Category Archives: Poems

Incidental Aging Revisited

The physics of it all have had their way with me

I notice in the mirror and the photos that I see

What the hell is that?

What happened to my face?

My hands look like my Mother’s

I see it’s now a race

to see who ages first

to see who ages best

But I’m learning to accept it

along with all the rest

It’s not a cause for shame

It’s not a cause for blame

The lines and sags are signs of life

I gratefully concede

the price we pay for living long

for living strong

for living without greed

I’d rather take it gracefully

if you would ask

than end up like a static, plastic,

sad and desperate mask

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Silly Side of Dark or the Dark Side of Silly

So, take a look at the bright side

Is what she recently said

Just means it might be sooner, not later, 

     that you’re gonna be dead

Shake out those forever thoughts

     you’ve built up in your head

There are songs to be sung

     there are books to be read

Leave it for awhile; all the hope and the dread

Now could be the day for the silly instead

The dark side of humor

Can be found to be kind

It helps to see finally

     that it’s all in your mind

For me, there’s some comfort 

     in accepting the sad

And often the good stuff 

     will outweigh the bad

That Poem Won’t Bark

Some poems that I’ve read

of late

seem to render muddled

what was blindingly clear

It means you are very profound and very austere

when your expressions are garbled and harsh to the ear

or when nobody knows what on earth you meant.

Besides all that,

apparently,

it is déclassé to rhyme

in this particular space in time

Wordsworth could rhyme and not be damned

and Robert Frost had a rhythm and jibe

that could not be slammed

Langston Hughes threw caution to the wind

and rhymed, on occasion,

and his words would flow

Can’t do that today if you’re in the know

An entire anthology of new poetry, I scanned

Not ONE dared to rhyme — I guess nobody can!

seems like by accident

someone would slip

and find that a rhyme had come to his lip

 

 

Can Hardly Wait 🍅

The garden is so amazing to see

A bit like a miracle — to me

From raspberries on cornflakes

Fresh from the garden

To green beans–Italian–for dinner

And a tomato is ripening as we look on

And it seems like zucchini will suddenly be

And it is

Just like magic

To me

A Birthday Poem for Jesse

I can write poems for people once in a while

And I’d write one for you just to get you to smile

But I’m a little bit nervous that you might not think I’m funny

So I was thinking instead, I’d just give you some money

    or a pat on the head

    or a kiss on your face

   or a stunning rendition 

         of Ama-a-a-zing Grace 

I know you don’t want a lot

   of birthday hoopla and noise

And maybe a mower with two batteries

   Is much better than toys

So…the point that I’m trying to get to is

      I LOVE you a bunch

So instead of a poem

      I will make a peach crunch

for you

 

Remembering Gratitude After the Hot Water Heater Hits Bottom

There can no longer be a doubt
I really, really love it when things work out
I get inordinately happy when software soars
And my at-home quick books completes its chores

When the water heater heats
And the furnace kicks in
The world seems balanced
Let the games begin

When the seeds we plant
Grow into sprouts
And tomatoes burst to red
Despite my doubts

I can relinquish for a while
My insecurity
And find a plethora of joy
Amid uncertainty

I get a skosh too edgy when life messes about
‘Cuz I really, really love it when things work out

A Sprig of Spring

 

 

A splash of sun

A sprig of spring

A stunning rebirth

As life goes green

 

Aw, nuthin’




So odd
Yet,
In a way,
Not so odd

So discontentedly satisfied
So patiently agitated
So freely mitigated
So subversively brave

So intensely moderated
For the flag that I wave

Am I 
standing short 
as someone
who I can imagine
as enough
as is

So extremely vigilant
So hyper-attenuated
So assertively meek

So sublimely uncertain
For the purpose I seek

I am

Emily Dickinson

Stoned and Sideways

So I got this stone-paper notebook

because a hundred notebooks

are just not enough

and I like it

If it’s not worth doing badly,

Is it worth it at all?

Must one avoid it

If one must/might fall?

My choice is to jump in

In spite of the risk…

…of not being perfect

…or of slipping a disc

What I am seeking is unclear to me;

It slides silently… 

…sideways…

…and just out of reach

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