Looking Good

 

Old men can’t help themselves,

it’s the nature of the beast,

the looking back,

the wondering about change,

about the passing of time.

No matter the age we make,

one can’t forget the days,

the unfettered joys shared 

with friends

that time has taken.

Still,

There is nothing I would change

about my life, even if I could,

because it all brought me to her.

There is nothing else I would build,

not from paper, stone or wood,

except that which created me and her.

There is nothing I could say,

not even if I should,

that speaks louder in me than her. 

Simple Truth

 

I find that 

when I smile, 

people smile back.

Everyone. 

Always

Letters

 

There’s much to be learned in this age,

at this age as well. 

A little loss of sound can be a blessing,

a chance to return to the

remarkable self-absorption of youth.

This is a time for connection,

reconnection as well, 

visits, phone calls, letters, cards and

e-mails, in that very descending order 

of intimacy, and it really is too bad,

what that e-mail thing has done to

letter writing, ancient and loving art.

Visits require some degree of readiness,

at least a clean bathroom, but

phone calls, especially the random ones,

can find you in your pajamas, 

heck, even on the toilet. 

Cards are okay, when one does not

have time for a letter, but 

letters have more heart, give more time

to the writer to be reflective,

like a poet, 

searching, reaching, looking

for just the right words.

A writer of letters gets to reflect,

to muse a bit about the addressee, to

remember precious moments, to dream of

better moments yet to come, 

maybe even to plan some, and say so.

It is a peaceful activity, letter writing,

perfect for the cocoa and comforter

days of winter’s end.

Satisfaction

 

Speak softly, carry

a big agenda: 

peace, calm, empathy

and undemanding love.

Make me smile and

laugh until it hurts.

Go ahead, I dare you.

Be a little wild,

use your imagination,

avoid snark to snark combat.

Joy

 

I’ll take the smallest

action of good will over

the biggest promise,

even as I do my best

to expect nothing.

It enables me to 

never be disappointed.

Glad to wake with just one

decision to make each day:

to be happy, remembering 

when I don’t get what I want

to want what I get. 

Wonder

 

I cannot hear the sound 

from the hummingbirds’ wings,

as they join at the feeder,

nor the conversation between 

the leaves on the sycamore 

across the road,

beyond and over the fence

we planted in our backyard.

I can, however, use binoculars 

to spy the hikers on the mountains

to the east, made visible now

by the recent rains,

the downpours which eliminated 

the car dust from the sky.

Light has returned, and tomorrow 

it will multiply itself 

like it means it. 

Palm Springs

 

There’s magic in the desert,

winter becoming spring,

presto, change-o,

feeling like summer,

abracadabra,

wildflowers amid the cacti,

snowbirds on the wing.

Townies feeling it’s theirs again,

like days long past,

when only Angelenos came,

and then just for the weekend.

Not like now, so many Canadians

and their loonies, but they depart,

rushing home for their medi-care.

No need to shop at seven-a-m,

they can take their time about it,

like during the real summer.

No need, either for those shirts,

you know the ones,

with “local” for a logo,

timeshare hawkers off to Mexico.

Closer to real heat now,

pretty soon they’ll button down,

but not yet. This is prime time,

not quite Easter, still room to

pretty things up for the last big holiday, 

the Memorial one,

but summer lurks, like a beast,

just around the corner.

Happy Days

 

So many tunes in 

my mind that 

do not deserve

my listening time.

Supply always 

exceeds my demand.

So happy to realize that

God is not unhappy with me,

that I will love

my dear friends forevermore.

But not a second longer.

Today, I think of 

the March birthday ones,

blessing them with

Sprezzatura. 

Today

 

Seeing both myself 

and others as divine souls

keeps me more humane,

also leads me to see and 

know the value of silence,

to make friends with 

calm and stillness.

When my lips are closed,

there’s more room 

for my heart to speak.

Palm Springs

 

There’s magic in the desert,

winter becoming spring,

presto, change-o,

feeling like summer,

abracadabra,

wildflowers amid the cacti,

snowbirds on the wing.

Townies feeling it’s theirs again,

like days long past,

when only Angelenos came,

and then just for the weekend.

Not like now, so many Canadians

and their loonies, but they depart,

rushing home for their medi-care.

No need to shop at seven-a-m,

they can take their time about it,

like during the real summer.

No need, either for those shirts,

you know the ones,

with “local” for a logo,

timeshare hawkers off to Mexico.

Closer to real heat now,

pretty soon they’ll button down,

but not yet. This is prime time,

not quite Easter, still room to

pretty things up for the last big holiday, 

the Memorial one,

but summer lurks, like a beast,

just around the corner.