There is still the hot summer temperature
but there's something else
something in the air
It's the turning of the season
from Summer to Autumn
from hot to cool and colorful
"Young serpent", an aged father snake
said as he kindly and wisely spake.
"You must be comfortable in your skin.
It's the home that you'll be living in."
The young one grew. Life was like a hug.
His skin felt comfortable and snug,
but as time went by, it got too tight.
Life was unbearable, try as he might.
So, it came about that hardship and strife,
were conditions that motivate new life,
leading to a pleasant new existence,
as he shed his skin, and his resistance,
and thought to himself, "It sure is strange.
Difficulties can lead to change",
and found in life that growing pain
often leads to happiness again.
We live our lives as if there will always be another day,
often taking advantage of those around us,
much like an alcoholic unaware of their addiction
or a tobacco smoker oblivious to the smell of smoke.
It often takes someone pointing out the changes for us
to truly see and understand our impact to things around us.
Your smile is like the quiet
dawn,
A gentle warmth that lingers
on.
With every word and every
glance,
You turn the ordinary to a
dance.
No grand design or poet's
art,
Could map the rhythm of my
heart.
In all this world, so vast and
wide,
I only want to be right by
your side.
EMOTIONAL CHANGES
becoming
eccentric
voracious
&
taciturn
with
fractious
tendencies
blinkered
failures
in
commonplace
preoccupations
&
veritable
re-interpreted
paradoxes
Release the glass to its reckless ruin
Witness the fragility scatter into quiet
As it folds into a delicate ruin of your making
The forced jagged edges meant to leave scars
Offer your tears and hollow pleas
Linger if you must, weave thousands
Making each breath sing pretty well
Yet no melody can fix that fractured glass
her life had started out small and churlish
named Maude, she never felt pretty or girlish
of all the names, that might have been the worse one
she never played like others, did not have fun
her parents were frightened to let her outside
she became so paranoid, when kids came, she would hide
but after she became a ghost, all fear faded away
She decided to live her ghost-hood, determined to play
She got bolder, bigger and better, with each fleeting year
Her parents could no longer stifle her, they were not near
She was all that now, glitzy and pretty, living her best life
Thrilled that she was more than cutting it, she renamed herself Knife
snow is exquisitely beautiful
when it is fresh, it dazzles like rhinestones
rivaling water droplets on a spider’s web
snow is pristine before we make steps in it
she brings a magic
replicated by nothing else
refreshing, enlightening, revitalizing
she changes the ambiance of air and field
nothing changes a day as fast as pristine white snow
What if life was a mystery of self?
Would you have it figured out by the time you left?
As we sit back, thinking everything is okay,
within the blink of an eye, your body starts to deteriorate.
"What do you think?" and "How do you feel?"
You pray to God, hoping it's not real.
You get a second opinion with a worrisome face.
The results were not good as you walked away.
It's a life-changing moment of no control.
You wanted to be here until you were old.
What happens now as you wait for your time?
You lie in bed, waiting to embrace the final divine.
Death was always the conclusion after you were born.
As you enter the light of eternity with "The Father and The Son."
The banks carved by Swift creek run quite deep
Each curve a line that's set to keep
Every laugh and frown from sun
Grow defined with passing
Days accumulate
Trees fall, banks cave
Frowns stay formed
Grow firm
Then
More
Storms come
Wash away
Collapses banks
Wider lines are drawn
Beauty, though is in the heart
Silver drifts change color
A radiance beams forth like sunlight
Aging brings out laughter lines running deep
The Shadow Person Changes
The Shadow Person, who loved math,
suddenly changed into the shape of a birdbath.
The silky-smooth, feathered
birch-dressed ravens so weathered
wouldn’t allow shattered her
to leave the path
of the indoor greenhouse built by a Sir,
and his wife who was a great osteopath.
My life's been a 'he's become a broken, bumpy ride.'
I am not sure how many trips I can abide.
While he comes, goes, leaves and slips from my side,
I daydream about a smooth, gentle tide.
It is from our depths we did always confide.
Now his ways seem as secrets the night hides.
I truly need for him to give me clues
about his friends, Moony Trends and Mangled Blues.
Both characters only recently showed
and both seem volatile enough to explode.
He reinforced the cellar door with sandbags
on the outside where yard air is so sour, I gag.
Now he wants to cement the cellar ceiling
and place a bed down there in case a malady
renders him contagious and in need of healing.
I never know what is happening or how the
words 'trust me' are but sad and maddening.
Why does he look to me for assurance
when he self-sources every disturbance?
He has developed such a worrisome act
with reasons that loom vague and inexact.
Seems his sanity is disappearing
and something catastrophic is nearing.
in the fifties I was an odd kind of beatnik.
I did not have a goatee; I was not Maynard G. Krebs
I was a hippie in the seventies, but not promiscuous.
But love, sweet love, I surely did believe in that.
And I was not crazy happy about the Vietnam War.
In the eighties, I heard my kind referred to as Bohemians.
We did things our way, not our parents; okay by me.
Now I a non-conformist, but most are who truly grow up.
Grow away, grow their own set of rules and values, right?
I will soon be old enough to be called eccentric.
Oh, I am there now?
Thank you my sweet.
At the drop of a hat,
just like that the calendar turns its last page, wearing thin.
Yet again, it begins.
The town stays the same yet everything’s changed
old hands start to wear new rings.
Years ago, you were born
wardrobe’s been worn
as one door closes, someone else walks in.
Yet again, it begins.
The sun leaves the sky but in the blink of an eye
it’s there again and you’re left questioning why…
children leave the swings for other things
and soon those children start to bare their own,
then face the world all alone.
That new house that becomes a home
with the back garden, now all overgrown
where you once slept, newly a teen
before everything you now have seen
and yet this is no dream.
That kid at school you knew so well
hears the echoes of wedding bells
but before you know it, there comes the rain
you watch them drift away in pain
and just like that, it starts all over again.
As the day creeps slowly into night
you clutch your pen with each word you write
but don’t forget to check the time
before today falls out of your sight.
I got old
memories and ghosts
did not age
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