Ongoing

 

Every poem, at its beginning,

is a mystery to unravel.

Every poem, at its conclusion,

is a mission accomplished.

Telling stories can be healing,

listening to them as well.

No poem is accidental, for me.

Each one I write

needed to be written, by me,

the stories of my passage.

They are where my life

goes to be remembered,

where I recall the love 

which surrounds me, 

also where I accept being 

slighted, forgotten, disliked,

where I accept insults and injuries,

how I strive to be gentle, helpful,

even under provocation.

Every poem I write is

a battle to reveal myself,

it being so difficult to reach

into the realm of silent tears.

Shannon and Bill

 

In air, through water, 

and, of course, on land,

life’s joy is ever theirs 

to take in, to command.

May they live with happiness,

never fears nor tears,

appreciative of their achievements

through many more years.

May their success continue

for a million more days,

as it’s certainly their due

in so many ways.

May they be the ideal,

it’s definitely within their might,

keep on keeping it real,

continue shining their light.

May you have 100 years,

filled with smiles, never tears,

Woman & Man, Girl & Boy,

what a song, ode to joy.

Unity Prayer

 

The Prayer of Protection

Written by James Dillet Freeman

  

The Light of God surrounds you.

The Love of God enfolds you.

The power of God protects you.

The Presence of God watches over you.

 

The Mind of God guides you.

The Life of God flows through you.

The Laws of God direct you.

The Peace of God abides within you.

 

The Joy of God uplifts you.

The Strength of God renews you.

The Beauty of God inspires you.

Wherever you are, God is!

And all is well. Amen.

80th

 

80th Birthday Zen 

There’s more to do, 

and time to do it.

So far, so great.

Life is your playground.

Expect a joyful outcome.

Forget small, play big.

Months

 

September Song

Late summer, early fall,

when old age arrives,

every body’s in the same boat.

Not so our hearts.

Eyes a little less clear,

can’t see what’s next,

but I’m quite at peace

in this cusp month,

eager to trade

history for mystery.

As in each and every month,

each and 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.

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 Leo’s Tastes

He likes Suzanne Vega rhyming and Cedar Walton timing, he drinks coffee in the morn, breakfast blend, just now born; he grows hair upon his face, with a lion’s manely grace, and talks with hands upon his hips, discussing dreamed of trips; tips generously, he does, loves all nurses just because; sometimes happy, sometimes sad, all injustice makes him mad, goes on walks which fit the bill, mostly sidewalks, up his hill; he eats cupcakes for the taste, thinks most diets are a waste, lives to read and poem, now calls San Diego home; just an ordinary guy, not too boastful, seldom shy, he makes casseroles for dinner, not much caring about thinner; he’s been leader of his troops, the umami in the soups, foreign films get a look, he enjoys a good book; loves tall trees, names his birds, sings the oldies, have you heard? He likes Bob Dylan rhyming and Marcel Marceau miming, doesn’t care to be well-dressed, but he knows that he is blessed; that’s him, the real deal, your good friend, Teo Leo.