After Shel Silverstein

 Dear One…

If it was mine, I’d give you the world,

everything in great shape, shiny, like new,

and you’d probably like that,

appreciate it too.

But I own so little of it,

not much of it mine,

so I wish to give instead,

a little valentine.

What’s important to know,

a gift beyond measure,

the older I grow,

it’s you I’ll most treasure.

I have an old  man’s body,

but I know this:

there’s a happy child deep inside,

full of joy, full of bliss.

Now you might say how

can I be so sure, 

when I can’t see it,

not even with the best  mirror.

Well, I might just answer

that I know, this 

the same way I know 

how magically you’ll grow.

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.

My older birthdays might

lead me to cop an attitude,

but really, the thing I find most right

is to live each day with gratitude.

I give thanks for the friends I meet,

also for the foods I eat,

every liquid drop, each seed,

and thank you for the love I need.

Thank you for our lovely beach,

the ocean so within our reach.

Even though it’s not the norm,

I appreciate the occasional storm.

I’m thankful that it comes to mind 

to smile a lot, and to be kind.

It’s great to see, with honest clarity,

I care enough for flawless charity,

and I’m reminded every day

I’m grateful that I’ve learned to pray,

since it’s the perfect place to start,

to ease my soul, to warm my heart.

I give thanks for the clean, fresh air,

and sun and laughter, quite the pair.

I have known a deeper sorrow,

still have hope for your tomorrow,

like to walk without a care,

simply strolling, being there.

I’m not rich but I don’t mind,

knowing I can still be kind,

see other ways to prove my worth,

still have hope for Mother Earth.

I’m getting older, there is that,

yet I can still be one cool cat.

How will your future be measured?

What will you think of as treasured?

Maybe leave behind regrets,

be okay with little secrets,

be comfy, come to grips,

with life’s quite frequent slips,

lose the need for lots of stuff,

let others’ joy give you enough.

Always return your shopping cart.

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

Write to authors when it’s you they touch,

it inspires them, means so much.

And when you get older - this is wild,

get on your knees when you speak to a child.

More Weather

 Weather or Not

We were young, then,

living above the weather,

only a few thousand feet up,

looking down on the Santa Rosa plain.

It was our first mortgaged home,

three loans and a garden.

We needed that garden,

the food it provided,

fresh, dried, canned, frozen,

whatever it took.

Didn’t even have a real shovel,

only a spade,

with a lot of rocky adobe to turn,

but it was worth it,

losing weight, 

getting into farm boy shape,

appreciating both sun and rain,

no time to complain,

not picking the corn until

the water was boiling.

It was my third garden,

the first with my mom after WWII,

the second with my friend Tim,

small but bountiful, and

we learned a lot.

Getting close to 80 now, 

not much rain here,

but a lot of sun.

Don’t know if I could 

do it all again,

but I’d like to try.

Weather

 

Rain, Rain, Come Today

We live in America’s Finest City,

so it's really quite a pity,

that to our couch we tether

when we get a little weather.

Nonetheless, it would be nice

to have some droplets (never ice).

Understand, I'm not complaining,

I'd just prefer it to be raining.

For months we’ve been imploring

for rain, please God, let it be pouring,

when in my living room’s safe mooring

I can be reading, writing, snoring.

Hoping for rain in my still mind,

wishing I would need to hide,

knowing I would be just fine,

dry and comfy deep inside.

Simplicity

 Simpler Times (for me)

Not a Luddite, certainly, but

still overwhelmed and

even a little annoyed by

the world of

Netflix, Prime, Hulu,

and all the other 

five-dollar-a-month

time sappers.

My youth was long ago,

but I still remember 

and appreciate 

my little white AM radio,

the one which brought me

home team sports and

a Chicagoan who read poetry 

late at night, while I hid 

under the covers,

pretending to be asleep.

Life was so much simpler,

less complex, easier for me.

But of course, there was also polio,

and there were lynchings,

the back of the bus for black people,

corsets for women,

closets for gays.

All that, but only one brand of corn flakes.

Simplicity carries a price tag.

Haiku

 I write, read, rewrite,

uneasy until aha,

a flower appears.

My heart

 Soul

She has a perfect

sense of style,

lifting me and my

faded pants and

tee-shirts up 

from blandness.

She has an acute

sense of taste,

precise and never faulty,

keeping me and my

cooking mistakes away

from matricide.

She has a demanding

sense of honesty,

for others, for herself,

keeping me and my fears

in check, moving ever bravely

toward the truth.

Synchronicity

 I must share some of my life this week. It is too grand to keep to myself.

I have a dear  friend who used to be Maxine but is now Reverend Master Serena, a monk at Shasta Abbey, up north. I have not seen her in 22 years, but I mention her every day, and write her once a year, as our birthday month approaches. This year, I took two weeks to write my letter, mixed in with listening to her Dharma talks on the abbey’s website, which now also has a YouTube channel, so I get to see her as well. I went off to the mailbox a few days ago to send the letter, arrived home to find our mail had been delivered and it was a card from her. Great timing, yes, but there’s more. She told me that she had spent a fortnight at their retreat house recently and went online to buy some used books to take with her. When they came, out of one of the books dropped a business card of mine from my consulting days, from 2000. She sent me the card with the same amount of awe that I had, the Universe never failing to surprise. The next day, I was in a store I had not planned to be at , wearing a mask that says Wisconsin Badgers, and a random guy asked if that’s my home. I told him it was until I got smarter and moved to California in the 70’s, asked where he was from, and found we both grew up in the same tiny town, ages and years apart, but his high school teachers were my old friends. I decided then to go to Trader Joe’s, a place I never go on a busy day, but only if a parking spot was available, and of course one opened up just as I arrived. I grabbed my purchase and had my choice of four open checkout lanes, went to one with a clerk named Amber, who saw my mask and asked again about Wisconsin. She was a tender young’n, but told me she grew up right next door to my hometown. I started to tell her about the guy from the other store, but her boss was frowning a bit, so I told the boss woman that it was a good story and she calmed. She too had to smile at the miracle of it all. Fun, huh?

A poem for Stacey

 A Purple Poem

So tell me what you’ll do now 

with your wonderful life,

you know it well,

the perfect one with all the wow.

So tell me what you’ll do soon,

with friends and family

you know so well,

stay home or rocket to the moon?

So tell me what you’ll next improve

with body, mind, spirit,

you know the spell,

keep moving, smiling, in the groove.

So tell me what’s due at fun o’clock,

with happiness, pleasure, joy,

you know how to tell,

you’re Stacey and you really rock.

Playing with a full deck

 This week we are invited to think of a deck of cards and choose the suit which will lead to our poems. I know the one which ever suits me, as I am always playing a game of Hearts.

Mid-summer

Our friends back east are very clear

about what matters, what is dear;

it’s family, and friends who matter so,

kept close at hand, in hearts, so near.

But the humidity’s too high, this I know.

I have promised no sweating, not ever, no.

I have rays to catch, snowbirds to tease,

I have rays to catch, a tan to show.

We’ve grown accustomed to the sun,

we feel entitled, everyone.

The nights, while cooler, still hold their cheer,

no holding back the mid-year fun.

This city mine, for a decade now

is making its most seasoned bow

to guests and locals, everyone,

its sandy beaches and sunshine, wow.

😎

Late Summer, Early Fall

When old age arrives,

every body’s in the same boat.

Not so our hearts.

Can’t see what’s next,

but I’m eager to trade

history for mystery.

Every day, I am

invited to give and forgive.

I like this.

Breathing in, I see

I am living in Grace.

Breathing out, I’m grateful.

😇

Autumn of My Years

A thought arises, lingers not, departs,

as our summer too soon becomes the fall.

This is true in writing, in all the arts.

A thought arises, lingers not, departs.

We must soon act on what is in our hearts,

lest we would forget, lose our soul, our all.

A thought arises, lingers not, departs,

as our summer too soon becomes the fall.

🥰

Heart

 No Doubt, A Hexaverse

Go slowly, be kind,

for everyone you

meet is fighting a

hard battle, struggling

between heart and mind.

There are two ways

in this world that

we can know things,

heart, and heart-mind.

Each moment,

we get to

start out fresh.

Hoping,

Trusting.

Self.

No Doubt 2

Nothing strange about it,

not luck at all,

even though she,

at the start,

took my name,

it wasn’t until after

I stole her heart.

No Doubt 3

Every breath, heartbeat 

and word  that I express 

is a prayer.

Everyday I simply do my best,

show up, aim to be present,

try to open my heart.

When I am successful,

I also open my ears, 

so please continue.

Grateful for everyone,

I opt for civility,

find it to be

a shortcut to happiness.

When I can see 

the perfection in others,

perhaps they’ll recognize it too.

Now, even my alone time is

for everyone’s well being.