I Shine!

I’m not dead.

Not by a long shot.

With wry smile you call me “old man”,

and I smile right back at you.

For the light is mine,

and with rainbows,

I shine!

Like the leaves on the trees,

we each have our seasons,

First, a bud so green and bright,

we reach to harvest the light.

And what a harvest is mine!

My granaries overflow,

with bounteous harvest.

So as my summer radiance unwinds,

I do shine!

With all the colors of the rainbow

I leave the green behind.

Yet,

I am not dead.

Not by a long shot.

You may call me “old man”,

and I don’t mind,

My cup of wine does overflow.

And I become a rainbow,

I shine!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red Poppy

Forever embalmed in the corner of my mind

is a red poppy flower,

bending with the breeze.

It was your favorite flower.

I remember how happy you were

when they were in your garden,

and you would point them out to me often.

But the poppies began to disappear

year after year,

until they weren’t in your garden anymore.

I remember how sad you were

and how you asked me to plant more,

in the fallow soil that remained.

But the years crept slowly by

and the garden did lie,

fallow.

Until one day the men came

and ripped the garden out of the earth,

and covered it with sidewalk concrete.

I remember the poppies

so red and soft in the summer sun,

they lie embalmed in my minds eye.

But the garden is a memory

the poppies have died,

and no height of my desire

shall ever give a chance

to plant those poppies again.

Morning Roast

This gazebo is one of my favorite places.

By the lakeside, so quiet and peaceful – like a quiet song to match the calm within me.

I watch the steam dance from my mug,

and the dew borne mists swirl and rise from the grass under the morning sun.

Out on the water a small boat drifts quietly by,

a father and son cast their shimmering fishing lines into the still waters.

I wonder at this. The invisible lines that tie the two…

Do they even know they cast lines into each other’s hearts?

The water bugs skip across the watery mirror,

and every so often there is a little ripple where the fish feast.

I long for more moments such as these,

where stillness prevails, and the nature of things is revealed,

to those who have the eyes to see.

Right Track

A split in the road,

will often surprise us,

which way we go is an answer inside us.

No one will say whether the track is wrong,

but only the track they think you belong.

So tune them out,

and hear your voice,

and make your choice — wisely.

For while there many tracks to take

we must live with whatever tracks we take.

Some will lead to nowhere fast,

and others go on and really last.

But heed my advice:

The power is in choosing,

not whether the way has you winning or losing.

The choice isn’t key,

but that you chose to be free.

Don’t stay because it’s where you are.

Don’t go because you’ve gone to far.

Don’t jump the caboose because you can’t pay the fare.

Don’t stay in your seat because you are wanted there.

Choose the way with your heart not your head,

Follow your voice,

and be free instead.

Stream of Thought

There is a place between nightmares and dreams, where my thoughts flow just like a stream.

It is there you will find me, oftentimes.

Making rhymes – killing time.

Making plans, and neural connections.

Forgetting some things and inserting corrections.

My mind will wander, from poetry to prose, from family to friends, to my garden rose.

But sadly as my thoughts go here and there,

I’m really just sitting in my chair.

Wasting away, in the soup of my dreams,

I’m really doing nothing beside the stream.

So friend – come over and take me away,

out of my chair, and into the day.

Let’s live in the moment for that’s what I need,

the world that is real is special indeed.

Dare to be Different

Dare to be different,

dare to be proud.

Stand up and be counted,

from within the crowd.

Don’t worry what they think,

or what they say.

What they think,

is pointless anyway.

Stand up and be heard,

from within the herd.

Tell us your story,

with your own special words.

Who are you really,

are you like the rest?

Are you fighting and scrambling,

to be the best?

It’s life’s biggest test,

are you like the rest?

Don’t you waver,

give us your flavor!

By sharing your truth,

you do us a favor!

Life is short,

and often we get lost.

When we hide who we are,

there is a cost.

We lose who we are,

and we lose the test.

Just to please the crowd,

we hide our best.

So stand and be heard,

from within the crowd.

Show us your colors,

and make us proud.

New Memorial

Oft seen riding the wind,

the old red, white and blue

is a reminder to me.

To be thankful,

and celebrate the freedom

given us by our forebears.

Through their sacrifice,

love, courage, and loss of life

so many brave people gave their best to us.

So I bow my head,

and whisper a silent prayer

of gratitude for those brave souls.

But then I raise my eyes,

heavenward and to the skies

and proclaim aloud from within my heart:

“I pray someday we can have a new Memorial Day,

where we remember the death of all war

but do not mourn it as we have our friends.”

Dream Fishing

Take the line and cast it in,

and wait.

and reel.

and wait some more.

Take the line and cast it in,

and wait.

and reel,

and wait…

you have one!

Reel it in,

but not too fast!

Reel it in,

but not too slow!

Reel it in,

that fish you’ve caught

or that slippery fish will go!

Don’t give up,

the fight is on!

Don’t panic,

you’ve nearly won!

Pull that fish,

from the shallow stream,

and hold it with pride,

you caught your dream!

 

 

 

Spilled Wine

There lived on a idyllic peninsula, a man who possessed of many things, and so was possessed by them. From his opulent home above the vineyards he would look down through the great windows of glass, and see the city far beneath his hillside. His wealth was much, and most of it was an inheritance from his father, who worked hard to provide for his son. Yet the son was of the mind he was a great man, because of his wealth and because the city was so far below him. Seeing that the day was good, the man decided to go to the city and sit for a fine meal and fine wine. So he put on his finest clothes and drove his finest car down the long winding path of his vineyards to the city below.

On this same day, a young woman woke in her single room apartment and whispered a silent prayer that the tips would be good. She looked out her only window and saw through the buildings the smallest glimpse of the idyllic peninsula and its vineyards. Seeing that the day was good, the young woman prepared to go to work in the city serving fine meals and fine wine. So she put on her worn out uniform and walked in her flat shoes down the sidewalks to the restaurant nearby.

Later that same day she came upon the man at his table and tried her best to smile to him, in his great repose. He did not smile in return, but told her to refill his wine. Obliging the man, she lifted the wine bottle and began to pour. As the wine glass filled she heard another patron behind her call out impatiently.  Turning her head to beg their patience, she bumped the glass with the wine bottle, sending all of its ruby red contents splashing upon the man and his finest clothes. The man in his rage cursed the young woman for her incompetence, called for the chef and cursed him as well, before taking to his feet and leaving.

That night, the young woman went home with few tips, and tears upon her face as she was no longer welcome to serve at that restaurant anymore. She returned to her small apartment and crumpled into her bed, sobbing as the moonlight shone through the lonely window.

Upon the idyllic peninsula, the man quite forgot the incident as he sipped his wine in his favorite chair. He was perturbed that he had one of his favorite shirts ruined, but resolved to go down to the city tomorrow to buy two more.

Cruel

Life will be kind in it’s cruelty

and cruel in it’s kindness.

It will give heightened touch

and the mask of blindness.

Sweetest roses,

and sharpest thorns.

Softest fur,

and sharpest horns.

Life will draw blood,

but only to leave us scars.

Memories of where we have been,

and memories of who we are.

Memories of dreams

and memories of dreams lost.

Of hopes that are fragile

and then recklessly tossed.

Life will draw tears

and challenge our fears.

With nights of sadness,

where shadows bring madness,

and the pallor of night

takes all from our sight.

Life will give beauty,

and wither it before our eyes.

It will take purity and kindness,

and fill it with lies.

It make a smile

twist into a frown.

After all:

Life will be kind,

in it’s cruelty.

And cruel,

in it’s kindness.

Life will leave scars

to remind us,

of those things behind us.