Annoyances

 

Small Annoyances

Cats

must think that

newspapers,

magazines

and IPads

are hazardous

to

our

health.

In themselves,

cats

are never annoying.

They.

Just.

Do.

What.

They.

Do.

Cats don’t care.

However,

whatever the question,

cats

are always the answer.

Sounds

 

Rain

Overnight rain falls 

with its own unique sound, 

blankets the dryness

of yesterday’s ground.

I see and smell it

more than hear,

childhood memories receptive,

some of them messy,

a few so beautiful,

knowing that beauty is deceptive,

even the strange,

not-quite-morning light,

which God has arranged

to begin my day.

Common Sense

After a somewhat lengthy journey,

spanning my entire life, actually,

listening only to the sound of my feet,

I think I have arrived at wisdom.

Tomorrow morning, perhaps

I’ll  arrive at it again.

It’s a Bob Dylan World

It’s not the traveling as such,

nor the destination too much,

at this age I seldom care

other than memories I share.

Lemonade days, watermelon nights,

backyard cookouts, seaside delights.

Fireworks explosions, root beer floats,

Sun tan lotions, no need for coats.

Traveling the nation, frilly light tops,

happy staycation, beach time flip-flops.

Prizes from fairs, carnivals after dark.

seasonal pears, Shakespeare in the park.

Thundering skies, sandal-free feet, 

bright fireflies, ice cream so sweet.

Hopscotch skip, travel in time,

family road trip, poem some new rhyme.

Swim in a pool, bonfires with friends,

try to stay cool, the heat never ends.

Relax on a swing, just yakking and lazing,

to America we sing, nighttime stargazing.

Mad games of croquet, telling white lies,

oh how we did play, my how time flies.

The Gift of Life

 

Who Can Tell

Our life is not a dream,

there’s no magic in our art,

though to others it might so seem,

we are simply playing our part.

It’s no accident, no stroke of luck,

we do not bumble,

seldom stumble,

satisfied each day

with what life has to say.

Even if our life were a dream,

it would need to be embraced,

but no golden palace, no silver hill,

no white elephant need be chased.

Our life, like our love,

though not a dream, remains

unfathomable, indescribable,

it simply sits there, glowing.

We cannot forever keep it,

so for a short while, we 

bathe in its perplexity,

revel in its complexity,

be content in never knowing.

Satisfaction

 

Speak softly, carry

a big agenda: 

peace, calm, empathy

and undemanding love.

Make me smile and

laugh until it hurts.

Go ahead, I dare you.

Be a little wild,

use your imagination,

avoid snark to snark combat.

I Reserve the Right

 

I want to be 

seduced by beauty, 

have it look a lot 

like truth.

Not too quickly,

not all at once.

I want to let it 

come at me slowly,

give me time 

to get a feel for it,

before I bid it flow

in my material world.

As with my

experience of Grace,

I want to be primed,

relaxed in readiness,

wishing more for wisdom

than for intelligence,

praying more for peace

than for just a good time.

No Poem Is An Accident

 

He knew it was best to

follow his gut when it

came to his scribblings,

to let his stomach tell him

the truth, when his desire for

approval tried to

lead him astray.

He knew that every poem 

was born from a need,

each one a mystery,

yet all of them on a mission,

a fight, or flight,

to reveal his life.

He knew it best to

follow his gut, but

those damn buttons,

send and post and share, 

so easy to push, so easy to

lead him into temptation,

when he knew it best to

follow his gut, to

attend to his heart.