October 2022 17’s

 Writing each morning,

the narration of my life.

No one else’s, mine.

It is helpful to 

regularly regard one’s 

spiritual self.

It is possible 

to become even younger 

at a ripe old age.

Even in advanced age,

one might be more be-coming.

I really like this.

A day to atone,

clean up past mistakes, accept

the same from others.

When I get angry,

I think, it’s only a thought.

A thought can be changed.

The wonders of life

always are available,

ever around us.

Space is limitless.

So too are my hopes and dreams,

even at this age.

I don’t harm folks, but

even as an man of peace, 

sometimes I kill time.

When compassionate,

I see truth, even through wounds.

In that way I heal.

When I want to have

a happy ending, I don’t 

stop until it’s mine.

Not concerned as much

with my lifespan, more in tune

now with my healthspan.

How often do I 

need to repeat life’s lessons 

before they sink in?

I’m mostly at peace 

with my past. Present moment,

wonderful moment. 

I’d like a sharp mind,

in a resilient body,

with a balanced mood.

My needs:

Something to do.

Someone to love.

Something to look forward to.

A leap of faith is

not a jump from A to B.

It’s a jump from A.

Between who I’ve been

and who I’m still becoming,

there’s still work to do.

When I tell people 

what I want, someone always

helps me get to it.

I’m for whatever 

supports friendship, peace and life,

mine, yours, all of life.

A nice thought to start…

What good can I do today?

Every day’s perfect.

Make friends with silence.

Buddhism for beginners:

amazing stillness.

There is more goodness

in the world than one might think,

only it’s modest.

It’s good to have goals

but action’s better, or else

it’s only

Some people fear bees.

That isn’t the case for me.

I think they’re heroes.

Life is not just the

way it is. It’s more likely

just the way I am.

Make yourself happy 

by giving some of yourself.

Share what good you have.

Poet out again 

with You-Know-Who, our Thursday 

lunch date, big wahoo!

Happiness in small

things, better than seeking a

lollapalooza. 

The way out is in.

I aim to cleanse the chatter

in my busy mind.

Be yourself today,

unless you can do magic,

then be that person.

I wish I’d written that

 From Rumi’s wonderful poem, The Guest House. 

 

“This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.”

Life

Making our way between two eternities,

we wake to each new day,

knowing love as a house of being,

even with some uninvited guests,

like jealousy, resentment, envy and anger,

we remain aware of their passing nature,

their comings and goings,

sending  gloom and doom on their way,

allowing room for metta,

for hopes and dreams,

good will and loving kindness.

Living in the present moment,

we know each day to be a beginning,

an opportunity for good,

for some new joy to appear.

60th High School Reunion

 

My dear friends and classmates from the OHS Class of ‘62,

I started this letter as a long poem, but found I was getting too stuck on rhymes and phrases and such, and those things did not come close to expressing how we feel about each other. I mean, how does one adequately thank folks for being your lifelong friends and acquaintances? We grew up side by side, our searching roots entangled, and once more we return to the place it began, altered some, yet more like our younger selves than ever. We all have mirrors in our homes so we daily see the differences, but happiness trumps gray hair in the coming together of old friends, as if we had never been apart, as if nothing had changed. We might live miles away, even oceans apart, but our shared memories remain. We came from town and from miles around, some of us walking to school while others bussed in or had a parent bring them. Lake kids and farm children, a few city charmers, some from money in the family pot, many others not. We walked the same hallways, heard the same music, saw the same movies, didn’t have all that much tv. There were dramas and fights, athletic nights, promises made with care, embarrassment to share. We had our dances and parties, joined clubs and teams, ate at different lunch tables but shared similar dreams. So what brings us back after sixty-plus years? Is it to note the end of something or to celebrate the beginning? I think I know the answer to the why…it’s the people. Not the old or new buildings, not the games or the classes, not study hall or home room. Not even the Kiltie. Maybe some about hometown pride, but mostly about the people. Over time, I have stayed in touch with many of our former teachers and coaches. I have told people from other parts of the world about about our connectedness. They all find us to be unique, special in our hold on friendship. Me too. I have shared visits, letters and phone calls with many of you, even as I live thousands of miles from our childhood base. I write poetry every day, and when I look at my blog, I am grateful that so much of what I write includes memories of you. So, here’s a little piece, made only for you…

Friends 

Class of ‘62,

there’s no one

quite like you.

What else can I say

except that I love you

in every possible way.

In both success and strife,

I hope you have all had

the time of your life.

Regardless of where we live,

the times or the weather,

we can be grateful we did it,

had this grand life together.

You’re the best people in the world,

on this you can bet,

you’re in my heart forever,

impossible to forget.

So enjoy this reunion,

my sisters and brothers,

raise a toast for those not present 

and just appreciate one another.

Up or Down, In or Out

 Falling up requires towering imagination,

like a very long book read backwards,
one printed with reverse pagination.
What if rain fell upwards?
I can see it clearly, how about you?
If so, how would a rainbow assemble,
perhaps as the brightest horseshoe?
I know some folks must think it quite stupid,
but those same folks think love comes from Cupid.
Niagara Falls would have to flow up, not down
but your own falls wouldn’t lead to a frown.
I say, falling up, it’s the new falling down.
What about physical laws, you might say?
Ignore them, they’ll just float away.
And those dreams, hopes and wishes
which today flit off as they may,
will fall back to your heart, where they’ll stay.
Gravity?
Schmavity.

A Friend is Gone

 I first met Dennis some 48 years ago, seemingly quite by accident, but actually know now it was how the universe brought us together. A little burned out as a rehabilitation counselor, unknowingly with PTSD, 850 other folks and I applied for two open positions in a new office which had been created by Dennis himself. Somehow I made it through the screening process and was sent on for final interviews. Although Dennis had a supervisor of counselors who would be doing the interviews, he noticed me and brought me into his office for a chat. I later learned just how thoroughly he approached his work, and that he spoken privately to the oral board members, resulting in him directing the supervisor to hire me and do what he wished with the other position. This was the start of a long relationship, both personal and professional, and he was consistently there for me, as a leader and mentor. I really didn’t acknowledge my PTSD, and it led me to a number of wrong choices, but Dennis always stepped in to give me a nudge in the right direction. When I was bored and ready to move on, he gave me a supervisory challenge. When Vietnamese immigrants became our clients, he charged me, against my wishes, with creating and managing a program of services for them, a task which altered my view of humanity in general. When the federal and state governments gave us funding for a new program, he encouraged me to install my dream program, one I had told him about from grad school, while we were sipping wine in a hot tub…a place, rare for me, where I let someone other than my wife see my war-riddled body scars. 

When I think about those years and the time which followed, so many words come to mind….gratitude, trust, support, partnership, and, of course, friendship. Even as we lived an ocean apart, we maintained our connection, and when I began exposing my most intimate thoughts through poetry, he again became supportive and encouraging. It saddens me that we have lost such a good soul, but not his memory, and I know I will write about him as time goes by, including now…

My Friend

It was natural and easy

to tell him how I felt

after he had lain ill before,

after my own infirmity 

made us partners again. 

It’ll be harder now,

but not impossible.

Still, it’s been but a short while 

and I am already losing that smile,

the truth of his gaze,

the wonder of his face.

So I will write of him when I can,

tell others about a good man,

in this way perhaps I’ll let

myself never forget.

A Smart Rodent

 Wiser Than Me

There’s a cunning little mouse

living on my tomato plant,

and I try so hard to catch that louse,

but it seems I simply can’t.

I’ve tried all kinds of traps and bait,

but he tells the others to go ahead, please.

he tells them he’s inclined to wait,

knows it’s the second mouse who gets the cheese.

Awakening

 “By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.”

from Sleeping In The Forest by Mary Oliver 

© Mary Oliver

I Awaken

I am not living

the life I imagined.

This one is far better.

I see that I am becoming,

just passing through,

mingling between two eternities.

Might as well do so

with joy and laughter,

rejoicing in each day,

walking more slowly,

experiencing Grace.

Every day

I have the chance

to be happy,

to enjoy this life I chose.

Even on days of unease,

in moments of disease,

I see there is something,

an experience or two,

which I must need.

I don’t know

how many days are left to me

but I hope to

make a difference with them,

and if all I ever did

for the rest of this life was to

feel grateful,

it might be sufficient.

I shall do my best

to say beautiful things,

to inspire, to help, be kind,

to attend to Spirit's voice,

stay open to

each morning’s gifts.

First and last

 Saigon: In all wars there must be a first death and a last death; and while they are no different from all the thousands that separate them, they somehow seem specially tragic. The first GI to die in the Vietnam war was Army Spec. 4 Tom Davis (left) of Livingston, Tenn., who was killed 12/22/61 near Duc Noa, South Vietnam, while serving as an adviser to South Vietnamese troops. The apparent last American to die in the war was Air Force Sgt. John O'Neil Rucker (right) of Linden, Texas, killed at Da Nang only hours before the 1/28 cease fire.

September 2022 17’s

 September 

Changing the world

one precious thought at a time,

making it all good 

Meaningful friendships

are the best things we can have.

I treat mine with care.

It’s easier to

make adjustments to what’s true

than to force your will.

Grand thoughts are useless

if not followed by some work,

a little action.

Zero means nothing,

not that it has no value.

Nothing is calming.

Life is your playground.

Expect a joyful outcome.

Forget small, play big.

Light a candle for 

another person and you

enjoy its light too. 

Appreciating 

the grace I live in helps me

sleep through the long night.

Ups, downs, ins and outs.

Ah, sweet mystery of life.

Never too boring.

I open my eyes,

my heart and mind as well, to

just being alive.

Sometimes I still get

angry, but then tell myself,

self, nope, not today.

You can’t score by

kicking into your own net.

Even children know this.

Even when I avoid

the truth, it sits there,

calmly waiting for me. 

I am a huge fan

of little acts of kindness,

always say thank you.

Some negative thoughts 

entering your head? Well then,

close the damn window.

I get up, look in

my mirror, think I should just

find someplace quiet.

Less forcing, more flow.

Less fearing, more grace and joy.

Less hating, more love.

Each day I’ve a chance

to be happy, to enjoy

this grand life I chose.

Paying attention.

Is this how I want to sound?

Tone is important.

Occasional zen.

No mistakes, only lessons.

I live and I learn. 

A day for big guns,

compassion, prayer, right action,

and, oh yes, laughter.

It is a good plan

to let a poem rest awhile,

until it’s ready.

Publishing my poems

is much like going naked

in front of others.

I try to not be

accidental in my life,

to have some purpose.

Hey, I’m listening,

so feel free to start talking.

I’m available.

The power of prayer

is not to ask for something,

but to listen more.

Self-help books are like

those pretty cookbooks I have.

Action is required.

Words are powerful.

Once they leave my mouth, they grow,

for better or worse.

Trust is difficult 

but it’s calmer to seek it

than to always doubt.

I get happy days

in life when I do not stop

before they arrive.