,
We escape our job,
And go to some place new.
We can endure almost anything
If we know that we will
Get to pursue our passion
In a little while.
Maybe the love of our life is music,
And each night
We get together with
Other musicians
To play and practice,
None of which occurs as work.
It is our life’s blood,
Our reason for being.
Life responds to passion,
Magically becoming
Brighter and more colorful
Under its influence.
Perhaps genius
Is nothing more than
Unbridled passion,
And if so, then
The possibility of being a genius
Lies within each of us.
All we need to do is to discover
And pursue our passion.
We may not know where
That passion will take us,
But we will surely enjoy the ride
While it gets us there.

Spirited Sidewalk Beauty

Maybe you were just
An easy going girl,
The perfect stranger
Out for an afternoon stroll,
But there was something
About your style,
And the unmistakable
Way you were
That riveted my attention.
You won me over
In a moment’s glance,
Yet what could I have seen
That told me
So much about you,
And made me hunger
To know you better.
I think it might have been
The radiance of your smile,
And the twinkle in your eye
That I first noticed,
But it could easily have been
The proud and confident
Way you walked,
Oblivious to the many
Heads you turned,
Or the simple elegance
Of the clothes you wore,
Which emphasized the slender
Contours of your body.
There was a spirit about you,
A playful aliveness,
Missing in most others I see,
That captivate me completely,
And set my foolish mind to dreaming.

The Visa Stamp Circus

On return from
A visa outing
To neighboring Cyprus,
A ritual escape
I am forced to do
Every ninety days
If I want to stay
Here in Turkey,
I was confronted with
A ridiculous
Battle of wits
With a mindless
Immigration official.
She had been told
That visa stamps
Must be sold
In the currency
Of the country
From which the traveler
Is a native of,
And in my case,
That meant
The United States.
The only problem was
I did not have any
US Currency
On me at the time.
All I had was local
Turkish Lira which
She wouldn’t accept.
Now I know in Istanbul
The stamp must be
Paid for in Turkish Lira,
And there is a handy
Currency exchanger
Available should I not
Have the local currency,
But this was Adana!
I was told that I would have to
Get my Turkish money
Exchanged into US Dollars
For her to sell me
The Visa stamp I needed.
This created a challenge
Because there wasn’t any
Currency exchange
In the airport,
And besides,
I couldn’t get through
Immigration Control
Without the stamp
To find one.
What would have happened
Had I been a citizen
Of Canada or Mexico,
And the same issue
Came up?
It became a circus
As the customs people,
And the immigration police
Tried to reason with
The obstinate official
On my behalf,
And it took
And hour and a half
Of our combined efforts
To get her to budge.
There I was,
Extremely tired
From having been up
And traveling
For the last 36 hours,
Trying to reason with
An intransigent bureaucrat.
This ended out being
A classic example
Of why it is so difficult
To do business
Here in Turkey.
Even the simplest
Of matters can become
A roadblock
In the absence of
Common sense,
A commodity which is
Apparently in short supply
In certain areas
Of government.

Wolves in Sheep's Clothing

It seems I have
Grown accustomed to
The shy, demure type women
Who either by
Cultural programming,
Or by reticent nature,
Won’t even look
Directly into a my eyes
When we chance to meet
Out in public,
But give some of those
Same young women
An opportunity to meet
In a different setting
Where they feel free
To ask questions,
And to show their true colors,
I get pummeled with
Provocative questions like,
“Am I rich?”
And “Am I married?”
Or the roundabout version
“Do I have any children?”
Here I am a seasoned Grandfather,
And I still find myself flattered
By such unbridled interest.
It lets me know I am
Still alive and kicking.

The Communiy College System

Back in the United States
I got used to having
Community colleges available
Almost everywhere.
They are places where
Students can pursue
A more economical education,
And they can often get
A two-year Associates of Arts
Degree that will get them
Into the job market
Far quicker than going through
A full university program.
The colleges usually offer
Flexible programs and courses
That allow students to
Work around their work schedule,
But they do much more than that.
They allow students to pursue
Special interests they have
Without the necessity
Of getting a degree in that field.
If someone is interested in
Fields as diverse as
Photography, cooking, weaving,
Pottery, acting, writing, journalism
Or even archeology,
They can take classes
In their area of interest.
This is just simple recognition
That education is a life long process,
And that people
Who act on their passions
Tend to be a lot happier
Than those who don’t.
More and more people
In the United States are opting
For community colleges
Over universities simply because
They can’t afford the latter.
Here in Turkey, and in fact,
Throughout most of the world,
There are no community colleges,
Nothing to compete with
The University system.
There is also very little
Available as far as
Continuing education,
And almost no flexibility
For people to consider
A change of occupation.
The community colleges
Are great for those people
You have a profession,
But want to try something else.
Students can even study
Foreign languages there.
If someone wants
To look to the future
Here in Turkey,
I believe that someday
Community colleges
Will be introduced
And become popular
Simply because
People need alternatives.

The Comedian Principle

One thing I learned
A long time ago
Is that I can’t tease people
I don’t like,
And the more I like them,
The more fun I will have
Teasing them.
Anytime I try to tease
Someone whom I don’t
Like or respect,
It comes across as ugly
And disrespectful,
And there is no justification
For acting that way
Towards anybody.
If I don’t like somebody
For whatever reason,
I just stay away from them
Or ignore them altogether.
I imagine any good comedian
Would tell me
That I must
Love my audience
Or my performance
Is doomed from the start.
Whether I am on stage
Or simply joking with a friend,
The Comedian Principle applies.

My Mischievous Side

There is a goofy,
Smart-alecky side of me
That comes out best
When I am feeling
On top of the world.
I might play with
The words I speak
So that there is
A double meaning
To what I say.
If someone is struggling
To come up with
The exact word they want,
I am apt to suggest
One totally opposite
Of what they intend.
If somebody asks
If they can go
To the bathroom,
I will emphatically
Say NO! just to see
Their reaction.
Around the people
I am most comfortable with,
I tend to poke fun at
Anything and everything
With completely
Irreverent humor,
And more often then not
My friends will
Join me with similar comments
Of their own.
I tend to elicit that a lot
From the people around me,
And that is probably why
We call ourselves friends.

Where is Home?

Where is home?
That’s a good question.
I haven’t lived
In California
For quite a while,
And every time I return
It seems strange,
Like a place
I no longer belong.
Sure, the United States
Is my country,
And I am proud of it,
But I don’t choose
To live there any more.
I have gotten used to
Living and working
In foreign lands
To the point where
I am more comfortable there
Than I am
Back in the States.
I am in Turkey now,
So that is my home.
Before I was in Iraq,
So that used to be my home.
I have had a number
Of different places
I could call home
Over the years.
It is pretty much
Wherever I hang my hat
And decide to stay.
I move so much
That no place
Has an air of permanency.
I haven’t yet figured out
Where I ultimately want
To settle down,
But I assume some day
I will find a suitable place,
Or it will find me.
I don’t think it will be the place
That will have me settle down,
But more than likely
It will be someone special
Who makes me
Want to stay
In one place
Long enough to
Grow some roots.

Woman Unfolding

She is a stunning beauty
With long brown hair,
A quick and ready smile,
And those Spanish eyes
That dance inside her head.

She knows how to dress
In the most elegant style
That always captures attention
The moment she enters the room
Stirring a ripple wherever she goes.

Yet she is a timid soul
Not quite owning
The power she holds
To mesmerize a guy
With a look from her eyes.

She hasn’t yet
Mastered the art
Of speaking her mind
And baring her soul
Or saying what is so for her.

But there is a tigress emerging
Once buried within,
Coming from a strength
She never knew she had,
Ready to make its presence known.

The moment she declares
“I am!”
By the power of her words
She will become
The leader she was meant to be!

Typhoon

Not long after leaving
Fanning Island,
The winds started to roar
And the waves began
To build up to towering heights.
At one point I recall
Looking up at the mast
And seeing a wave
That looked to be twice its height
Come crashing over
And the next thing I knew
We were bobbing up
Like a giant cork
With the tilt meter
Registering an outrageous
Forty-five degree tilt.
That threw everybody around
And really wrecked havoc
In the kitchen.
Luckily no one
Wash washed overboard.
Those on deck
Had pretty much
Tied themselves down.
I was too excited
And too ignorant
To be scared,
But the truth was
We came very close to capsizing.
I had the indestructible
Naïve teenage faith
That if the boat sank
I would somehow survive
And end up washed onto
Some distant Polynesian shore
Where the local women
Would know how
To revive my spirits.
In three days of howling wind
And raging seas,
We raced nearly a thousand miles
At the incredible pace
Of 12 to 16 knots,
In a boat that couldn't
Have been designed
To sail more than eight.
The Araner may have been old
And in pretty sorry shape
But she sailed
Through that storm
With flying colors,
And did it under full sail.
I don't think any of us
Knew how to sheet in
Which would normally be done
In such rough weather.

Turtle Fever

I always thought
Of the huge
Galapagos Turtles
As docile,
Slow and cumbersome.

I remember as a kid
Riding them
At the San Diego zoo.
They were like big boulders
That occasionally moved.

They appeared to be
Quiet beasts
So the last thing I expected
Was to discover them
Bellowing like bull elephants.

I was at the zoo in Honolulu, Hawaii
When I heard an incredible commotion
Coming from the Galapagos pen
Where a couple of turtles
Were in the heat of passion.

If you think we humans
Have complicated love lives,
You should have seen
What they were going through.
Nature didn’t make it easy for them.

They don’t appear to be
Anatomically designed
For any kind of active sport
But the vast numbers of them around
Is ample evidence that looks can fool!

What was really hysterical
Was how all the people reacted.
The Japanese tourists
Flashed their Nikons
And a young couple just smiled knowingly!

Some parents of young kids
Covered their children’s eyes,
Or at least tried to
Amid comments like
Look Mommy, One turtle is trying to ride the other!”

Some people tried to turn away
With embarrassed expressions
Written all over their faces
Yet their attention
Was clearly riveted by what was going on.

People are funny about sex
Even if it is just
A couple turtles
Doing their thing
In the “privacy” of their park.

Pieces of the Past

Meeting Bill that evening
Had seemed at the time
Like the answer to her prayers,
The fulfillment of all her dreams.
She fell in love with his eyes
And the graceful way he moved
And was a goner
Before the last dance was through.
It was all so incredibly natural
Being swept up in his arms
And making mad passionate love
Later on that night.
It could have gone on forever
Just like he promised
And he probably meant it at the time,
But forever didn’t last too long.
It seemed so perfect,
So unimaginably exhilarating,
Yet in the end he left her
Moving on to someone else.
She was devastated for a while
Virtually giving up on love,
And particularly on men,
When along came Steve.
Now do you think she
Was now passionate and free,
Open and expressive,
And naturally trusting with Steve?
Not a chance!
Where she was aggressive before
Now she was timid,
Where she was boisterous
Now she was quiet!
Where she chased him
Now she made him chase her,
Where she once openly trusted,
Now she was cautious.
Whereas Bill and her
Used to go out to eat
Every single night,
She took cooking lessons
So they could eat at home.
In reality she was not
In a relationship to Steve
But with Bill–Steve
And that wasn’t all either
For there were others before.
There was Danny,
Her first true love,
The next door neighbor
Who suddenly moved away.
Then there was Clark,
Her high school sweetheart,
Who went away to college
And found another girl there.
Who she was in relationship with
In reality was
Danny–Clark-Bill-Steve
And she had already drawn the conclusion
That Steve will leave her too
Based on her experiences before.
The same holds true for Steve.
Who knows who he was in relation with,
And what conclusion
He had drawn
About the opposite sex!
Each one was dragging along
Pieces of their past
And allowing them
To color their present.

The Stamp Collection

My Aunt Dofeen was the culprit
Who got me involved
In stamp collecting
Back when I was about
Seven or eight years old.
It was an old collection
That she gave to me,
And I dutifully added to it
For quite a number of years.
I spent many happy hours
Working with that collection.
I would go through phases
Where I would concentrate for a while
On US commemoratives
Then switch over to stamps of Italy
Spain, Germany or the Vatican.
I especially liked the stamps of Laos
Thailand and the Soviet Union.
At one point I bought a collection
Of more than 30,000 different stamps
Which got added to the pile.
There was a period when I spent
Nearly every penny I had
Enlarging my collection.
As time went on
I got interested in other things,
But whenever I got a chance,
I would still dump a few more in.
As I traveled through various countries
I also added their stamps
To my collection,
Building a legacy that someday
Will be passed on
As it was passed on to me
So many years ago.
I don’t think any of my kids
Are all that interested
In that old stamp collection
But some day
One of their kids
Just might be!
I smile to think
What a treasure they will find.

The Song Inside My Head

There frequently is a tune
Rattling around
There inside my head
That I can’t seem
To get out of my brain.
It may only be a catchy
Advertising jingle,
Some old time ballad,
A song I heard somewhere,
Or some tune I concocted
But that darn thing
Will take hold
And jump onto
The endless do loop
Of my mind
Where it will be played
Over and over again.
I suppose I should be
More into music and song
If only to increase
The variety of the tunes
Stuck inside my head.

The Show Place

The house was antiseptically clean,
Cold and sterile
With everything in its place
Except for me.
There was plastic covering the chairs
And not a speck of dust anywhere
As if hermetically sealed
And meant for
Some other time than this.
It was decorated
With exquisite taste,
Expensive artwork and lighting,
Yet flavorless all the same.
There was something missing
And I didn’t feel comfortable there.
It was a house meant for show
But definitely not for living.

The Shake Down Cruise

We had accumulated
A cast of characters
That we called a crew
In preparation for
Sailing to the South Pacific.
My brother and I
Invited a couple island girls
To come along with us
And they were excited
About going.
In our minds
Those girls were
The only provisions we needed
And the fulfillment
Of all our fantasies,
But that was not to be.
The Diamonds,
Proud possessors
Of the Araner,
Decided that a preliminary
Shake down cruise
Was in order
To get a feel for the boat.
My brother went along
As a part of the
Skeleton crew
And I stayed back on shore
With my aunt
Getting her affairs in order.
They were only supposed
To take the boat out
For the day,
But when they didn’t show up
For two days,
We sounded general alarm
And called the Coast Guard
To search for them.
I don’t know how anybody
Could lose a boat that size
But they didn’t seem to be
Anywhere to be found.
I was mainly concerned
They had taken off and left us,
But the boat finally showed up
After three days.
By then the parents
Of the two girls
Had second thoughts
About the whole voyage
And wouldn’t let the girls go.
The parents just didn’t understand
How the boat’s disappearance
Added to the allure of the adventure.
Speaking for my brother and I,
We didn’t see how
Being lost at sea
With a couple girls like them
Would have been a problem.
At any rate,
The boat was ready
And in a day or two
We were on our way.

The Ocean Boil

We had been at sea
For about two weeks
And were heading south
Approaching the equator
When I spotted something
Far off on the horizon.
I climbed up to the crows nest
To have a better look
And it appeared like
The entire ocean
Was turning white
And for whatever reason
It was coming in our direction.
By this time
Everyone was up on watch
And the whole ocean
Was beginning to boil.
It was a school
Of yellowtail tuna
That stretched
As far as the eye could see
In every direction.
They were big ones too,
Maybe forty pounds apiece.
A bunch of them
Played at the bow of the boat
For quite a while
And we could reach down
From the bow sprint
And touch their backs.
It almost seemed like
They were trying to
Jump into the boat
And all we needed to do
Was to figure out how
To give them a boost.
My aunt was great cook
When it came to fish,
And those fish
Looked like they would be
Mighty good to eat.
The only problem was
That the Diamonds insisted that
Their seven year old son
Should be the fisherman.
We had a little bit of tackle
And some make-shift bait
But their son
Only managed to
Sacrifice what little
Gear we had
To the Gods of the sea.
For most of a day
We passed through
That massive school of fish
Trying in vain
To find a way to land
One of them.
I suppose it was a proverbial
Fisherman’s dream.
It looked like there were
Enough there
To feed the whole country
For a year or more.
Apparently they were pursuing
A mass of flying fish
Because a few of those
Did manage to land
On our deck.

Pumpkin Personalities

October is the month
When we used to take the kids
To the pumpkin patch
At one of the local farms.
It was always a lot of fun
For adults and kids alike.
There were hay rides
And farm animals to pet
And all kinds of pumpkins
To choose from.
The farmer always planted
A huge field of pumpkins
And each person was challenged
To pick the one
He or she liked best.
It was fascinating to watch
How different people
Went about choosing
The pumpkin that was right for them.
There were so many pumpkins
Of such varied size,
Character and shape,
That the choosing
Could be quite involved.
Some people would go for
The biggest one they could find,
Far bigger than they could carry.
Others seemed to feel sorry
For the tiny ones
And collected those.
Still others looked for
The oddest shape,
Taking pity on the sorriest ones.
Then there were the perfectionists
Finding a suitable one
Then searching throughout
The entire field
Trying to find a better one.
Some people chose
Those closest at hand
While others seemed to think
The farther away, the better.
There is definitely psychology involved,
And each person
Appears to have
A distinct pumpkin personality.

The Photographic Filter

The art of photography
Is developing your eye
For seeing the available picture.
You could have
The best camera in the world,
But if you don’t know
Where to point it,
Or are not intrigued
By what you are looking at
Your photography will be flat
And unappealing.
Photography is an act of love,
An expression of passion,
Or nothing at all.
If you are not fascinated with the world
Don’t even bother trying
To capture a picture worth taking.
The camera only reflects
The mental filter through which
You see the world.

The Noise Inside My Head

That mischievous little voice
Inside my head,
The pessimist within,
Warns of impending danger,
Sounds doubt at every turn,
Is critical of what was,
Questions what is
And second guesses
Every decision ever made.

It is all wrapped up
In the struggle to survive,
Convinced that life is hard,
Full of pain and sorrow,
Suffering and despair,
That evil lurks
Around every corner
And screams out
That it shouldn’t be this way.

It is constantly
Judging and comparing,
Trying to keep up
With the Jones’s,
Telling me that
I am not good enough,
That I should have,
Could have or would have
Done better if only…!

The voice tells me to avoid risk,
To play safe or not at all,
To settle for average,
Some mediocre standard
That is good enough to get by,
To avoid responsibility,
To stay in my comfort zone
To not even try
For fear that I might fail.

It tries to keep me indecisive
Or confused
As it entertains fear
In all its mischievous forms,
Betting that something is wrong,
Looking every gift horse
In the mouth,
Waiting, waiting
For the other shoe to drop.

It tries to make me think
That I should pretend
To know it all,
That I should be someone else
Than who I am,
That vulnerability is a sin,
That it is better to hide
So that nobody knows
Who I really am.

It constantly complains
Saying it is overwhelmed,
That there is too much to do
And no time to do it
That now is not the right time,
That tomorrow would be better,
That it doesn’t feel like doing it,
Doesn’t want to do it,
Or wants to do something else instead.

It challenges me to look good
No matter what,
To feign self confidence
Where there is none,
To hide my insecurity,
To cast blame
Or make excuses
Whenever things
Don’t quite turn out.

It is the self-proclaimed
Master of my limitations,
Telling me how far I can go
How much I can do,
When to give in
Or when to give up,
Telling me to take it easy,
Not to try too hard,
To give up on my dreams.

The voice is also vicious
In its attacks on me,
Calling me odious names,
Belittling my efforts,
Ridiculing my successes,
Reminding me of my failures,
Questioning who I think I am
That I should ever commit
To do something great.

Once in a great while
The voice might have
Something beneficial to say,
The danger it warns of
May actually be real,
But as a rule
It is not my friend.
It is just
The noise inside my head.

The Lonely Old Man

Back when Cecilia and I
Were newly married
Before our first daughter
Was born,
Occasionally we would invite
Someone to join us
If we saw them sitting alone
At the restaurant.
This one time
We saw an old man
Who fit that bill,
So we invited him over.
You would have thought
That we had just done
The most miraculous deed
In the world
By the way his face lit up.
He was very lonely
And thirsted for some
Human companionship,
Someone to listen to his words.
He talked of the life he lived
And all the people
He once knew.
We were reminded that
This country often
Isn’t very kind
To older folks like him,
But who is this country
Made up of
If it isn’t people
Like you and me?
Anyone of us
Can help
Alleviate the loneliness
Just by taking time to listen.

The Little Hoer

She was an earthy lady
That girl, my wife.
She could make anything grow
Indoors or out.
She just had a way with plants
And an affinity for soil.
Someone once bestowed on her
The honored title of
“The Best Little Hoer in Ventura”
And she laughingly
Accepted that title.
Under her magical touch
Roses bloomed, cactuses grew,
Orchids blossomed
And a multitude of trees prospered.
There were Eugenia Berries,
Lemons, oranges, pomegranates, pears
Plumbs, nectarines, peaches
Figs, bananas and an apple tree.
She even had boysenberries growing
Along with papaya, avocado
And a mango or two.
The house was green
Inside and out
And fully vegetated
Until she passed away.
The green stuff
Didn’t fare so well
Under my supervision,
Oh I watered them,
But it was her love
On which they thrived.
I suppose that goes for me as well.

The Letter

Several months after returning
From the South Pacific,
While I was back at school
At Michigan State University
I received a letter
From a Samoan girl
Whom I met shortly before I left.
I must have made
Quite an impression
Or else she was awfully anxious
To get off that island.
She wanted me
To bring her to the States.
My aunt must have
Taken a liking to her
And passed on my address
Sensing the girl’s intense desire
To flee her island home.
It may have briefly
Been paradise to me,
But it obviously
Wasn’t quite the same
For that girl.
What was comical
About the letter
Was the circuitous route
It took to get to me.
The girl’s English
Was so bad
That the letter was read
By as many as
Thirty or forty people
In my dormitory
Trying to figure out
Who it was for
Before it finally
Made its way to me.
My aunt was always
Trying to be helpful
That way,
But there is no way
That could have worked out,
And it certainly wouldn’t
Have been conducive
To my studies.

The Journal

Throughout the voyage
To the South Pacific
I maintained a journal
Detailing my thoughts,
Observations and impressions.
I painted vivid
Character sketches
Of each of
The people on board
Noting their quirks
And peculiarities
Using words
As my paint
And a notebook
As my canvas.
That became
A sensitive issue
As tempers frayed
And frazzled
From the stress
Of being cooped up
On the boat together
Combined with the suffering
Brought on by
Forced nicotine withdrawal
By those who smoked
When their cigarettes ran out.
A lot of people
Get stressed out
Being stuck out
In the middle of the ocean
For long periods of time.
At one point
The cook jumped overboard
Screaming that she
Couldn’t take it any more.
We managed to fish her back
And the circus continued.
There were a number
Of threats made
To throw various
People overboard
And at one point
Doug Diamond brought out
An ancient musket
And threatened
To shoot a couple people.
In spite of all that
We made it to American Samoa
In one piece
And this is the story of that trip
As recorded in my journal.

Coffee House Aphrodisiac

It’s Saturday night
At the local coffee house
And a respectable crowd
Has gathered
To enjoy the food,
The drink and the music.
The ambience is perfect,
And the lights are low.
The two guitarists
Are strumming
Their guitars
And singing ballads
Of love and longing
In words I do not know,
But in a language
That is clearly universal.
The mood to set
For a night of romance.
I watch young couples
Caught up in the music,
Swaying to the beat
And singing along
With words they must know
By heart.
I am mesmerized
By the beauty
And the intrigue
As they soak up
The passion
And gaze
Into each others eyes
With the promise
Of the night,
And I know
That is what
It would be like
For the two of us
If you were here.

The Spirit of Yesterday

She was a singer
And a guitar player,
And she knew
Nearly every song
We had ever heard.
For three solid hours
She played and sang
And we sang along.
They were old melodies
That we knew by heart
But many of which
We hadn’t heard
For maybe ten years or more.
There were tunes
From the sixties and seventies.
There were songs by
Peter, Paul and Mary,
Paul Simons,
Art Garfunkel,
Neil Diamond,
The Beatles
And many others.
We sang
“Puff the Magic Dragon,”
“Lemon Tree,”
“House of the Rising Sun,”
“Wichita Lineman,”
“The Green, Green Grass of Home,”
“Yellow Submarine,”
“Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”
Music of an era gone by,
Songs that we loved
That brought back memories
Sweetened by time
And the benefit of forgetting
What it was really like
Way back then.
We had a blast!

The Grump and the Angel

He is an old codger
Perpetually grumpy
And out of sorts,
Angry at the world
And the indignity
Of being housed
In an old folks home.
He has grown
Feeble with age
Though his mind
Remains sharp.
He is cantankerous
And full of complaints,
Driving most everyone away,
Everyone, that is, except
The Angel of the ward.
She is an incredible woman
With a heart of gold
Who seems oblivious
To his rage,
Tolerant of his temper,
And understanding
Of his childish efforts to rebel.
She never makes him wrong
For the way he is
And takes everything
He dishes out in stride.
Secretly I think he loves her,
And the attention she gives him,
But he is too darn ornery
To let it show.

A Spot Made for Relaxation

Deep in the heart of
The Santa Monica Mountains
West of Los Angeles
Lies an intriguingly beautiful spot
Designed by nature
To quiet the anxious spirit
And by man
To make life easy.
For those of you
Not into fishing as a sport
Meant to test your intrigue,
Patience and cunning,
Or simply wary of
Being outsmarted by a fish,
There are a couple trout ponds there
Where you can grab
A handy bamboo pole
With a little bit of bait
And can be pretty assured
Of getting lucky,
For no matter how well schooled
Those fish might be,
They have never learned
To keep their mouths shut.
Well maybe a few
Have somehow gotten smart.
They are the really big ones
That nobody seems to catch,
But there are enough others
To keep anyone happy,
Particularly the kids.
When you are done,
They will cut them up for you
If you like
And give you a recipe or two
For cooking the fish.
It is a great way to relax
And relieve the tension
Of everyday city life
And an outing
The whole family
Can enjoy.

The Filtering We Do

One of the properties
Of being human
Is that we see
Or hear things
Only through the filter
Of our mind.

Maybe there are advantages
To being able to tune out
Certain sights and sounds,
And to tune in others,
But we need to be careful
Of the filtering being done.

Our minds have
A mischievous ability
To limit and simplify
The sensory input
On which they
Choose to act.

If we are traveling
On any familiar path
Our minds tend to
Go to sleep
Oblivious to anything
We see or hear.

As soon as we
Venture of out normal path,
Especially when we travel to foreign land,
We go into heightened alert,
Noticing every little thing
Simply because it is different.

Familiarity breeds contempt!

If we think that we
Have heard something before
Or know what is going to be said,
Then those spoken words
Will be wasted
On our inattentive ears.

How many relationships
Have been ruined
Because in our knowing the person
And what they generally say,
We discontinued listening
To their efforts to communicate?

If we presume that they,
Whoever they may be,
Have nothing important to say,
Then we render
Every word they speak
As so much mindless chatter.

If we listen through
Some inner prejudice,
No matter how misguided
Our belief,
We will find ample evidence
To support our claim.

If we believe that evil lurks,
That the world is out to get us,
That fate is harsh or cruel,
Then we will not be disappointed
In the world we find
For that is the filter we hold.

We can use that
To our benefit though.
If we choose
To listen for the gold
In all that is said,
Then we will be amply rewarded.

If we look for the greatness in others
Then guess what we will find,
Greatness beyond belief
Heroes at every corner
People larger than life
Masquerading as ordinary human beings.

Our minds are lazy beasts,
Constantly trying to sleep,
Looking for an easy way out,
Trying not to think,
Forcing us to be vigilant
In order to be present to life.

Perhaps the greatest revelation
Of this or any age
Is that we can adjust our filter
And dramatically affect
The world we see
And the reality we find.

Maybe

Maybe we will wake up
Wake up from this tomorrow
And realize it was all
Just a bad dream
We collectively shared,
Or maybe we will reason
That it needed to happen
To correct some wrongs.

I tell myself that
Everything happens
For a purpose, so of course
I am assuming there is
A purpose for this too.

If it doesn't grind me down,
It will only make me stronger.
I have learned to take what comes
And make the most of it,
So maybe these hard times
Are meant to make me
Think a little more
And try a little harder.

Someone once said
"There is nothing
So constant as change!"
And I see that as true,
So maybe I need to
Change as well.

Maybe if I close my eyes,
It will all go away,
But then maybe not.
How long should I
Close my eyes then?

Maybe this is another
Learning experience,
And if so, then what
Will the lesson be?

Maybe there are
Opportunities in this,
Ones I can't now see.
Maybe this will open
A whole new realm
Of possibilities
I never considered.

Maybe it is good,
And maybe it is not.
Only time will tell,
Or maybe it is up to me
To make of it
What I might.

The Dreams of My Youth

As a young child
I was free to invent
A world of my choosing
And the world I chose
Was an enchanted place
Full of mysticism
And magic
Where anything
Was possible.
One minute
I could be
Superman
And the very next instant,
Become a cowboy
Or even an Indian.
As I began to read
I chose books of adventure,
Books like
Swiss Family Robinson
And Robinson Crusoe.
I lived those adventures,
And in my mind
They were real.
I dreamed
Of visiting far away lands,
Encountering strange people
And battling dangerous foes.
I dreamed
Of an eventful life,
And to an amazing degree
My dreams have been fulfilled.

The Doldrums

We were a week or two
Out of Hawaii
Sailing South
On the Yacht Araner.
As we neared the equator
The Trade Winds
Died down
And our pace slowed
Until we were
Completely becalmed.
The entire ocean became
Glassy smooth
From horizon to horizon
As far as the eye could see.
The boat rocked
Back and forth,
Back and forth,
Chaffing the lines
One after another,
Until they all broke.
Having no wind
Is hard on a sail boat
In many, many ways
And sometimes harder on the crew.
We struggled to keep
The mainsail tied down
But every time a line broke
It flopped violently,
Slinging itself
From side to side.
I made the mistake
Of trying to hold on
To one of the lines
That broke.
I was raised
Instantly about fifty feet
In the air
Then hurled
From side to side
Holding on for dear life.
Luckily, I was able to
Land back on the deck
Without serious injury
Or further damage to the boat.
We used the rocking
Of the boat
To catapult us
Over the side.
In a dare-devil
Diving competition.
If our timing was not perfect
Then we would land
Smack on the deck
Instead of in the ocean.
Having been a cliff diver,
I could have easily won
By starting out
From the crows nest,
But I challenged the others higher
One rung at a time.
The competition was called off
After I narrowly missed
The side of the boat.
On one of my jumps.
Having run out of wind
We motored for the next
Thousand miles or so
Chugging along
Ever so slowly
For weeks on end.
There was a reason why
These were called
The “Horse Latitudes”
Or the Doldrums.
The old time sailing ships
Didn’t have motors
And could be stuck there
For months on end
Running out of food and water
To feed the horses.
When that happened
They would have little choice
But to throw them overboard,
Thus the area got its name.
It is an equatorial band
Extending around the globe
With no prevailing wind direction
That can be a few hundred miles wide
Or several thousand miles across
Depending on the season.
As the weeks went on
We also began
To run low on food
And our water became foul.
On the southern side
Of the Doldrums
We were tortured with
Sporadic thunder showers
That never seemed to occur
Exactly where our boat was.
For days on end
All the water we needed
Poured and poured
Just beyond our reach.
When we finally did connect
With a local cloud burst,
All we had to collect the water
Running off our sails
Was our little dingy
Which masqueraded as a lifeboat.
It actually ended up being
A fairly useful little boat
For collecting water
After we strained the paint chips out.
That actually
Was about all
The dingy was good for.
It later sank six times on us
Ferrying supplies back
From Fanning Island.
The insanity of fifteen people sailing
The Pacific Ocean
Without even one serviceable lifeboat
Dawned on me some years later.
I can tell you this though,
That rain water sure tasted good
As we stood around on deck
With our heads turned up
And our mouths wide open
Catching every drip we could.
Then we each grabbed
A bar of soap,
Lathered up and had
A most enjoyable shower.
Finally the winds picked up
And we could turn
That noisy engine off
And get back to
The business of sailing
And someday reaching land.

The Cost of My Resistance

I am a consummate artist
At complicating simple things,
Able to turn any lowly task
Into a monumental undertaking
At the drop of a hat.

The ratio of the time spent
Thinking about doing something
Compared to the time
That I actually spend doing it
Is enormous.

I fight protracted battles with myself
Over which way to go
When either way will work
As long as I get off the dime
And choose which way to go.

I am ruled by my fear
Of somehow making a mistake
When any mistake made
Can easily be corrected
If I don’t let fear get in the way.

It is my resistance
That makes any task tedious,
That grinds things to a halt,
That perpetuates the struggle
That I have with life.

The Chinese Casino

The food had never been
All that plentiful
On the Araner,
And we were tired
Of canned goods anyway
So we were ready
For a meal.
One of the only
Real restaurants in Pago Pago
Was a Chinese place
Which we commandeered
For the occasion.
There were seven of us
Former crew members
Collected around
A big circular table
With a Lazy Susan
In the center.
The food tasted incredibly good
After two and a half months
Of sea rations.
After the table had been cleared
We decided to turn the place
Into a casino.
We used our chop sticks
As convenient table dividers
And the Lazy Susan
As the wheel of fortune.
We each laid money
On our section,
And wherever the wheel stopped
Was the winner
Collecting from all the others.
The locals had apparently
Never thought of such a practical use
For the spinning table
Or observed such merry frolic
And there must have been
Fifty of them
Gathered around watching.
I wouldn’t be surprised
If that place isn’t
Still a casino to this day!

Blind as a Bat

Have you ever noticed
How oblivious people are
To the havoc they cause
In their own lives?
Though it may be obvious
To you and to
Almost everyone else
What they do
That causes their fate,
They just can’t see it.
They are as blind as a bat
When it comes to
Seeing the impact they have
On their own lives.
How can they not see
When it is so obvious,
You might tend to ask,
But the same holds true
For you as well.
Without using others
As a reflective mirror
To tell us what
We can’t see,
We remain unconscious
To our complicity
In what happens to us.

Thanksgiving Delay

It seemed a family tradition
When we were growing up
To spend Thanksgiving
Together with the relatives,
But no matter how much work
Went into the preparations,
The coordinative art
Of getting the turkey done
Simultaneously with the rest of dinner
Was never mastered
And every Thanksgiving
We ritually grumbled about
Those hours of starvation
Between the time
Dinner was promised
And when we actually feasted.

Teaching and Eagle to Fly

It is a part
Of being human,
I suppose,
The desire
To be taken care of,
To have all
Our worldly needs fulfilled.
As a parent of a child
We may want to
Be there for them,
To spoil them,
To give them
All the finest things,
Yet as they grow older
We want them to discover
The strengths
They never knew they had,
The ability to succeed,
The tenacity to overcome,
The independence of spirit
That comes with knowing
That they can
Do it on their own.
It is an age old question,
How do we teach
An eagle to fly?
If they never had to stretch
Their wings,
Would they learn to soar?
We can cultivate a chicken
Used to having everything provided,
Or we can set them free
So that they discover
The pleasure of being an eagle.

Survivor

I counted myself a survivor,
Having overcome
A multitude of challenges,
Faced countless foes,
And fought many a battle,
In my struggle to get by.

The trail was windy and torturous
With my very existence
Seemingly in question
At every turn I took,
And I proceed on the dimmest hope
Of some purpose to my toil.

Yet as I look back at the path I took
It becomes apparent to me
That my struggle to survive
Was a figment of my mind,
That I had valiantly overcome
That which was never there.

Selecting a Crew

Imagine if you can
The game
Of choosing a crew
To sail with you
Halfway around the world.
Who would you pick
To share your adventure?
Would you look for people
Who knew how to sail?
Would you look for those
With a passion for the sea?
Would you look for dreamers
Drifting along with the breeze?
The Diamonds had accumulated
A crew of local characters,
None of whom
Had much experience under sail.
The most capable member
Was a guy we called Sugar Baer
Who had spent time in the Navy
On a submarine under the sea
Which qualified him as captain.
Both of the Diamond’s
Teenage daughters
Recruited surfers from Oahu
To keep them company
Throughout the trip.
There was also the Diamond’s
Seven year old son.
The crew also included a lawyer
Trying to make his escape.
My brother, Lee, and I
Picked up the two surfers
Hitchhiking on the Kona coast,
And they told us about the Araner
And the fact that they
Were looking for a crew.
We stopped briefly
At my aunt’s house
On the way to the boat
And she was invited too.
She had dreamed
Of sailing ships
And adventures at sea
For almost all her 69 years,
And this was a dream come true.
The Diamonds had decided
To charge a fee for passage
Although that was
Clearlyly in violation
Of Coast Guard regulations
For a wooden boat
Of that size,
But illegality
Didn’t seem to
Matter to anyone,
Least of all to my aunt.
She was glad to pay
And very excited
About the opportunity.
We rounded out the crew
With a couple of hippie guys
Who happened along
And a girl who
Was recruited as a cook.
There were fifteen of us in all
When we finally set sail.
That wasn’t exactly the mix
My brother and I,
Being teenagagers ourselves
Had hoped for though.
When we were told
More crew members were needed,
We commenced a search
For the two most beautiful
Companions we could find
To accompany us
On the voyage.
We had finally
Narrowed it down
After a couple days
Of extensive searching
To two rather exquisite
Local island girls,
And their parents
Had even agreed
To let them go.
As luck would have it,
The boat was taken
Out for a test sail,
And disappeared
For three days,
And the Coast Guard
Couldn’t even find them,
So the parents backed out,
And wisely, I must admit,
Wouldn’t let
Their teenage daughters
Sail with us.
Sei and I were
Momentarily broken hearted
But only for
A moment or two.
Once we got underway,
We were flat out excited.

Round Two

We had put in a hard day’s work
On a construction project
And it was time to call it a day.
After each of us had showered
The four of us headed off to eat.
We had spent the day
Building an appetite
And were ready for a meal.
There just happened to be
A little Mexican seafood place
Not to far away
That caught our fancy.
Each of us decided to order
The special of the house
And were treated to the most incredible
Jumbo shrimp dinner
Any of us had ever had.
Cooked in garlic butter,
Those shrimp were better
Than any lobster I ever tasted
And they were almost as big.
It was probably a combination
Of us being hungry,
The camaraderie of a group of friends,
The ambience of the place
And the succulent taste of the shrimp,
But we looked at each other
And decided to order again
Against our better judgement.
We savored the first round
But we really had to work
To finish that second round
And it somehow didn’t taste
Nearly as good as the first.
No matter how good the meal
I’ll never to do that again.

Road Rage Transformed

He arrived at work each day
Tense and irritable,
Consumed by the loathing
Of the traffic he encountered
And the multitudes of people
Who were in his way.

Traffic jams
And roadway congestion
Were enough to drive him crazy,
Filling him with rage
At all the roadway strangers
Who hogged his lane.

How dare those others
Impede his progress
And interfere with
Where he wanted to go?
What right have they
To slow him down?

It always seemed
That no matter
Which lane he chose,
The other lanes
Moved faster,
Frustrating him completely.

Invariably there was someone,
Irritatingly slow
At responding
Once the traffic light
Turned green,
Leaving him seething.

Often he would arrive
Muttering under his breath
Cursing some highway person
Who probably
Didn’t even know
The he existed.

Then one day
He decided to relax
And take his time,
To observe the others on the road
And noticed how tense
They all seemed to be.

He realized that
He was seeing himself
In the faces of the others,
And gained awareness
Of just how ridiculous
He had been acting.

Suddenly there were
Millions of people
He no longer had to hate,
And he actually
Began to enjoy
Drive back and forth to work.

Look at all the
Free entertainment he had,
Why there was a road show
Every morning,
And every night
A human comedy played out.

Relationship on the Rocks

It is a modern day tragedy
Two people,
Once so much in love,
Now committed enemies.

Why when such a short time ago
The flames of passion roared
And they looked so perfect together,
Do they hate each other now?

Each one having given up
On the other,
Seeks solace where they can,
But not with each other.

With tens of thousands spent,
Her attorney against him
And his attorney against her,
No one wins.

They fight over everything
And they fight over nothing,
With each becoming
A prisoner of war.

Can the love that was
Ever be found again
After each has declared it dead,
When hope is all but gone?

Does anyone know how
To sound a truce,
To stop the war
And to mend the wounds?

Are these two belligerents
The same two who vowed
To love, honor and trust
Until death do us part?

A sense of futility reins
That nothing can be done,
That no one cares,
That it was doomed from the start.

No matter how intransigent
Either may be,
No matter how wide the rift created,
Miracles may happen!

The sense of powerlessness felt
Does not at all reflect
Their ability to metamorphose
Their relationship to each other.

No matter their history,
No matter how horrific their past,
No matter what has been said or done,
A new relationship can be created.

The gift of being human
Is that once great enemies
Can learn to love one another again
And not be haunted by their past.

Any relationship on the rocks
Can miraculously be transformed
So that once bitter rivals
Can again be lovers and friends.

After all is said and done
Perhaps the sweetest victory of their war
Will be the moment they both
Decide to fire their divorce attorneys!

Pumpkin Heads

It is a Halloween ritual,
Carving ghoulish faces
In round headed pumpkins.
It is actually
A competitive sport,
And there seems
No end to the creativity
Of those proficient
With a knife.
Every year they get
More radical than the last.
Those pumpkin heads
Make quite a show
Late at night
With a candle burning inside,
But if grotesque is your thing,
Then let them sit a week or so
As the faces slowly distort
And take on an aged glare.
That is when the faces
Really become hideous!

Productivity

I noticed that I am
Super effective some days
And on other days
It seems that
I might as well have stayed in bed
For all that I accomplish.

I always felt better
When I got more done
Than when I didn’t,
So I was naturally curious
Why one day should be
So radically different than another.

I observed that some people
Consistently produce results
No matter the circumstances
Day in and day out,
And I wanted to be
More like them.

The idea that there might be
Some natural biorhythm
Or inner clock
That controlled when I am on
And when I am not
Was not the answer I wanted.

It was obvious
There are many factors
That have an impact on
How much I get done
And the effort it takes to do it,
And most are within my control.

When I am sleepy or tired,
Feeling irritable or overwhelmed,
Sick or indifferent to outcome,
Wishing I was doing something else
Or otherwise resisting what I am doing,
Productivity is clearly a challenge.

I learned to be aware
Of my inner state,
Not to push myself beyond endurance,
To clear my head
And manage my attitude
Before tackling each task.

I accepted the responsibility
Of mastering me,
Realizing that if productivity is to be,
It is up to me,
That I can be incredibly effective
If I choose to be.

The Perfect Shot

It fascinated me
Watching the professional
Photographer work
As she captured the flavor of
My daughter’s wedding.

She was good at what she did,
Angling for just the right pose,
Ever conscious of the lighting,
Trying to capture a sense
Of the spirit of the occasion.

Being an amateur photographer myself,
I noted each shot she took,
How she composed that picture
And the artistry exercised
In deciding which picture to shoot.

It always seemed, however
That the perfect shot occurred
The moment after
The photograph was snapped,
The instant everyone relaxed.

It amused me to think
That had a false flash been used
To fool the posing subjects,
An entirely different set of pictures
Would have resulted.

I wonder if the rigor
Of photographing weddings
As a professional
Would dim the passion I have
For capturing the illusive smile.

Palmyra Island

After enduring the Doldurms
And a month and a half at sea,
We were more than ready for
The sight of land.
The funny thing was
That we sailed
Most of the way around the island
Before we were sure
Which one it was.
The sextant tended to be
A somewhat dubious tool
For figuring out
Where we were
In the hands of
Sugar Baer and Doug Diamond.
The two could never quite agree
On where they thought we were.
As it turned out
We were at the island of Palmyra.
It is a tropical island
Just north of the equator
And south of Hawaii.
It was uninhabited then,
But the huts of those
Who once lived there
Could readily be seen
Amongst the palm trees
There along the shore.
It looked like
A fantastic place to explore
Especially with all the wrecks
Of ocean ships
That could be seen
Captured in its harbor.
In fact,
We almost added
One more ship to the toll
When we ran aground
About two miles off shore.
Apparently we missed the channel
Coming in and ended up
Stuck on a coral reef.
My brother and I
Wanted to go explore the island
And check out
Some of the other ship wrecks,
And actually started out
In that precarious little dingy
We jokingly called a lifeboat.
It became immediately clear,
However,
That there were a few problems
With that innocent plan.
First of all
The chances of making it to shore
Through the pounding surf
Were highly unlikely
In that unstable boat.
Second, assuming that we made it there
How would we get back?
Last but not least,
We observed numerous
Extremely large sharks
Including what looked to be
A fifteen foot hammerhead
Right beneath our dingy.
Wisdom got the better of valor
And we turned back to the boat.
The island was used as
An undersea burial site
For arms and munitions
Left over from World War II
Which in turn
Contaminated the local fish
Forcing the islanders to move.
As a consequence
The local waters
Had not been fished
For many years
And some of the fish
Had grown incredibly large
As we could readily see.
It took us most of the day
To work ourselves
Off the reef,
And some of us
Wanted to give the channel another try
But the Diamonds
Refused to try their luck again.
Generally most of us
Get where we are going
With some balance
Of luck and skill
But when skill is nonexistent
And your luck is horribly bad,
Then you will likely turn
And head the other direction
Just as they did!

Pago Pago

So we made it back
To civilization
From our sea adventure
Or at least to
The American Samoan
Version of it.
It was there that
My brother,
My aunt and myself
Jumped ship
And decided to head
Our separate ways,
But in the few days
Before I headed off
Back to the university
For a more classical
Educational curriculum,
We added a couple
More adventures
To our take.
Sei and I rented a couple
Sunfish sailboats,
And sailed out of the harbor
To challenge
The major ocean swells
Just outside.
The Coast Guard took
A rather dim view
Of our recreation,
And after attempting
To go out and rescue us
Three separate times,
Made us get out of there.
I must admit
That it was a bit treacherous,
But by that time,
We were both fairly confident
Of our ability
To handle the ocean,
Well maybe
Just a little overconfident.
That first night
We found a local
Chinese restaurant
Which had a big
Circular table
With a large Lazy Susan
In the center.
We commandeered
Some chop sticks
And made he table into
A makeshift gambling table.
We would lay cash
On the table
And spin the wheel,
And whoever the stick
Ended up pointing to
Was the winner.
We must have had
Half the town
Watching in fascination
And perhaps wonder
As we carried on
And enjoyed ourselves.
As far as I know,
That table might still
Be used for that purpose
To this day!
Then later after we eat seafood
To our hearts content,
We extended
The evening
To one of the local bars
Where we discovered
Exactly what island hospitality
Is all about.
I think that was the night
We make up for
Three months of celibacy
Spent at sea.
I had read so many stories
By James Michener
About the island charm,
Stories like Hawaii
Tales of the South Pacific
And Rascals in Paradise,
And it was all true,
And we were definitely
Rascals in Paradise.

Once Rebuked

She was a young girl then
Maybe only eight or nine
When Tommy caught her eye.
Oh, he wore dorky glasses
And was kind of goofy
But something about him
Had her single him out.
In her intoxicated state
She dared to dream
All kind of fanciful dreams
About him and her
And what that would be like.
She pondered that
For the eternity of a day or two,
But was faced with one dilemma,
He didn’t seem to know
That she existed.
She made a fateful decision
And decided to let him know
Just how she felt,
So she scribbled a brief note
Asking him if he
Would like to go steady.
She carefully placed the note
Under his book during the break,
Then waited on pins and needles
For his reaction.
It was swift in coming
As Tommy waved the note around
For all to see
Making fun of her request.
She was mortified beyond measure,
Wanted to dig a hole,
Bury herself and hide.
She concluded that day
That it wasn’t safe
To express herself to a guy,
Or even to let the guy know
That she was interested.
Thirty years later
She was still letting
Her younger self’s conclusion
Run her life.
Freedom only came
After she began to question
Whether or not
Playing it safe
Was still her primary concern.

Newsaholic

We had been over two months at sea
And had not seen or heard
Anything from the rest of the world.
We had not encountered
A single ship at sea
Other than the wrecks
At Palmyra Island.
Obviously we were not traveling
Along the major shipping lanes.
We had not even seen
A single plane pass overhead,
And were beginning to realize
How incredibly immense
The Pacific Ocean is.
For all we knew
The rest of the world
Could have gone to war
Or simply vanished,
And we wouldn’t have known.
For someone who read
Two or three newspapers
Every single day
For years and years,
I was utterly amazed
How well I could get along
Without the slightest idea
Of what was going on
Anywhere else in the world.
As it turned out,
The rest of the world
Got along just great without me.
Sure, there were plenty
Of tragedies and travesties,
Just like always,
But I didn’t miss anything
By failing to keep up with them.

My World

Of all the many gifts
That I have been given,
The one I appreciate most
Is the ability to find
Countless forms of beauty
In the world around me.

My world is filled
With magnificent mysteries
Worthy of my inquiry,
Fascinating intricacies,
Amazing coincidences
And limitless possibilities.

Each day is an opportunity
To explore and to discover,
To test the limits of what I know,
To challenge myself
And the world around me
And to learn a thing or two.

I live in a constantly changing world
Where spontaneity is a virtue,
Where even the best laid plans
Must continually be adjusted,
A world where I have learned to play
And not take life so seriously.

It is a world filled with people
Of infinite variety
And each person
Has a story to tell,
Some wisdom to pass on
If I will only listen.

Hidden beneath coarse exteriors
And elaborate artificial barriers
Are real people worth knowing,
Artisans of creative inspiration,
People of unimagined genius
And ordinary people doing extraordinary things.

Most of those I meet
Seem to march to the beat
Of a different drummer than I,
And each unique rhythm
Contributes to the cadence
Of the music of my life.

There are times of harmony
When I am present
To love, peace and joy
And the serenity they bring,
And times of discord
When I am totally out of tune.

When I open my eyes
What I am present to is
The soft sensuality of a woman,
The fire of romance,
The magic of partnership
And the ecstasy of life.

When I open my ears
What I am present to is
The power of acknowledgment,
The generosity of friendship,
And the sound of real communication
And the fulfillment it provides.

When I open my heart
What I am present to is
Abundance in every form,
The gift of being human,
The glory of being alive
And the words of a poem.

My Kind of World

It is an extraordinary world
In which I’m privileged to live,
Full of passion and promise
And possibilities galore.

It is an amazing place
Of incredible beauty,
Natural wonders,
And constant change.

It is a special place
Where I can pursue
My wildest dreams
Or be anything I choose.

It is an immense world
Full of romantic characters,
Leaders of enormous stature,
And heroes of mythic proportions.

It is a fascinating place
Filled with common people
Leading extraordinary lives,
Making a difference in the world.

It is my kind of world,
Full of courageous intimacies,
Acknowledgment beyond measure
And exuberant poetic expression.

It is the world I choose!

My Kind of Place

I was at home there
Amidst the comfortable clutter
Of books and things
And odd assorted furniture.
It was a place
Where I could sprawl out
On the floor
And feel at ease.
I could totally relax
Enjoying the warmth of the fire
And the spirit
Of the conversation.
There was no pretense there
Just simple chatter
About life and things
In the company of friends.
It was my kind of place.

My Brother's Travels

Lee answered the call of the road
Instead of heading back to college
After our voyage to American Samoa.
He became something
Of a world traveler
And a hippie vagabond.
I sometimes wondered
What my life might have been like
Had I gone on and done the same.
He spent some time over in Figi
Then hitched a ride on another sailboat,
One whose mission was to disrupt
The French nuclear tests
Being executed at that time
On some of the remote coral atolls.
They did that
Green Peace fashion
By sailing to ground zero
At the time of each scheduled blast
To force its postponement.
That must have been interesting!
Eventually he ended up
In New Zealand
Sheep herding of all things.
From there he drifted on to Australia
And sometime later
Found his way
Up to Indonesia and New Guinea.
We finally met again
Almost two and a half years later
In Thailand where I was serving
As a Peace Corps Volunteer.
He even spent a while
Bumming around down in Peru,
But he headed back to the US
And has stayed there ever since.
There was a time
When we each thought
The only times we would
Meet each other
Would be in passing
On some far corner
Of the planet,
But life never went
Exactly the way
Either of us planned.

My Aunt Dofeen

She was always a character
In her own right,
An audacious soul
And a loving spirit.
There was a side of her
Still fighting
“The War Between the States”
That is to say
She was a Southerner
Through and through,
Yet there was another side to her
Of regal bearing
That let you know
She was a queen
And she expected
To be treated that way.
She had inherited considerable wealth
And spent or misspent
Most of it through the years,
But we loved her nonetheless
For she was definitely unique.
The voyage south
On the Yacht Araner
Was her lifelong dream
And she made the most of it.
It was an opportunity to see
The islands of the South Pacific,
To go some of the places
Her father had been
Some fifty or sixty years before.
She was an adventurer at heart
And traveled for quite a while
Throughout Fiji and Tonga
And some of the other islands.
She fell in love with
Tongan tapa cloth
And bought nearly everything
They had in the islands.
She also sent me stamps
From each place she went
To add to the collection
She had started me on
So many years before.
She got to hobnob
With some of the island royalty
Down there in the South Pacific,
Before heading back to Hawaii
To her own version of reality.

Mental Play

My mind is never idle.
It fascinates itself
Finding patterns and shapes
In everything I see.

It seems to have a need
To define an order to things,
And is always playing the game,
“What does this remind me of?”

The ability to see things
Where nothing actually exists
And the search for underlying patterns
Are not unique to me.

Why else would countless mathematicians
Using the most powerful computers made
Search endlessly for a pattern
Hidden in the number pi.

Maybe it is some ancestral trait
Passed on to me from eons ago
That has me able to look at the stars
And see shapes among the chaos.

My mind can entertain itself for hours
Conjuring up geometric patterns
Out of tiles on a floor
Or random spots on the ceiling.

My mind enjoys itself
Observing the clouds
And playing silhouette games
With them as they across the sky.

My mind can take
The most innocent set of hills
And turn them into female forms
Caressed by the sky in the horizon!

My mind is always at play
Seeing things
In the things I see
In this fertile head of mine.

Mel

He was a drifter
In search of a purpose
For the life he lived,
One of a multitude
Of such characters
Who wash up regularly
On the Hawaiian shores.
He came along
At just the right time,
Whether by design
Or outlandish circumstance,
And ended up becoming
One of the crew.
After a month at sea,
He declared he was
Going on a fast
And for the rest of the trip,
Water and crackers
Were just about all he ate.
This coincided with
The general rationing
That was going on,
So he just seemed like
A considerate soul,
A bit weird, but ok.
It was only after
We got to Pago Pago
That he told us the reason.
He was an epileptic
And he ran out
Of his medication
After a month at sea.
The one thing he knew
Was that seizures
Happen more often when full,
And that a seizure,
Had it occurred out there
In the middle of the Pacific,
Could easily have been fatal.
I was amazed
At how he managed that
And ever so thankful
That he didn’t let
That color our trip.

Maintaining the Boat

As anyone who has ever
Had a boat can attest,
Maintaining a boat
Can be a full time occupation
And then some,
Especially if the boat
Is the size of the Araner.
There are things
That should be done
On a fairly regular basis
To keep a boat operational,
And few of these had been done
For the Araner.
To start with,
Her wooden hull was leaking
So pumping the bilge
Was a perpetual task
Complicated because the seals
On the hand pumps were wearing out.
The teakwood deck
Had not been properly sealed
And varnished
For a long, long time,
So it needed to be soaked down
Regularly with salt water
To keep it from splintering.
I have no idea how many buckets
We lost over the side
Trying to collect water
For that purpose.
After a month or two at sea
The toilets began to fail
And could no longer be used.
Climbing into the bow sprints
For sanitary purposes
Was an adventure
In and of itself
Especially when under full sail.
We tended to get saniflushed
Every time the hull
Cut through another wave,
And had to hold on
For dear life,
But it was very effective
At cleaning us out!
The Araner was equipped
With some rather large fresh water tanks
But they quickly became foul
Probably because they were not
Properly maintained either.
The Araner was equipped with
Ship to shore radio
Which was seldom if ever operational.
The engines and generator
Also required a lot of work
And it was a credit to Sugar Baer
That they operated at all.
In fact, early on
We spent considerable time and effort
Trying to find Johnston Island,
A restricted US naval base,
On the hopes that they would make
Emergency repairs
To get us back under way.
The biggest flaw to that plan
Was that we weren’t able to find it!
Who knows whether or not
The scam would have worked
Had we been able to try it out.
Well the Araner needed to be retrofitted,
That much was obvious,
And that was the stated reason
We were headed to the South Pacific
In the first place.

Lucky Accident

It was a little, nondescript,
Hole-in-the-wall type place
From the face of it,
One of the vast number of
Chinese restaurants
That dot the local landscape,
The kind of place
Where I go when I am
More bored than hungry,
Just looking for something
A little different from
The regular fast food fare.
The moment I entered the door
I knew this was not just
Some ordinary run-of-the-mill
Hurry up and forget it type place.
The Chinese lady at the counter
Was bubbling with personality
As she asked me
If it was my first time there,
Then graciously welcomed me
To her restaurant.
As I ordered my food and waited
Six different customers came in
And she greeted each one by name,
Obviously knowing them well.
Her enthusiasm was contagious,
Building my appetite
For the food I had ordered.
It was delivered
On an ornately designed plate
In grandiose style,
And it was as good
As any I have ever had.
There were a lot of photographs
On the wall
Of some pretty famous
Hollywood Stars
Along with their acknowledgments
Of that little lady
And the food she served.
After I finished
She asked me my name
And invited me back again.
It was a lucky accident
That I found her little place,
But you can be sure
That I am destined to become
One of her many regulars.

Knowledge

We are in the midst of
A phenomenal quest for knowledge.
It has been said that the total amount
Of knowledge available
Doubles every ten years or so,
And we struggle to keep up with it all.

Bookstores and libraries
Are filled with it.
Books and magazines are available
On every conceivable subject,
And not just one book or magazine either,
Hundreds of them on each subject.

However, have you ever noticed
How little difference
All the collected knowledge
Typically makes in our life.
What we know just doesn’t seem
To affect the way we live.

How many of us know
How to lose weight?
It’s really simple,
Eat less and exercise,
Yet that knowledge
Doesn’t do us much good.

How many of us
Have challenges
In our relationships?
Do the tens of thousands
Of books and articles written
On how to make them work help?

How about the art
Of finding a mate?
Would reading all the
Mating manuals
Ever written
Really better the odds?

How about the science of
Raising kids?
If you really wanted to
Drive yourself crazy,
Try doing that
By the book!

I’m not against knowledge
And ignorance certainly isn’t bliss,
But sometimes in an experiential world
Knowledge can be the booby prize
Allowing us all the answers
That don’t do us any good!

Hot Mellons for the Firemen

Brush fires are endemic
To the Southern California foothills,
Especially after the summer heat
Has dried up the wild brush and weeds
Turning the hillsides from green to brown.
When the Santa Ana winds start blowing
Conditions are ripe for a fire to take hold
And they get out of hand pretty quick.
Sometimes they are given a helping hand
By arsonists, or children playing with fire.
On one nearby monstrous fire
A number of years back,
They had firefighters
From all around the United States
Battling the flames.
Tens of thousands of acres
Of forest land had gone up in smoke
And ashes had been raining down
Around our house for days.
The news broadcast told of how weary
Those fire fighters were becoming.
It was hot, dirty, arduous work
And the fire kept getting the upper hand.
Surely I could do something
To help quench their thirst
And give them a break from their toil,
So I came up with a brilliant idea.
I would buy a truckload
Of juicy cold watermelons
And take them up
To those guys on the line.
I borrowed a pickup truck for the task
But fortunately delayed buying the melons
Until the next day.
Early the following morning
The newspaper headlines announced
That local watermelons
Were contaminated with insecticide
That could make people sick,
Thus they were all being destroyed.
Imagine what could have happened
Had I done what I intended
And ended up getting
A bunch of fireman sick.
Maybe the only lesson in all this
Is to beware of the good Samaritan
Especially if it is me!