age

The Blob

.

I was out to lunch this early fall,

with my sweetheart, disturbed by a call.

Tried not to answer, boss wouldn’t wait.

“Go to the harbor”, he yelled, “before it’s too late”.

Duty calls, I sped to the pier,

swerved through traffic as fast as I dare.

Screeched to a halt at the dock by the bay,

the boat’s motors revved then underway.

Holding on tight I asked what’s the fuss?

The skipper pointed up at the blob over us.

It was big and gray, no particular form,

battered and tattered like a dingy in a storm

It hung from balloons, one at each end,

letting air out slowly to descend.

It kissed the calm harbor with hardly a swell.

A slit appeared then a putrid smell.

Followed by a ladder of rope dropped to the sea,

then an old head popped out “Ahoy thar matey.”

We climbed aboard the blob that fell from the sky.

Inside appeared to be a ship with no sails but masts high.

A portal to the past or future, it wasn’t clear.

My eyes wide open, couldn’t fathom what’s near.

Bos’n whistle blowing, ships bell ringing,

Captain’s on deck, old sailors singing.

Adrift in time for many a year,

brass shone bright, decks scrubbed bare.

Beards grown long, spirits grown weak,

searching endlessly for the end they seek

I asked many questions and he of I.

“How did you come to fall from the clear blue sky?”

He shrugged and answered “balloons in the sun.”

He asked how the war went; I said “you won”

Pleased by the news, great joy was abound.

The captain and crew, spirits were found.

We told him our location, name and job.

He told us the story of his great flying blob.

“I built her to survey the rogue enemy.

Launched in the spring, eighteen sixty-three.

But she rose too quickly and at too fast a pace.

Caught in a current and thrust into space.

She’s wrapped in layers of thick blubber.

Fin of spruce to serve as rudder.

A ship out of water floating in space,

propelled by methane made from our waste.

And in her belly the mighty tree grew;

wood for repairs, air for the crew.

Trimmed to perfection, nurtured with care,

the trees demise is all that we fear.”

“The tree is the living when all else seems dead.

Greens for the birds then eggs we are fed.

Twigs feed the fires for heat and our light,

the roots of survival the engine of flight.”

The captain paused for word from the mate.

A decision to make before it’s too late.

The blubber was oozing in the midday sunlight,

absorbing seawater, soon too heavy for flight.

He called out the order to make all lines taut.

Bid us farewell and shared one last thought.

“No matter how far our souls may roam –

the journeys not over until we are home.”

The blob sailed off high in the sky –

then disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The captain and crew homeward at last,

seeing the future, choosing and the past.

The End

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Celestial Time

Embers fade, waning moon

Sounds of day coming soon

Nights of bliss with our love

Counting stars that dance above

*

Sharing secrets from the past

Recalling joy that didn’t last

Time’s treasured in the dark

Horizons clear with the rising arc

*

By day we grow, eves recede

Priorities given to what we need

Quills in hand, arm in arm we’ll fly

Soaring and diving in the endless sky

*

In search of a hilltop on which to lie

It is here I’d wish to die

To rest and ponder life’s miracle

Where the arc becomes full circle

~*~

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See the Light

My candle flickers in distant panes.
Main Street silent, the starlight wanes.
Icy fingers grip my bones.
Frozen breath chills my moans.
~
My story begins and none too soon.
Shadows long for the hidden moon.
The hour’s late, the journey’s long.
The sun’s rise unseen if again I’m wrong.
~
My goal’s a king born a pawn,
To live again, this moment’s gone.
Blindness hides the cold hard truth.
Hindsight magnifies the lies of youth.
~
My pride swallowed, visions lull.
Biting winds gnaw at my skull.
Clouds engulf a blizzard near,
too many steps, too late to swear.
~
My goal is clear, survive the night.
There is no choice to stand and fight.
The path uncharted, each step’s new,
to trip and fall death’s in view.
~
My head is pounding, my body aches.
The thrust is forward to reverse mistakes.
Apologies given but time doesn’t care.
Words mean nothing if not to share.
~
My mind is blank, my heartbeats race.
Howling wolves set the pace.
Clothes in tatters, my bare feet bloody.
If I shall live, my pain they’ll study.
~
My memories linger of a forgotten past.
Dreams awaken, a future’s cast.
Dawn surely near, nightmares recede.
My eyes then open to all that I need.

~*~
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The Seed

~

Colors of autumn, death’s in bloom.

Return to the earth, the seeds’ final tomb,

nourishing yet another season.

We’re all guests of earth for this reason.

~

And thus the surety of life;

prosperity, mediocrity or strife.

All to return to where once came,

regardless of misfortune or fame.

~

For life is but a lesson –

throughout our mortal existence.

A test of our bodies, minds

and hearts persistence.

~

We’re all creatures of the same seed.

Return to the earth, our souls freed.

So let us not perceive death an end –

simply a new life to transcend.

~

For death is the exploration

of dimensions unknown.

And thus the destiny of the seed-

Grown

~

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Seasoned

The first whiff of autumn’s in the air.
A moment new that we’ll all share.
The flowers wilting and sweaters out,
should be ready, there’s never a doubt.
~
But each day’s new is always the way.
Only yesterdays are here to stay.
The leaf cycles; green, gold to gone.
To the earth they all are drawn.
~
With time comes age for good and bad.
We all cycle forward, happy and sad.
And like the leaf we too shall fall.
Winter’s coming, but not for all.

~*~
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Swap Meet

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*

We’re off to the swap meet today.

Dad says its work, I say its play.

Mom thinks it’s all a bunch of junk.

Who needs an old cast iron skunk?

~

Every year since I was two.

Seen the toes of many a shoe.

In my wagon with squeaky wheel,

once pulled string from an old fly reel.

~

Saw a ship of wood, bone and hair.

Dad got nervous, said don’t go there!

Great memories of dad and me.

I wish that mom would come and see.

~

Up before dawn, first at the gate.

If you’re not first, well than you’re late.

I think that second’s also OK.

Don’t follow, go the other way.

~

A laugh a push a yawn and sneeze.

New spring pollen made someone wheeze.

We’re squashed on the fence right up front.

Soon we’ll start a new treasure hunt.

~

The gate opens, I think we won.

I don’t care; I’m here to have fun.

We see faces we’ve seen before.

But the new ones are a lot more.

~

Soon the sun will rise in the sky.

Down the rows with treasures stacked high.

A day of fun, ready to learn,

Something new at every turn.

~

We pass the women in her shawl.

Sits alone, sells nothing at all.

Walking past, I’d wave and say hi.

But never did I catch her eye.

~

But now I’m ten, no chaperon.

Maybe she smiled because I’m grown.

She waved me over to come right in.

Glad to see her never seen grin.

~

I gazed into lots of old stuff,

even the best looked kind of rough.

She told me stories of each thing,

corner chair and ancient nose ring.

~

“I rarely sell my things of old.

They can’t be enjoyed when they’re sold,

loan things to friends once in a while,

like you” she said with a big smile.

~

“I’ve watched you pass since you were small.

On your dads’ shoulders, eight feet tall.

I’ve seen you smile and watched you grow.

Each time passing you’d say hello.

~

Walking past, eyes open wide.

You never dared to come inside.

Talking to strangers is unwise.

If I scare you, I apologize.”

~

She gave me a book that’s quite small,

not too many pages at all.

The book kept dreams lost in your head,

while you were sleeping in your bed.

~

She opened the book to page three.

Then whispered some secrets to me.

“Dreams are wishes stuck in your head.

They only come out when in bed.

~

Sleeping soundly, eyes shut tight,

mind wondering all through the night.

When you wake to start a new day,

write down those dreams before you play.

~

Follow your heart wherever it goes.

Record your trip in lovely prose.

Don’t stop writing until you’re done.

It’s never work when it’s all fun.

~

First open the book carefully.

Than close your eyes and wait to see,

all your dreams will come back to you.

But it might take a week or two.

~

Just be patient, don’t ever fret.

All things good you never forget.

I need not tell you anymore,

complete instructions on page four.”

~

She found a box, it fit just right.

I couldn’t wait to sleep that night.

Tied it up with ribbon and bow.

She gave me hug, told me to go.

~

It’s been a long winter since then.

Yes I’ve used up many a pen.

I wake each morning at sunrise.

Wipe the night’s sleepy’s from my eyes

~

Mom saw me writing early one day.

She asked to see, what could I say?

Together we both read out loud.

We laughed and hugged, she said she’s proud.

~

Now up after dawn, we’re not late.

Family’s first, treasure can wait.

Another year, there’s much to see,

at the swap meet; mom dad and me.

~

I hope to see my new old friend,

I’ll share my news with happy end.

I tried hard and my wish came true.

Now mom comes to the swap meet too!

*

The End

~

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Waves, Hello, Goodbye

Reminiscing of my younger days,
the bad forgotten, the good stays.
The bumps and bruises now long mended.
Lessons learned but youth had ended.
~
Reflecting time the ripples soften.
The pebbles tossed returning often.
The image felt fades with age.
Clarity welcomes another stage.
~
Twilight glistens upon the swells.
The shoreline’s endless bearing shells.
Footsteps crisscross in the sand.
The past and present now hand in hand.
~
Sun’s set and tides rise.
Horizons curve to meet my eyes.
The future’s now a step away.
If a choice would I stay?
~
Yesterday’s echo to the unknowns call.
Adventures await when not to stall.
Tomorrows are whatever I guess.
Live or die, the answer’s yes.

~*~
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Shine On

Back before sneakers where all the craze

Back in my good ole shoe-shinin’ days

Lugged a box that nearly scraped the ground

At six or seven I roamed all over town

 .

Had a place for quarters one for nickels and dimes

And a pocket for pennies, for change sometimes

So when given a quarter for your ten-cent shines

Make change in pennies, you’ll keep-it most times

 .

Busy summers at the beach and the bars

I had to be careful because of the cars

I drank lots of soda, learned lots of jokes

Once got caught stealin’ a fresh pack of smokes

 .

The bartender yelled “I’ll kick your ass”

I ran out of there really fast

I had to be done by the afternoon

Cuz the big kids would be shinin’ there soon

 .

I charged a dime, the others a quarter

I got the tips and they got the fodder

I once got to shine all afternoon

The big kids had a plan I learned real soon

.

They let me shine just to steal my money

They didn’t think my success was funny

I was on my way home when I saw them comin’

They yelled my name and I went runnin’

 .

With a hand in my pocket to hold up my wealth

Little shiny feet flyin protecting our health

My shine-box banging, bruising knees

So I took a shortcut through the trees

 .

Then I got grabbed tryin’ to climb a wall

They caught up quick cuz they were tall

I only got hit a couple of times

They left the pennies, took the nickels and dimes

 .

It was a fight I couldn’t win, but I didn’t lose

Cuz I limped home – quarters in my shoes

 ~

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Shunned for life

Instantaneous conception

Darkened suspension

Quintessential isolation

Thrusted illumination

Blissful termination

Trusted dedication

Explored dimension

Forced memorization

Infinite confusion

Rising tension

Tense deliberation

Lofty ambition

Numbing frustration

Occasional jubilation

Generational creation

Much tribulation

Restful justification

Deserved relaxation

Diminishing pension

Perpetual hibernation

But so far mostly fun

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Eon Sundries

Stages of life in our micro-sense

Evaluations of thus foretold in past-tense

Passion, conception and infancy

Childhood, adolescence and maturity

*

Individually formed randomly we conform

Collectively forged to an individual norm

Perceptions of fear dictate those to be free

Neolithic to renaissance and contemporary

*

Stages of our life’s in the macro-sense

Evaluating lucidity of generations hence

Passion’s the start, when universes collide

Conception lets the atoms decide

*

Infancy opens eyes to minds a-spark

Childhood informs our fears of the dark

Siblings diverge consistent with urge

Violence to surge with power to purge

*

The time of adolescence, fire’s conceived

Ash to the wind, a world’s perceived

Sharing thought, love and hate universally

A university of diversity in an ever-changing sea

*

Young adults craft their tools to impress

Civility’s conjured with mid-age regress

Maturity may follow, though yet to see

This micro macro juncture’s where we seem to be

*

Like time itself mankind has many stages

Dark or enlightened vary though ages

With eon sundries since time had begun

Immature conclusions foretell a sundry of one

~*~

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Wrap It Up

I’m a little older now, I think I know what’s up.
I don’t go sniffin’ for shit like some young pup.
I keep my nose clean, and my head held up high.
The only way up is to reach for the sky.
~
Know what you’re sayin’ and who you’re talkin’ to.
Put a smile on your face and make the feeling true.
Help a stranger when in need, never passing blame.
Keep it real every day, this ain’t no stinkin’ game.

~*~
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Preposthumously

~

Madness I fear will be the death of me

Consumed by the visions I can’t see

The seconds tick then nevermore

Till striking back as before

~

Each a check of our resolve

Chipping away as hands revolve

Digging holes to make a mound

Stood atop but gained no ground

~

Vistas grown, views confined

Points made with pieces of mind

Scattered thought eludes the pen

The gates of hell burst open again

~

Blackness surrounds the flame within

Awaiting the battles to begin

The angel of darkness hangs overhead

Above the light that swallows her dead

~

Mountains whither, canyons fill

All in time, time will kill

Consumed in shadows of mortality

Death I fear is the madness in me

~*~

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Sandpaper

I know not how this came to be

Or when the sun shall rise

Or how the glowing sunset

Disappeared before my eyes

~

The streets are full of evil

The dead roam the night

Whilst the darkest of the darkness

Survive till mornings light

~

With every passing cloud

Across the lunar face

I step into the shadows

Leaving not a trace

~

Yet tread I must

Feeling blind

Touch is unfamiliar

Fearing those of kind

~

Where all are equal

When none’s to gain

We all are free

To share the pain

~

All paths uncertain

When never to be seen

All life is questioned

When living in the mean

~

Colors may return

To these blackened eyes

Head facing upwards

Awaiting bluer skies

~

And in the hour-glass

The sands of time do fall

Space above buries the low

Lest the destiny of all?

~

Rushing to an end

That is but a taper

Slipping into despair

To bleed on sandpaper

~*~

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Empty Lot

Our empty lot’s not empty at all.
There’s a tree that’s big and tall.
It’s a place that kids love to share.
It’s on my street so mom needn’t care.

We spend sunny days in the shade.
There’s lots of dreaming in forts we made.
There’s bunches of dirt to dig deep holes.
Rainy puddles for toy fishing poles.

Our empty lot really has it all,
We hide and seek and sometimes play ball.
It’s the place where adventures begin.
A fence to keep the city out and us in.

We’ve bugs and spiders, squirrels and cats.
There’s soft grass to sit for quiet chats.
We see dogs on leashes and birds in the sky,
Some tweet, sing sweet, bark, run and fly.

There’s rope jumping girls and running boys.
Everyone brings their favorite toys.
Weeds make jungles for our tiny men.
Tiny cars get lost, then are found again.

A place on Sundays for dads to mow.
A place anytime where friendships grow.
When the days fun is done, we all say goodnight.
To our good old friend, under the street light.

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Cuckoos Clock

Hands rise

Weights fall

Chimes sing

Birds see

Cuckoos all

`

Keys twist

Springs wind

Gears mesh

Spindles turn

Hands unkind

`

Travel on

Sunny face

Divided lines

Hide numbers

Perpetual race

`

Hands fall

Weights rise

Chimes strike

Birds die

Cuckoo’s wise

`

Keys open

Spring trap

Hours Chime

Birds sing

Hands clap

`

Travel off

Years shock

Number’s turn

Time winds

Cuckoos clock

~

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Changes

The morning today was gray,
but the groundhog’s done his thing.
With only a few weeks to go,
we’re soon to hear the birdies sing.
~
Flowers are soon to blossom,
trees will soon be green.
The air will be growing warmer,
bees will soon be seen.
~
Bug bites soon will fester;
poison ivy’s soon to itch.
Rain will pour in buckets,
isn’t the spring a bitch.
~
I could be optimistic,
glad that the winter’s gone.
I should be really happy,
cos soon I’ll see my lawn.
~
But with the season’s change,
our time too does pass.
And as I grow ever older,
I’m becoming a pain in the ass.

~*~
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Middling Thoughts

I’m too old to paint in tempera, takes too long to dry.

I’m too young to sculpt a headstone, since I won’t soon die.

I’m too old to swim the channel, don’t like being cold and wet.

I’m too young to drown in sorrow with so little to regret.

I’m too old to chase maidens through spring fields anew.

Though now the times just right to share all I have with you.

~

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