Voice of Reason

I tell lots of stories, 

that’s for sure,

some gay, a few with worries,

all truthfully pure.

In the end, there is only one choice.

I write because I have a voice.

I write for the pure expression of life,

joys and fears and hopes, the dreams thereof,

the joy, the pain, the ease, the strife,

surely about agape love,

that golden voice from far above.

I write, inspired by the writing of others,

by Veterans, my sisters and brothers,

by the natural world in constant motion,

by speechless days at the ocean,

by the sun and the moon,

their setting and rising,

their own song, their tune,

sometimes surprising.

As age has flattened me,

as humility has claimed me,

I now write more of my Spiritual mission,

about oneness, unity and transition,

what some call God, unearthly cognition.

Not knowing what tomorrow will bring,

I will write about it, in my own voice,

allow my heart and soul to sing,

reminded there’s no other choice.

One Deserving Soul

My body is really nothing

more than thought itself,

and everything is temporary,

as I pass between two eternities.

It’s helpful to see that as the Truth.

I let that be enough for me.

I won’t be so hard on myself.

I deserve to be forgiven, pain-free,

knowing life is wild, wonderful,

completely in process.

As I seek healing 

thoughts within myself 

I know that Something Good 

is about to happen, even as 

my peace requires me to look within,

surrendering all drama.

I am calm and realize

I’ve done all that I can do.

Today is so very special. 

New Beginnings always are.

I have learned that there is

but one answer...be still.

I learned to live with pain,

some of it complete.

I learned to forgive myself,

for some things I thought unpardonable.

If I could transfer this learning,

would that help Make America Love Again?

Memorial Day 2020

Memorial Day, a few moments 

dedicated to the dead, those who fell,

long before their natural closing hour.

Far too many have fallen,

many for the sake of the survivors,

all for concepts too oft forgotten.

Now it’s the duty of the living

to remember the departed,

to feel blessed by their farewell gift.

Beyond mere words, we can honor them

by nurturing their families,

by caring for their comrades, 

by cherishing their memories.

Our most useful, worthy, loving duty

is to never forget,

despite war continuing fresh upon us,

even as the nation seeks to heal,

steadfastly striving for peace,

never overlooking the gifts of the fallen.

I know who they were,

every sister, every brother,

mortars for breakfast, rockets at lunchtime,

rifle fire by dinner, artillery around nine.

Due to them, I am strong,

because of them, I belong,

owing to their courageous soul,

I am left complete and whole.

We breathed the same air,

shared the same care,

fought in the same place.

Thanks to them, I continue,

with dreams of love,

with tools of hope,

with weapons of Grace.

Education

Elders learn by fall
that summer’s crises soon end.
Peace will come with calm.

Little Things

The challenge is to think outside the virus and write of significant little things in our lives. Here’s two.

A Simple Thing

I grew up in a little country village,

surrounded by God. 

It just looked like 

several small town taverns.

Taking My a Time

There’s this little book,

the title is Zen Seeds,

given to me by a monk,

and it’s all anyone needs.

She told me not to rush,

to not be too greedy,

just a page now and then,

no need to feel needy.

So I read that book,

every word, some with tears,

all one-hundred-plus pages.

It took me nine years

Birthday 2020

I sometimes wish you joy, or peace, or hope. 

I always wish you Love,

and not just on your birthday, nope,

see, we’re always hand-in-glove.

These older birthdays might

lead one to cop an attitude,

but really, the thing most right

is to live this day with gratitude.

Even though we can’t sit on the sand,

we can still observe the tide,

we can hit the beach by car, and

think of where we’ll ride.

We’ll eat some pricey food,

and I filled the tank with gas,

so we can elevate our mood,

knowing all dislikes will pass.

You’ll soon be your old self,

happily tending to your head,

your help will come off the shelf,

that gray returned to red!

Hump Day Moon Haiku

When the moon was hung,
what was left for Him to do?
Oh, look, a rainbow.

How We Doing?

A is for adjust,

we know we truly must.

B is for bless,

learning we can live with less.

C is for create,

to equality we dedicate.

D is for discernment,

finding good in our internment.

E is for empathy,

that which makes us us, you and me.

F is for science facts,

how we decide to act.

G is for our good,

it’s source is understood.

H is for how we hang,

as virtual church bells clang.

I is for insight,

as we continue this fight.

J is for joy,

and we really need it now, oh boy.

K is for kind,

keeping a compassionate mind.

L is for love,

and the feelings which stem thereof.

M is for the Mind

of God in human kind.

N is for nothing more to say,

halfway is all I have today.

Mother’s Day

I occasionally hear 

the voice of my mother, 

gone now for over sixty years.

If my mother had lived,

she’d be 100 today,

and who could know how

she’d see the world..

If my mother had lived,

would she be in awe,

or, like most of us,

take what we have for granted?

If my mother had lived,

she’d have seen so many 

wondrous things, like

artificial hearts and transplants,

both of which might have

helped her live.

But my mother did not live,

and she missed so much,

like her son, living

in a lovely life,

with a wonderful wife,

not fully free of strife,

but free now, at peace,

mostly happy, often joyful,

always in prayer,

knowing his mother did live on,

in a different form,

in a perfect realm.

Results

Some sad souls find their words

through one drink or a dozen,

stirred into a pitcher of bitterness, 

or dug from a field of anger and resentment,

sown by sorrow, raked with regret,

fertilized by vengeance for lost love, 

ironically giving birth to beautiful blossoms.

Others find beauty in everything,

in their children, of course,

and family, friends, and familiars,

but also in the catalog of daily living,

in the exotic rose,

the mundane marigold,

the common fern, 

predictably giving birth to beautiful blossoms.

Many scribes have a sadness muse,

prompting great works

of gain followed by loss,

replete in their integrity,

they open their veins,

water their seedlings with blood,

painfully giving birth to beautiful blossoms.

All writers know, however,

that regardless the source,

no matter the topic,

the truth shall come out,

honesty will triumph,

hard work will trump artlessness,

every time, in every piece,

for each and everyone,

each wonder-filled heart,

generously giving birth to beautiful blossoms.

All You Need

In comparison

to eternity,

this life 

certainly is short.

I recall becoming 

an old man, but

I thought it

would take longer.

Along the way,

I’ve learned 

I can choose 

anger, fear, hate, 

or I can choose love.

It’s not complicated.

I won’t surrender 

my peace, 

not even to those

I can not control.

I now live

the life I chose,

With friendship and Spirit

at its center.

Compassion and generosity

seem to work

just fine for me.

I’m aiming mostly

for calm, happy, joyful,

not cool, rich or desirable.

Breathing in with grace,

exhaling with gratitude.

Life is just too good.

Unattached

Can’t say I feel isolated,

lonely, alone.

Not with Zoom and Skype,

and there’s always the phone.

The mail has been lighter,

junk mail withdrawal.

It’s the economy, some say,

Wall Street caused it all. 

Most of my business

I do on the ‘Net,

no stash of stamps,

no envelopes, yet,

there are some things

requiring a physical touch, 

some books, magazines, 

but really not much.

Still, I can’t imagine

a life without friends,

absent them there’d be no me.

My profile, certainly,

would be nothing to see.

Much of me reflects them,

of this I am sure.

Solo, I might go on, but

in no way as pure.

Still the Truth (a re-mix)

I seldom look back,

thinking about change,

those things in my life

I might rearrange.

At this point, I’ve earned

my Old Man attitude.

When I pray now, they’re 

always prayers of gratitude.

I consciously sit, having

arrived at my elderly station,

look at my life with 

awe and appreciation.

When beautiful things 

approach, pass on by,

I give them a smile,

a satisfied sigh.

Our Golden Hour

We might drink of the cup of peace,

in this maelstrom of fear, lies unfurled.

We could do so simply, with ease,

disregarding the thoughts now hurled,

drink to peaceful change in the world.

Some say there’s too much fear there,

that we have no chance,

no hope, not a prayer.

I say we can, in fact we must, please.

We might drink of the cup of peace.

Some say we have to do something,

fight back in this frightened world.

I say we should all

find an anchor

in this maelstrom of fear, lies unfurled.

Some say there’s too much anger,

too much worry and danger,

too many obstacles to peace.

I say, of course it looks impossible, but

we could do so simply, with ease.

Some say we answer in kind,

those who seem out of their minds.

I say just let them rant,

with their nevers, their nonsense, their can’ts,

disregarding the thoughts now hurled.

Some say there is no answer,

no sane response which flows.

I say simply put nothing on the bar

but your elbows,

drink to peaceful change in the world.

Feeding Time

There are three

bird feeders in our yard,

none seed, all humming.

There are many

colors of customers for our largesse,

none bland, all brilliant.

There are three 

large trees across the road,

none boring, all home to a massive hawk.

Trying to Recall

When was it, at which point,

that I started looking back,

trying to remember?

When was it, I wonder,

that bananas lost their flavor?

Though I think, lately, they found it.

When did it happen,

that all my friends got old?

Not all of them, but most.

When was it, exactly,

that running became impossible?

And, recently, walking sort of hurts.

When did it happen,

that all my friends got old?

Not all of them, but most.

When were the years

that my parents died? 

I think I’ve now outlived them.

When did we stop traveling,

was it after that long September?

Maybe we live now where we used to go.

Totally Rad-io

I was fresh from a fitting

of expensive ear plugs,

where a trainee of twenty

put a pause to my huh?’s,

My wonderful wife

beamed broadly to see

the microphoned mini's

of total technology.

The nice news is every

wise word I now hear,

the bad luck is it also

adds inane thoughts, oh dear.

Self Love

Only we ourselves can free us,

as no one else can be us.

What we think, we’ll surely see,

assume it is and it will be.

Sending love into the world, to all today,

letting thoughts of darkness slip away,

we lovingly, faithfully praise,

creatively, honestly bless.

Good shines through the murky haze,

as we smile, receive. No more, no less.

We prepare not to die,

but rather more to live, to grow,

as life and death in the same place lie,

view our poems, what they give, for us to know.

We forgive ourselves for any doubt,

knowing Spirit is within, without.

We are one with God, 

come what may.

It’s all ours to choose,

this and every day.