A persona poem

 

A Persona Poem From A Cat

You know how humans are,

the ones who ooh and ahh,

so easy to maintain,

their needs are simple, plain.

Their stress can not survive 

playtime with a cat,

each encounter its own 

time of renewal and brighter days,

so much joy and gratitude in that.

Sometimes I only observe,

watch them take a break from chores,

thinking the backyard is theirs,

a place to bask in the morning sun,

inviting me to join them,

urging me to join in their idling fun.

They’re grateful for an audience,

especially when at silly play,

tossing me my alternative mice,

and I appreciate genuine warm-heartedness,

a human who is more than food-giving nice.

They constantly remind me to become

someone worthy of their friendship,

letting go of ego, power, pretense,

inspiring me to live a life of

incisive simplicity and common sense,

and when I meet a new cat anywhere,

no matter where I might go,

offering a nose to nuzzle,

remembering to say hello.

A homophone poem

 

I Hear You

I am doing my best 

to say beautiful things,

to inspire, to help, be kind.

When I do not hear

Spirit's voice, it's not because

the talking has stopped,

and at those times,

I am not afraid

to ask for assistance.

Maximum Effort

 

Most veterans of foreign wars,

reflective of my own small life,

spent every day after 

their most important war,

the one which happened to them,

trying to forget,

what they saw, 

what they did.

The spiritual truth, though,

is that it is healthier,

more transformative,

to remember,

to rise above,

to poke through the veil

of denial.

It can take great effort

to give thanks, 

to listen to the whispers 

of gratitude and appreciation,

to allow memories 

to be heard, shared,

if sharing might contribute 

to the Good.

This is the path to healing,

of appreciation for the chance

to be of service, to live gratefully

in the life one was given.

Heart of the Matter

 

When I allow my heart

to be touched by gratitude,

followed by generosity,

it’s the most selfish I can be,

as it improves my mood,

being a force for good.

When I give away

some of what I have today,

I find it calming,

soulfully balming,

knowing when enough is enough,

growing by not buying any more stuff.

When I turn to what others need,

it’s my own heart I feed,

realizing at the very start

it’s best to simply show up,

be present, open my heart.

If others have nothing for me,

no problem, no fret, can’t you see,

I have enough for all of us,

they, them, you, us, we.

Tell Everyone

 

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.

Oingo Boingo

 

When I am in a rush,

it’s a good idea to slow down, 

maybe even stop.

Right pacing can change my life,

give me me a moment

to look within, to know.

Just a moment?

What the heck,

let’s take the whole day off,

mix in peaceful thoughts,

words, feelings, actions,

perfect for a needy world.

Everyday Living

 

When you see me cry,

it does not necessarily mean

I need help. 

Sometimes, pure beauty

has that result in me,

like the glory of the young

who do not think

they should stop trying

to improve the world.

For me, nearing another decade,

whatever future

I am trying to shape

shapes me in return,

sometimes tearfully.

I will continue to seek magic,

look for legerdemain,

change what saddens me

by changing my mind,

believing the solutions we need

lie only in those realms.

But I will look also

to my heart,

posit my soul’s purpose,

light another candle,

pen just one more plea.

Optimism

 

There is this book which has been

following me around for weeks now.

Actually, not following so much as

accompanying, fitting nicely in

my hand, or atop my desk,

in the room I sometimes share with a cat.

The book is important.

That’s why I bought it. 

It is about hope, 

and also about the mind, 

about laughing at, 

but not making an enemy 

of the latter.

I say that’s what it is about,

but I don’t know for sure,

only what the dust jacket blurb says.

I can’t seem to get by the introduction,

not in my room, nor outside,

heck, not even at the library,

even though it’s open again.

My core seems obdurate in

its resistance to change, or growth.

I will say that, pages unread,

that book seems still to be

having an impact. 

I think about hope all the time.

A good thing, since

I have forever friends who 

will not see year’s end.

In the greater scheme of things,

I’m a mighty small fish in 

a very big pond, or, at most,

like one of those salmon,

returning to their place of creation,

encountering resistance at every turn. 

I hope this hope thing is not overrated. 

The book is heavy,

the thoughts too, 

sometimes.

Happy Endings

 

When I want to have

a happy ending, I don’t 

stop until it’s mine.

Writing each morning,

the narration of my life.

No one else’s, mine.

I’m mostly at peace 

with my past. Present moment,

wonderful moment. 

It is helpful to 

regularly regard my true

spiritual self.

It is possible 

to become even younger 

at a ripe old age.

Even in elderness, 

I might be more be-coming.

I really like this.

The wonders of life

always are available,

ever around me.

Space is limitless.

So too are my hopes and dreams,

even at this age.

Not concerned as much

with my lifespan, more in tune

now with my healthspan.

Between who I’ve been

and who I’m still becoming,

there’s still work to do.

My needs:

Something to do.

Someone to love.

Something to look forward to.

At the Least

 

A thankful heart

gives birth

to at least

a thousand

beneficial joys.

I accept

that every experience

is one which

I must need.

I don't fear

negative thoughts.

I also don't

ask them in

for coffee.

The One

 

I thought I’d

used up all my luck

in Vietnam, but I was

so wrong.

Just look at her.

True love might be 

a lottery, but

I’m so happy she took 

a chance on me.

I often stare in the dark,

while she sleeps, amazed 

at how lucky I am.

Still, it’s no accident, 

no stroke of luck,

not even from the start,

after she took my name,

but not before 

I stole her heart.

Blessings

 

I am not living

the life I imagined.

This one is far better.

I’m on a path which

I never anticipated.

It’s pretty cool.

I try my utmost to  

show my spiritual self

as harmlessly as I can,

yet I feel the need sometimes

to do more than my best.

One of those times is now.

Still, I'm happiest, 

when I bring 

everything I have.

Each time I act

with kindness the universe 

changes for the better, and

when I wish to find

reasons for gratitude,

it’s not too difficult.

I need God’s Love.

God needs my hands and feet.

Seems like a good deal to me.

Such a huge difference:

discussing Spirit and experiencing It.

Every day

I have the chance

to be happy,

to enjoy this life I chose.

No one but me is

in charge of my happiness,

and I am laughing out loud.

Hah!

Two Big Events

 

Ultimately, there is no choice, not really.

Well, maybe a choice - between weddings -

the big, emotional first one at halftime of 

the Packer game, in front of family, 

in the family home, with Alice the springer mix

as flower girl, or

the second one, fifteen years later, making her

a June Bride at last.

I think it has to be number two.

After all, we knew what we were getting,

after fourteen wonderful years of marriage.

(no, my math’s ok, and that’s a pretty good percentage)

Our wedding redux was due to 

A very orthodox Orthodox priest,

who refused to acknowledge 

our matrimony as legitimate, leaving us

in not good standing in the church.

Our monthly membership dues, however,

were always in good stead, all checks cashed.

So be it.

I won’t bore you with the details,

nor about the counseling sessions,

(after fifteen years!),

or about how he said we’d have a child

even though I was fixed, 

and then we did, in an odd manner.

I’ll save that for another prompt.

A Daily Choice

 

Cherishing her became

the source of my happiness,

holding her love close,

not wanting it to fade,

like a perfect Spring day,

sometimes still, always glorious.

I love her sense of style,

lifting me up 

from blandness.

I love that she loves,

me and most living things.

I love that we can be together 

for hours and not talk.

Childish Thoughts

 

So they told me, trying to be kind,
that my mother, who I’d just seen die,
was in a better place now,
not seeing the pain of a youngster’s mind.

I use that memory to this day,
speaking to children, always with truth,
often while kneeling, eye to eye,
knowing they’ll grasp what I have to say.

So when a neighbor’s kiddo, smart and tough,
asked me around the pool about my scars,
where’d I get them, did they hurt,
I thought the truth would be enough.

Mom was embarrassed, let it show,
but I waved her off, kept explaining,
until the kiddo saw my memories flowing,
said thanks, that’s more than I need to know.

Tuscany

 

What a wonderful day it had been.

I sat with a few newfound friends,

an accidental meeting between us,

the non-painters on the tour, 

way, way, way high up

in a small Tuscan village,

in a tiny home-made-restaurant.

Bel canto music purred

In hidden speakers.

The dishes looked like canvasses.

peasant food made fabulous.

I wasn’t hungry, so I passed.

I wasn’t thirsty, either,

but I drank the wine.

We talked,

then we walked,

and talked some more,

about nothing, mostly.

I bought a small painting

from a small studio,

for a small number of Euros.

It hangs now in a small corner of our home,

and in a big part of my memory. 

We rode down

to our Montecatini hotel

in a bright red funicular

and never once thought 

to sing Volare.

What a wonderful day it had been.

A Peaceful Life

 

Living mindfully

in political bedlam,

peace is a challenge.

Perhaps join others.

living with an open heart,

easing into peace.

Life’s options await,

full of comradeship and joy,

filled with blissful peace.

At all times, choose life,

choose friends and love and sharing.

Most of all, choose peace.

Never Better

 

If I were offered a mulligan,

the chance to fix life’s mistakes,

I’d likely turn it down,

not an option I would take.

It might be tempting to go back,

correct some ill-done act or ten,

improve upon my history,

be a better man, but then,

I’d still probably regret it,

any change to my decisions,

at most try to forget it.

It’s better to just let it

be the way it really was,

with the occasional fumble,

everything with cause,

all leading to who I am today,

and for that I am most humble.

America’s Finest City

 

We’ve grown accustomed to the sun,

we feel entitled, everyone.

The nights, while cool, still hold their cheer,

no holding back the summer fun.

We feel entitled, everyone,

beaches, parks, two great zoos,

weather perfect, mostly number one.

The night’s, while cool, still hold their cheer,

a little dampness here and there,

this town’s renown its crafted beers.

No holding back the summer fun,

for locals, tourists, conventioneers,

joy and laughter, everyone.

Centered

 

Wading in, where the waters are deep and dark,

he paused, oak tree still.

Knowing which way the stick floats,

he paused, oak tree still.

Mid-river, whitecaps grew, bred rushing sounds,

he paused, oak tree still.

His walking stick at the ready, forked end down,

he paused, oak tree still.

Smelling the blooming of the trees near the shore,

he paused oak tree still.

Triolets

 

A triolet is a French poem that consists of eight lines utilizing the ABaAabAB rhyming scheme.

This poem type is called triolet because the first line is repeated thrice. 

Triolet poems were most likely invented in medieval 13th-century France.

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.

Understated Triolet

Some things simply should never be said,

no matter how much one wants to reveal,

should honesty fill a dear friend with dread.

Some things simply should never be said,

letters are worse, re-read and re-read,

No matter how truthful, no matter how real,

some things simply should never be said,

no matter how much one wants to reveal.

A Routine Day at the Triolet Office

If you’re not angry with me,

would you please tell your face.

I’d feel safer then, you see.

If you’re not angry with me,

it’d suit me to a T,

and at least I’d know my  place.

If you’re not angry with me,

would you please tell your face.

Summer Triolet

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.

Enough

There’s nothing to wish for, nothing to crave.

We already have all that we need.

There’s more to cherish in the things we gave.

There’s nothing to wish for, nothing to crave.

Only our memories are worthy to save,

all else, like the dandelion, going to seed.

There’s nothing to wish for, nothing to crave.

We already have all that we need.