The Aroma of Life

When I hear a person talk
About their life,
And the things they have done,
It is the passion
Underlying their tale,
That snares my attention.
I listen for the richness
And full-bodied aroma
That only comes from
A life truly enjoyed,
And thoroughly lived.
I like people
Who let their impish side
Show through,
Who have a sparkle
In their eyes
Highlighted with
A mischievous grin.
The people I am interested in
Are not immune
To the difficulties of life,
But no matter what happens,
They seem to take it in,
And come back for more.
Why I ask,
Would anyone choose
To live their life
Any other way?

The Araner

Those guys we picked up
There in Kailua
Regaled us with talk
About the ship
They were from,
And they weren’t kidding
About the boat either.
She was “The Araner,”
A stunningly beautiful,
Old-time sailing vessel
Anchored majestically
In the middle of the bay.
She was a white
Two-masted schooner,
The largest version
Of a gaff rigged ketch
Ever built.
She had quite a history,
And we were about to add
Another chapter to the tale.
She was built in 1908
And owned at one time
By the movie director,
John Ford, and had appeared
In such classic movies
As “Paradise Lost”
And “Donovan’s Reef.”
As the story goes,
The IRS had seized
The yacht for back taxes,
Then auctioned her off
Over in Honolulu, Hawaii.
She was then purchased
By a consortium of investors,
Several of whom
Decided to take her out
For a test sail,
Then neglected to return.
In other words,
The boat was stolen’
But we didn’t find that out
Until much later.
We were informed
They planned to sail
Her down to Fiji
To get her retrofitted.
Several years later
I heard that the Araner
Actually made it
Down there,
Where she was
Promptly sold
To a hapless stranger,
Who turned around
And sailed her
Back to Hawaii
For retrofitting.
As soon as he
Got her home,
She was seized
By the harbor authorities
And returned
To the remaining investors.

Stick Shift Challenge

My youngest daughter
Was learning how
To drive a car
With a manual transmission
A while back,
And it brought back memories
Of what it was like for me
Before I mastered
That subtle art.
My stick shift education
Was provided
Compliments of
My second car,
A VW Beetle.
It was a bright
Shinny new model,
Hot off the showroom floor,
And it performed dutifully
During the brief test drive,
But when I tried
To drive it home,
It became another beast entirely.
It seemed to develop
A mind of its own,
As fidgety and cantankerous
As any mule.
It started, . . . then stalled,
Started, . . . then stalled,
Progressing down the highway
One lurch at a time,
Grinding gears as it went.
It was as if
The car had developed
An acute case
Of the hick-ups.
The more frustrated I got,
The worse it got.
I was almost tempted
To return the car
To the dealership.
Fortunately
For the sake of the car
And my self pride,
I had the skill mastered
In a day or so.
Mastery didn’t mean
I could necessarily teach
Family members though.
At one point
I tried to teach my wife
The art of the stick,
Back when she was
A stick shift virgin,
But gave up
And let a professional
With more patience than I
Handle that challenge.
My daughter would also
Become a master
Without my intervention.

Spheres

I live my life
Within a sphere
That constitutes
The universe
As I know it.
On the fringes
Of my universe
Are countless
Other spheres,
A few of which
Orbit in close proximity.
Those are the ones
I call my friends
And associates,
The ones I interact with
On a regular basis.
Some of them
Know each other,
But many are worlds apart,
Their only connection
To each other
Being through me.
What connects me
To each of them
Are the dialogs we have,
And it is the depth
Of those conversations
By which I measure
The quality of the life I live
And gage who I am.

Sisterhood

They were best of friends
And worst of enemies,
And they were thrust
Into each other’s space
At the age of three and six
With the advent
Of a baby brother.
They couldn’t be
In the same room together
For five minutes
Without fighting,
Yet they shared a room.
The oldest one put tape
Down the middle of the floor
And dared her younger sister
To cross the line.
Even after they were both grown,
And off on their own,
They couldn’t spend more
Than a few moments together
Before they would be
At each other’s throats again.
There was love between them,
But never expressed.
The tension was palpable
Every time they got together.
It wasn’t until many years later
That the oldest sister heard
Someone else’s younger sister
Tearfully lament
Her inability to express
Her love for older sister
That she got
What it must be like
For her younger sister.
One phone call
Was all it took
To dissolve the barrier
That had separated them
Virtually their entire lives.
Once the two of them
Could openly love each other,
They were truly
Best of friends
And almost inseparable
From then on out.

Sexual Politics

In the sexual realm
We are often
Left to interpret what
Our partner means
When he or she
Doesn’t respond,
Or isn’t in the mood
For having sex.
When one party
Is more desirous
Of intercourse
Than the other,
And the other person
Refuses their overtures,
That person is apt
To feel rejected.
If the other person
Acquiesces or gives in
Against their will,
It is bound to be
A less than
Enjoyable experience,
And a breeding ground
For resentment.
Somehow we need to be
Considerate of each other,
Especially in
The bedroom setting.

Perceptions of Adulthood

To a four year old,
Adults are big people,
The ones to run to
When we get hurt,
The heroes we look up to,
Powerful and strong,
And the ones who demand quiet
When they would like to play.

As we enter our teens
Adults are the ones
Who set the limits
We must challenge,
The ones whose words
Often don’t fit their actions,
The ones whose rules
Are made to be bent.

By the time we reach sixteen,
Adults are the ones
Who hold the money
And have power over our lives,
And we resent their control.
They are often out of date
And out of touch with our reality,
And we can’t wait to become one.

As a young college student
Adults are the ones
Who have finished school,
The ones who have real jobs
And are making money,
The ones who don’t have to hassle
With exams at every turn,
The ones free to do what they want.

When we finally graduate
And find ourselves
One of the adults,
It is seldom as free and easy
As thought is was going to be.
There is a lot of work to do,
Responsibilities, obligations,
Taxes and bills to pay.

As an adult, we may look back
Romancing the freedom we had
When we were young,
The absence of responsibility,
The lack of obligation,
The opportunities we wasted,
Forgetting what it was really like
To be that age.

Who is to say
What adulthood is?
We can see plenty of adults
Acting like kids,
And plenty of kids
Trying to act like adults,
But few people at any age
Content with the way they are.

Partnership

There is a synergy possible
When two people
Fully engage in dialog
That can produce
Miraculous results.
Every discussion
Can break new ground,
Explore fresh ideas,
Create distinctions,
And provide insight
Going beyond
Where either party
Could have gone
By themselves.
Such a partnership
Will leave the participants
Empowered, invigorated,
And excited to be alive.

Our Act

It is an act we have,
A show that we put on,
The faces we wear
For the public to see.
We are performers
On the stage of life,
Wearing masks
To disguise
Who we are,
How we feel,
And what we think.
We smile to cover
Our heaviness of heart
And use bravado
To hide our fears.
We speak in riddles
To avoid being straight,
And pretend we don’t care
When our life leaves us
Neither satisfied
Nor fulfilled.
We stand like statues
Sculpted in stone
Cold, hard and indifferent
To the anguish around us
As well as within us,
All the while wondering,
“Can’t anyone be real?”
“Is this all there is?”
“Why am I not happy?”
We maintain our act
At any cost,
And all it costs us
Is our life!

Nothing Personal

Nothing had changed
Yet everything was different.
The house was
As messy as usual
Even though she had
Cleaned it the day before.
The kids were running around
Screaming like maniacs,
Yelling at each other
As if they were both
Hard of hearing.
Her husband was
The same oaf
He had always been,
Nestled in his Lazy Boy,
Watching TV,
Trying to ignore the kids
As well as her.
Her work had not changed.
Her boss was still
A nervous breakdown
Waiting to happen,
And her coworkers
Continued to gossip
Back and forth,
Spreading the office poison.
The traffic coming home
Was as bad
As it had ever been,
Slowed by rubber-neckers
Gawking at an accident.
All of these things
Would normally have
Driven her up the wall,
But today she simply
Took them in stride
And didn’t let any of them
Bother her.
She had always taken
Such things
As if they were
Personally directed at her,
And would snarl
At the world in return.
It finally dawned on her
That nothing could be
Further from the truth,
And that revelation
Transformed the quality
Of her life.

The Grindstone Grinds

Back in his early twenties
He thought he had it made.
He had a job with a major company
That paid what seemed like
A whole lot of money
To a kid fresh out of college,
And he was progressively
Working his way to the top.
He had a college sweetheart
And they were engaged
To be married.
They had even put money down
On the house of their dreams.
He prided himself
That he earned every penny he got,
After all, he put in
Countless extra hours
To get where he was.
The sacrifice seemed justified
Because he was rising fast,
Becoming a superstar
In that business world,
Or at least he was
Until his fiancee decided
The life of an executive widow
Wasn’t what she had in mind.
After she left,
The effort to get ahead
Seemed pointless,
His heart was no longer
In climbing the ladder
Of corporate success,
And he soon left that job
For a position
Where his time
Would be more his own.

Monday's Transformation

It had been clear
For a long time
That the job
Wasn’t right for him.
It was a battle
Every morning
To get up
And out the door.
Monday was the day
He dreaded most,
And Friday never seemed
To come fast enough.
Though he hated the job,
He stayed
Week after week,
Month after month,
Stewing in silent discontent.
He dreamed of starting
His own business,
But didn’t have
The courage
To cut the umbilical cord
That sustained him.
He was good at
Looking busy,
So they tolerated him
As he tolerated them.
The truth was
He had started sneaking
Personal projects in,
And working on them
During company time,
Hoping to get
A business going,
But the burden of guilt
Over that dishonesty
Gave him no peace.
When he finally got
The gumption
To hand in his resignation,
And was able to
Legitimately concentrate
On what he wanted to do,
The rewards
Were more than he
Could ever have imagined.
The income on which he was
So dependent
Was quickly exceeded,
But even more important,
With his conscience clear,
He found he could
Sleep at night,
And his resistance
To getting up
Had vanished.
Suddenly he couldn’t wait
For Monday to come.

Missing You

I am haunted
By the distance
Between us?
Where did we
Go wrong?
Was it something
I said or did
That had you
Turn away?
You were always
Someone special,
A friend I could count on.
We used to
Wile away the hours
Sharing secrets,
Dreaming of days to come,
Being together.
Now we don’t even talk.
I no longer expect
It to be you
When the phone rings.
I miss your ready smile,
The times we spent together,
And I hope
You miss me as well.

Paradigm Flush

While growing up,
We are bombarded
With a wide variety
Of complex stimuli
And experiences
Which we had to
Sift through
And decipher
To make sense of
The world around us.
This process provides
The foundation
For our understanding
Of ourselves
And our place
In the overall
Scheme of things.
Most of the time,
Everything fits together
In a neat,
Convenient package
Of observations
And conclusions
That define
Our perspective
On reality,
But occasionally
Something happens,
Or appears to happen,
That doesn’t
Quite mesh
With our sense
Of the way things
Are supposed to work.
This tends to disrupt
Our equilibrium,
And have us question
Our understanding
Of the world around us.
If drastic enough,
It may even shift
The paradigms
We hold as truth.
That may not be
Such a bad thing.
Many of us could use
A paradigm flush
Every once in a while,

Limited by Friendship

He was almost afraid
To allow a woman
To become a friend,
Especially if
She was someone
He was attracted to.
There seemed to be
A penalty in friendship,
As if it caused
A line to be drawn
Between them
Which he dared not cross.
Though he thirsted
For the authenticity
Friendship brought,
It was another kind
Of intimacy he sought,
One friendship
Strangely precluded.
It was as if
A certain inauthenticity
Was essential
To breaking the ice,
And friendship hindered
That pretense.

Intimate Friend

I’m not sure
Whether it was
Coincidence
Or providence
That brought
Us together,
But from moment
I met you,
Being with you
Always seemed
So incredibly natural
And easy.
We started out
As two crazy kids,
Each afraid
Of getting hurt,
Tentative in our trust,
But there was
No denying
That the chemistry
Was there,
And we
Quickly became
Best friends
And more.
It was your smile,
Your way of
Laughing at life,
And those deep
Brown eyes of yours
That captivated me.
We talked
For hours on end
And never ran out
Of things to say,
Or tired of listening
To each other.
You were everything
I ever dreamed of,
Maybe more
Than I deserved,
And I counted myself lucky
Just to have you
As an intimate friend.

The Lessons of Life

I have done a lot of different things
Over the course of my life,
Worked a wide variety of jobs,
Seen both success and failure,
And learned a few things
About life along the way.
I learned that life is seldom as easy
As I think it should be,
But it is seldom as difficult
As I make it out to be.
It is full of strange twists and turns
And convoluted lessons.
Planning is important,
But it rarely went as planned.
I learned I have nothing to prove,
Except to myself,
And I am the hardest one to please.
I learned that life is a competition,
Me against myself,
And sometimes I win
And sometimes I loose,
But I have also learned
Not to get too excited about my victories,
Nor too upset about my losses.
I have learned to take each day
One day at a time,
To smell the roses along the way,
To take a risk now and then,
To live a little
And to love a lot.
Most important, I have learned
To take life in stride,
Yet give it all I have got,
And when I fall down,
To get up and dust myself off,
And go at it again.

Her Sentence

It was a story
She made up
About herself
A long time ago,
That she was ugly,
And no one wanted her.
Whether it was true
Or not
Made no difference at all
Because she
Accepted it as fact.
Every time
She looked in the mirror,
She saw who
She thought she was,
But not herself.
Her relationships
Seemed to follow a pattern
Where the guy
Left her for another,
And she took that as proof
Of her original contention.
She is actually
A very attractive lady
Who needs to seriously question
Her underlying beliefs,
As well as the sentence
She passed on herself.

Grinding Gears

Occasionally I see someone
Learning to drive
A manual transmission,
And I smile
With the memories it brings.
I watch them struggle
Down the road,
One lurch at a time,
Grinding gears as they go,
Cursing the clutch
And the person
Who invented
Such a cantankerous thing.
I sense their frustration
Dealing with a car
With a mind of its own.
I empathize as well
With the car
For what it has to endure.
I’d be nervous and jumpy too!

Getting Published

I, who have
The gumption
And the arrogance
To believe
My thoughts
And observations
Are worth writing,
And that the world
Will want to read
What I have written,
Struggle with
Getting my words
Into print.
I have tried
Everything I could think of
For the last three years
To find a publisher
Who would be willing
To take on my work,
But to no avail.
I had a literary agent,
But that did me
No good either.
I have endured
And continued editing
And writing my books
And in the process,
Have exhausted
All my financial resources,
Yet calling it quits
Is out of the question.
It is painfully obvious
That the books won’t ever
Be published
Unless I give up
Trying to do it alone
And enroll others
In making them happen.

Fulfillment

He was a young man,
Ambitious and bold,
Perfectly willing to work hard
Day in and day out
As long as he saw
Something in it for him.
He worked that way
For many years,
Working his way
Up the corporate ladder,
Accumulating things.
No matter how much
He accumulated
Nor how far he went,
It never seemed
To be enough.
He was no more satisfied
Than the day he started.
It wasn’t until
He began to ask
What he could contribute
To the world
Instead of what the world
Could contribute to him,
That he found the fulfillment
He sought.

Forgiving the Unforgivable

His older brother and him
Had been inseparable,
The best of friends.
He idolized his brother,
And was completely devastated
When his brother was murdered.
Hatred for the man
Who shot him
Consumed him,
And it didn’t abate
Even when that man
Was sentenced
To life in prison
Without possibility of parole.
He felt guilty
For being alive
While his brother was dead,
And languished
In a prison of his own creation
For four hate filled years.
Finally he had to ask himself
If this was the way
His brother would have wanted
Him to live his life,
And the answer was,
“Of course not.”
He had to forsake his hatred
In order to get on with life,
And he did that
By composing two letters,
One to his brother
And the other to the man
Who killed him.
In the first letter,
He promised to live a life
That would make his brother proud.
In the second letter,
He forgave his brother’s killer
And prayed that the man
Would also forgive himself
For the things he had done.
The transformational power
Of those two letters
Was miraculous.
He became another person entirely
Than who he had been
The last four years.
His face lit up
And his spirit rebounded
As if a 1000 pound burden
Had been removed
From his shoulders.
He still missed his brother,
But he honored him with his life.

Fire Fighter

She is a woman
Of perpetual motion,
Scurrying around
At a frantic pace
Putting out fires,
Dealing with emergencies
One after another,
Running herself ragged.
She has no idea
Things could be handled
Any other way
Than in crisis mode.
She has never learned
To take life as it comes,
To relax and enjoy herself,
To trust that it will
Work out in the end,
For it always does.

Remorse

She loudly trumpets
Her feelings
Of guilt and remorse
For what she did
And all the people
She let down.
She acts as if
Her feeling bad
About those things
Compensates for
The trouble caused.
Her guilt is an opera
Full of flamboyant suffering,
A noisy racket
Of meaningless
Verbal penance.
In truth it is
A smoke screen
Leaving no one to blame
And no one responsible.

Beyond Emergency

It so often happens in life
That we are confronted by
Situations or conditions needing
Our immediate attention,
That demand that we act now,
Or face dire consequences.
We can focus every ounce
Of our attention,
Energy and resources
On meeting that challenge,
And one way or another,
We generally scrape through
Seemingly by the skin of our teeth.
We can pride ourselves
At having averted another disaster,
And what we usually find
On the other side
Is another emergency
Waiting to take its place.
We can easily find ourselves
Bouncing from one threat to another
Living our lives
In reaction to events
Over which we have no control.
If we ever want to get ahead,
We have to move beyond
The circumstances of the moment,
And apply direction to our lives.
The degree to which
We are able to do that,
Determines the power we have
In dictating the course of life.