When you don't reflect, on cause and effect, you're leaping right to the middle
With half of the clue, apparent to you, you will never unwrap the riddle
But when you know how
Milk comes from a cow
You'll be over the moon, finish work before noon, cause you'll know cat comes before fiddle
Some mornings,
memory returns the way sunlight used to~
slow, golden, unhurried,
slipping through venetian blinds
of a house that always smelled
of black coffee and Mother’s cooking.
I remember the stillness of those early hours,
the way the world felt half-awake,
as if holding its breath before noon crept in.
I recall bare feet on linoleum,
the screen door closing with a gentle click,
the kitchen radio playing rock n’ roll,
its tunes lingering in my memory.
There were gravel roads that knew my name,
porch steps warmed by summer sun,
and sky so wide it felt like a forever promise.
Back then, time moved like a small stream~
steady, certain,
carrying us forward without our noticing
how far we’d drifted.
Now, when memory rises,
it brings the same quiet comfort
as a familiar hymn sung softly~
a reminder that the past never truly leaves.
It lingers,
warm as a hand on my shoulder,
gentle as Mother’s voice calling me home.
Quickly we had our breakfasts
Then we both gazed
At the station clock
The morning train is late
Everything is wet
At night, the rain poured heavy
I listened to it
Hitting the bricks on the roof.
So tasty is this coffee, you said
The smell of bread, the flame of the oven
And the two bags
You didn’t wear your trench coat, I asked
You didn’t reply
You doubted
Whether we could reach the airport before noon
The plane won’t wait for us, you said
What if the train never arrives
We have no time
The hands of the clock are not moving
And those waiting before us
Took their bags and disappeared
What are we waiting for?
I was lost in the cumulus clouds
Over the chimneys of country houses
Yet, the village was still sleeping
The station guard switched off the lights
And left, humming a song
Tell me
When will we leave too?
No one is here
Even you
You are not here
The rain has dried up
Your dreams became pale
And very far is the airport.
Each vein
is a memory
Each wrinkle
attests
Her bones
dry and brittle
Her grip
still arrests
Each day
brings a promise
Each night
a regret
Her will
is sustaining
Her heart
is at rest
She speaks
in a voice
that is shrill
out of tune
While losing
her wits
often
long before noon
But when
that itinerant
coyote
calls
She looks
down
at her hands
— and remembers it all
(Cody Senior Center: November, 2025)
I am a flickering light -
a little candle -
a dancing flame so happy to have been set alight!
But I am fragile, Father.
A sudden gust could blow me out.
A brief shower of rain.
A spiteful touch from cold fingers.
A swell of noxious pride at my own tiny mortal beauty.
So hold me very close, Father.
Shield me with your mighty, gentle hand.
Be patient with me as only you could be.
For I am a forgetful and unfaithful little heart.
But, at least for a moment,
I can offer you my sincere desire to love you,
though I fear that I hardly have the power to love at all.
But you make all things new.
Written in Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart
2025-08-22
started before noon, finished by 12:04 PM.
The most recognizable album cover in history, the photo of the
Beatles crossing Abbey Road, taken in the summer of sixty nine,
fifteen minutes before noon on August eight to be précised.
An iconic album cover for the image resonated with the fans.
There are wall posters of this photo and it seems men, my age,
in music industry have one in their living rooms or studios.
The photograph of the most influential band in the world walking
on a zebra crossing became one of the most imitated of all time.
I am one of those who imitated it five months ago, 19 of October
at eleven fifty in the morning, when we had photos taken crossing
Abbey Road, amidst a busy road in northwest London in St. John’s Wood
in the city of Westminster, outside Abbey Road Studios, formerly EMI.
We crossed Abbey Road in single file with me leading, followed by my
daughter and my granddaughter with our fourth person, my grandson
taking the pictures so he was not included, kind of disappointing.
How I wish we were there on October 9, John Lennon and my birthday.
There is a wind blowing around me,
and something from the sea is draining my energy
It is dragging me towards the battered shore
And I have to take refuge behind the door
but a giant wave plucked me out and tossed
my slender frame about it covers me
and I am lost in the middle of the sea
the current keeps spinning me around
And all that I have is a cap and a crown
Oh Mother of the sea, rest your bosom
upon my knees and make haste to save me
I have no more strides left
And I am running out of breath
Cast your boat upon the shore and
Come and rescue me
before the waves swallow me
Oh mother of the sea
is this my final destiny?
I have not lived my life yet
And I am on the verge of death
Please don’t take me so soon
We have to meet before noon
I have set my eyes on you
Form the first day I met you
I was here and you were there
And when the energy breaks through the room
It filled the atmosphere with fresh air
and from that very day
you took my heart away
and I couldn’t look the other way
Oh mother of the sea,
Tell my sweet heart
to come and rescue me
I am lost in the middle of the sea
And my eyes are set upon thee.
A spring poem
I try to write a poem since it is the first of Mars
The spring sun was looking huge, but not for long
A black cloud bigger than the sun muscled in
Stop! You are trying to write a poem, not tell us
About the weather, but since you are at it did
the cloud shed cold rain
I can’t say, I was indoors in my bedroom looking out
a poet never arises before noon
It is twenty two o’clock in time
Where days without numbers drop
A pocket watch falls with broken hands
Lost, out of sync with reality
There where winds breath in shadows
Consumed by the sun’s last light
Taking secrets where they may go
Into insanity where reason goes
There in the middle of the round about
In the town square where lines migrate
Merge with the people at dance triangulated
Where circular conversations turn south
Taking in silence as the bells toll out
It is dimensions in decline that matters
It is shapes formed in the fabric of time
Diminished in the hours bent on being
Based on moments measured
Eleventy two degrees below zero comes
On the thermal cold words of the wise
By design, twenty two o’clock persists
Before noon, thinkers think twice, dim the lights
On anyone thinking good thoughts
It is never too late to die
It was Novemberless at winters gate
When the world changed direction
Where space filled in previous mistakes with legs
Replaced them with happiness at the table
It is twenty two o’clock in time
Where days without numbers drop
A pocket watch falls with broken hands
Lost, out of sync with reality
There where winds breath in shadows
Consumed by the sun’s last light
Taking secrets where they may go
Into insanity where reason goes
There in the middle of the round about
In the town square where lines migrate
Merge with the people at dance triangulated
Where circular conversations turn south
Taking in silence as the bells toll out
It is dimensions in decline that matters
It is shapes formed in the fabric of time
Diminished in the hours bent on being
Based on moments measured
Eleventy two degrees below zero comes
On the thermal cold words of the wise
By design, twenty two o’clock persists
Before noon, thinkers think twice, dim the lights
On anyone thinking good thoughts
It is never too late to die
It was Novemberless at winters gate
When the world changed direction
Where space filled in previous mistakes with legs
Replaced them with happiness at the table
Highlighters
I sometimes dress up my
highlighters in
lace and
give them pop quizzes on
something’s that go on
before noon.
Sunflowers like smiling balloons,
round and robust, sounds
of the stem bobbing like a string
tied not to the past but to the soons.
Lost before noon, the duct
let out one final tear. Now
she is nearer to God than me.
Like a sheepdog, I guard my Dad.
Sunflowers, weaved into a frame,
deluded in happiness while we pass.
Petals pull at the heart, switching
moods between Winter and Spring.
His tears fill up palm lake, pulsing
of his broken heart. All delusions
fall off the cliff. Reality of life
without her, within.
Sunflowers’ dark brown centers,
the grief stricken eyes, tarred
and feathered. Childlike questions,
those eyes open wide…
So pretty purple urn; claustrophobic
words can’t contain the expression
of who she is-was. Ashes in eyes and
hearts of contemporary ascendants.
Sunflowers’ reflections, so alive,
slowly dying. We watch ourselves
fading. The funeral parading
before us, bypassing us.
A rhyme.
Helps control the chaos.
Time. Lime. Thyme.
My ideas normally stray.
So I tame them.
They go further, anyway.
Strolling through the downtown of my thoughts.
Disjointed like dinosaur bones that have just been discovered.
Dinosaur, roar, soar.
When I rhyme?
The ask why.
The rhythm is something I can control.
It’s a hobby, but also keeps me calm.
It keeps me calm, but also crazy.
They suggest a thought disorder?
Maybe just a quarter.
Before noon?
Making cookies soon.
My ideas are an adventure.
And like an adventure, are scary sometimes.
They had suggested a thought disorder.
I will take that into consideration.
Innovation…imagination.
I will take that into consideration…
If my mind allows me to remember.
Insomnia:self induced
I had a rough night didn't sleep much at all
So i make my coffee strong sweet and tall
Got to wake up and get on with the day
Caffeine infused and sugar laced
Tonight I'll go to bed,not stay up so late,
And meet the dawn if i get there by eight
The afternoon crash comes to me before noon
So another pot of coffee I'll brew, maybe two!
Wow! I'm productive! I get everything done! Start feeling sleepy again ‘ound about one…no more coffee,or I'll never get to bed, so I drink some diet Pepsi instead!
Made it through work,cooked dinner for all…it's 6pm and I'm ready to fall…I'll just have some dessert for energy,black coffee’d go great so i make more for me.
And here i am,wide awake once again. Not sleepy at all and its 2am. I don't understand why i cannot sleep…i stay busy all day and i feel so beat…I finally lay down to try for a few winks…and wake up to the very same thing!
I had a rough night didn't sleep much at all…so i make my coffee, strong sweet and tall.
In a Train Station
Quickly we had our breakfasts
Then we both gazed
At the station clock
The morning train is late
Everything is wet
At night, the rain poured heavy
I listened to it
Hitting the bricks on the roof.
So tasty is this coffee, you said
The smell of bread, the flame of the oven
And the two bags
You didn’t wear your trenchcoat, I asked
You didn’t reply
You doubted
Whether we could reach the airport before noon
The plane won’t wait for us, you said
What if the train never arrives
We have no time
The hands of the clock are not moving
And those waiting before us
Took their bags and disappeared
What are we waiting for?
I was lost in the cumulus clouds
Over the chimneys of country houses
Yet, the village was still sleeping
The station guard switched off the lights
And left, humming a song
Tell me
When will we leave too?
No one is here
Even you
You are not here
The rain has dried up
Your dreams became pale
And very far is the airport.
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