3 Poems or 5 Minutes, Whichever Comes First
Listening to the old men,

Their grizzled tones and empty saber rattling, times past and times to come.

Listening to the young men,

Their cadence fast as race horses- s l o w, let us savor it and remember it is our first time.

Listening to the old women,

With memories of gold and pain, and their black patten dancing in the rain.

Listening to the young women,

Discovering their anger and their passion, and their distaste for how the world sees them.

Listening to the old gender neutral poet,

Listen to their words of discovery and ages of pain and the secrets of yesteryear. 

Listening to the young gender neutral poet,

Lamenting that nothing is changing, and the cages of distrust and hate have them feeling down.

Listening to the Hispanic, the Asian, the African American, the Jewish, the Poor, the Broken, the One Who is Always in Love,

They distill life and all its beauty,

Into 3 poems or 5 minutes, whichever comes first.

Ripple

 

Could the woman who paid for your groceries

Understand the ripple effect?

How your tears of joy

Would wash away so much that is wrong in the world?

Could she have known

How you needed a win to go to the next round?

She could not have realized that

Her gesture would shift your life.

Making you a kinder, happier soul.

And now you get to pay it forward.

The ripple sounds and bounces.

Warm Day

 

Driving on a warm day,

Tiny hands touch the breeze

In the car in front of me.

Ladies stroll sidewalks,

With painted toenails and bare arms.

The men in the 7-11 smell

Musky and salty from their hard work.

And Domino by Van Morrison is playing on the radio.

Old Dog Wobble

My old dog wobbles,

When he used to walk.

He hovers between sit and stand,

Back legs shaking as his hips give out.

My old dog never looks comfortable, 

Nor does he smell good.

But sometimes when he runs in the back field I see him,

Just a puppy in the inside.

I hope someone loves me – when I get old and wobble.

Life In The Rear View Mirror

 

Stress stacks on shoulders

• Just drive

Work piles and tips

• Just drive

Bills keep taking

• Just drive

Sickness surrounds

• Just drive

Here is the key to escape

• Just drive

Leave all of it behind

• Just drive

It’s not so easy

• Just drive

But wait…

• Just drive

 

Napping on a Sunny Afternoon

What could be more pleasing,

Then slipping into bed,

Late in the afternoon,

Sun shinning,

Window open?

Surrounded by cool sheets,

Against warm limbs?

Quiet afternoon house, 

Full of lunch?

Sprawling across the middle of the bed?

Dreaming, half sleeping,  of romantic moments?

The perfect way to spend a sunny afternoon.

The Wind

The wind whips the juniper against the window.

The blue bird feeder sways and bobs,

Dumping its contents to the ground.

The chickens will be along in the morning

To clean up the spoils.

 

I find myself drawn into a memory,

Of us as kids in the U-Pump-It gas station,

Joining hands in a circle,

Willing the wind to blow.

We wanted our youthful magic to travel.

 

That was so many moons ago.

Now I wake to hear the wind at night,

And the magic has been blown aside,

Now my mind is on practical matters,

Like how my trees and fences will fair.

 

I long to find the fascination of my youth.

To remember to stand in the wind,

My hair twisting and stinging my face,

To remember the power in the wind,

The magic that it sends.

Free Time
What would you do?

If you had all the free time you crave?

What would you change?

Why don’t you do it, now?

TV stole your eyes.

Music stole you ears.

Never time to start.

Never time to finish.

You must change yourself.

Free time is yours when you decide – 

Decide to free your time.

Freedom

Freedom is the popular girl at the party,

She sings and dances,

But at the end of the night –

She decides who she is taking home.

At the end of the night –

Freedom is not for everyone.

Some may say she scans the crowd for the alphas,

But she cozies up to everyone for a time,

Some more briefly than others.

I think her taste is more discerning, or perhaps selfish.

I think she likes those that dance with her.

I think she favors those who also sing.

A pity that Freedom misses out –

on those who didn’t have dance lessons,

those with a tone-deaf ear.

Freedom misses out on the wallflower.

Maybe I can help her see –

The beauty in the forgotten people.

They deserve a little time with Freedom too.