April, 2022 17’s

 C’est La vie say the 

old fogies, it goes to show

you never can tell.

I care what others

think, but being creative

is my soulful right.

Faith is my Uber,

my ride to a bright future.

I think I’ll hop on.

What lies ahead, what

lies behind, both fine, but oh,

what lies within us.

Now, how can I be

the best possible person

who awakes in me?

I hear the doves sing

early every morning.

They’re saying, “still here.”

Abundance is not

something which I need pursue.

Just tuned into it.

Do not mess around.

Whatever you are doing,

play with all your heart.

My poetry spreads

at the rate it is meant to.

No publishers, please.

Love surely guides me,

as it surrounds and rules.

It is my lifeline.

I would rather find 

the truth than worry about

being right all day.

Sometimes it takes work

just to be a decent man.

Still, that is my aim.

Doing my best to

expect nothing. It helps me

not be unhappy.

My poems are stories.

They could be songs. Wouldn’t that

be a huge delight?

Today I know that

everything will be just fine,

since I am with you.

Mindfulness does not

have to be hard. Remember,

simply, to breathe…breathe.

I am listening,

with my whole heart, my being.

I am present now.

Glad to wake with one

decision for this moment,

to just be happy.

I release the things

which no longer fit my world,

still grateful for them.

I sit for awhile,

out back, with our old feline,

peace is possible.

I get to be me

today, so happy to be,

alive and at peace.

What is the one thing

I can do today to help?

I can practice peace.

My life’s just so good,

I recently heard that news,

needn’t sing the blues.

 I have all I need

for a happy, secure life.

This day is a gift.

I savor my good,

give thanks for my rich blessings.

Gratitude abounds.

Make me smile and laugh

until it hurts. Go ahead.

Try hard. I dare you.

Most days I wake up

thinking of distant friends, who

stay close in my heart.

When I think of some

community service, first

I think about home

Moving on

 Moving On, Slowly

Another Saturday,

knowing I have all I need,

moving slowly in my way,

moseying at the soft speed 

of kindness.

If I can only do

one tiny, loving thing,

just between me and you,

even if no one hears my heart sing,

I’ll still be moved to do it.

Doing my best to

not figure it all out too fast,

trusting that it’s true,

my present Good will last.

Now, where are my shoes?

The Last (blank)

 The Last Time

The last time I wrote,

in response to her note,

the one with the surprise ,

amazing to my eyes,

I realized that day

the Universe has its way,

to provide awe with a poke,

a kind of unexpected joke,

leaving me with a sigh,

merely saying my, my, my.

Sight

 Friendship

Do not believe in friendship

at first sight,

since early judgements

seldom turn out right.

It is abundantly clear,

if one would hold others dear,

there should be reasons why,

like food, music, art, fun,

appreciation of an ocean sky.

Lazing in meadows or

hiking through hills,

sensing it together,

as only Friends will,

experiencing the wonder

of sight and sound and smell, 

the beauty of old things,

some new stuff as well.

Remix of an earlier poem

 Following

My best suit isn’t one at all,

just a tee shirt for spring,

another for the fall,

each with different content,

if you get my meaning.

They generate some looks

in the stores where I walk,

meeting folks who read books,

get the double meanings,

which helps create some talk.

I’m not trying to pump up

my beliefs, nor be a

sociological guide,

I’m just dressing comfortably,

wearing my heart on sleeveless shirts,

with a little bit of pride.

Love

 

Love Is A Daily Choice

Love is everywhere,

in the coffee in the morning,

in the movies that we share,

in the songs that others sing.

True-Love survived

the upsets, the rages,

sees us steadfastly 

through our now golden ages.

Breathing in with love,

I absorb your pain, 

exhaling,

I send you love, again

Love is in the air,

in odd spaces so it seems,

in the cat for whom we care,

in our wishes, hopes and dreams.

Blessings and grace,

love overflowing,

joy in our place,

our happiness showing.

Still learning

 Life Lessons 

We are all

just passing through.

What’s now so old

was once quite new.

Things rise and fall,

they come and go.

Such impermanence

is just what’s so.

This is a happy thing,

not one of futility.

It can bring joy to one

practicing radical humility.

So pleased now to awaken,

discovering the right stuff,

content in learning

how much is enough.

Response

 Reception

I have strength,

the power to choose 

how I respond every time,

sowing loans, not alms.

planting hope in the world,

one peace at a time.

Needn’t matter what stress

I might appear to be under,

I can collapse my ego,

blow down all illusion,

peace freed asunder.

Life is as it is,

some pain, more fun,

no need to create delusion,

peace in both snow and sun.

Heroes

 Super Hero

Walking through this life,

it is possible to tread softly,

being a hero to the earth,

behaving harmlessly,

practicing loving care, 

with sympathy and humility,

even in the face of opposition.

It is possible to be strong,

a healer more than not,

smothering anger, hate and bitterness 

with charity, compassion, tenderness.

What one does to rejoice 

in each day matters,

more than any of us can know.

So, look in the mirror, my heroes,

see what’s super about you,

the lightworker who we see.

Think about the novitiate,

tending to the mountaintop abbey,

as she creates peace in the world

while simply sweeping the walkways

with a pure heart.

Conspiracy

 Conspiracy Theory 

A thankful heart

gives birth

to at least

a thousand

beneficial joys.

It might be rewarding 

to sit quietly,

simply watch

where the mind wanders.

It can be amazing.

It could be noticed 

that teachers change

our world, and

we should conspire

to aid and abet them.

Organism

 It’s The Bees’ Knees

Over time, I have become

like an elder, forager bee,

in that I leave home daily to

look for the goods,

but I always return.

Like those bees,

we elders die in larger numbers,

but we don’t have to

slow down completely.

Ninety-nine percent

of forager bees

die away from the hive.

This isn’t just bad luck,

more of a trait, an instinct,

Natural Law, the way things are.

Maybe they know the end is near, 

so they seek one final adventure.

It’s not suggested here

that I run into the forest,

look for a patch of moss,

lie down, close my eyes,

smelling the pine cones.

Nope, not ready for that,

but the adventure seeking part, yes.

Better that than sitting at home,

bugging my honey with

tales of what if.

Sound

 Sounds 

There’s much to be learned at this age.

A little loss of sound can be a blessing,

helps with quiet contemplation,

the self-absorption usually reserved for youth.

At times, such meditation can be unsettling,

perhaps after a night of unsound sleep.

I will wonder when it happened,

that all my friends got old,

while movie sound went bad,

mirrors became foggy,

and passings came so often.

I wonder when it happened.

It’s been a lengthy journey,

spanning my entire life, actually,

dwelling on the meaning of it all,

often listening only to the sound of my feet.

A few times, I have arrived at wisdom,

but the next morning, I arrived at it again.

I once learned one true thing,

attending a monastic retreat,

where the sound of chanting monks

filled my heart, teaching me that

when I would have music, 

I need make only one simple sound.

Six words

 Simply Sundays 

One of my ministers,

a spiritual guide,

read to the congregation the contents

of one of my pumped-up poems,

the one suited to Memorial Day,

without me at her side.

I send her many works,

but with the plague and all,

we don’t actually meet,

but I watch her Sunday messages online,

appreciate the content while 

staring wistfully at my empty front row seat.

I like it that she likes

what spills from my pen,

laugh when she reminds 

the congregants who I am, 

the only one who sits in the front row,

the Marine, the elderly gentleman.

I miss being with those folks,

my comrades in Spirit,

as I watch the services,

double up with the recording,

grateful the download allows me to hear it.

What’s there or not there

 The day 19 prompt of poetry month is to write of “what’s there or not there”. 

Mine is a Triolet, a fun poetry form with which to play….

There (or not)

What’s there or what’s coming, who can know.

there might be some bad, maybe some good.

Perhaps we’ll make of it as much as we should.

What’s there or what’s coming, who can know,

some rays of sunshine, some days of snow.

We’ll bask or we’ll shovel as well as we could,

preferring the good days, like anyone would.

What’s there or what’s coming, who can know.

A Hard Week

 Not so hard

It is hard to believe

in the good when

the news point elsewhere,

to a world of war, violence,

and not enough care.

But really, I woke up

mostly feeling okay, 

no bombs dropping from above,

it could be a fine day,

might as well choose love.

The only monster that I really fear

is sometimes the one I see in the mirror,

when I’m trying to control life,

eliminate all fear, worry, strife,

arrange the future, oh so serious,

have control (ha!) isn’t that curious.

It would be laughable,

when I can’t wait,

feel the need to anticipate.

The only result I can control

is really nothing, nothing at all,

as hard as I try to see what will be,

the gods just look down and laugh at me.

I can only cherish my life,

expect goodness every day,

Make the most of it all,

whatever comes my way.

There’s no place nor time

as far as I can see,

peace power cannot transform,

and peace begins with me.

Mad

 Mad Love

Been working on my weight

for about 65 years now,

and so far,

I’ve lost 1500 pounds. Wow!

Walked a lot,

worked both sides of the street.

Read a lot,

a thousand diets I did meet.

Ate a lot of tofu,

but that gummed up the works, too.

Drank a lot of water,

but that mostly made me friends with the loo.

Worked out, worked off, worked through dinner,

still a struggle, still not much thinner.

Made every effort, every endeavor, exerted like mad,

shot the works with what I had.

Nothing worked, so I quit.

I learned to love me as I am, and found it a good fit.

Touch

 A Friendly Touch

When I wake, I do so

with gratitude,

in touch with Spirit,

aware of my purpose,

my aim for this life.

I give thanks for friends,

for how they all enrich me.

I treasure their love,

their care while in strife.

Can’t say I feel isolated,

lonely, alone,

not even during my

chemo quarantine, 

nor the recent plague,

there was always the phone.

The mail has been lighter,

junk mail withdrawal.

It’s the economy, some say,

Wall Street caused it all. 

Some of my business

I do on the ‘Net,

a small stash of stamps,

a few envelopes, yet,

there are some things

requiring a physical touch, 

some books, magazines, 

beyond that not much.

Still, I can’t imagine

a life without friends,

absent them there’d be no me.

Who I am, certainly,

would be nothing to see.

Much of me reflects them,

and I don’t ask them for much,

just be kind, do good works,

love each other, keep in touch.