Dad's Come Home

 

Weekends were special in our house.

That was when dad came home.

His journeyman labor was rough on us all.

He just never knew where his job bade him roam.

 

He did what he did... What he had to do

For food on the table, clothes on our backs.

He fought and he struggled to make our lives better,

Taking the strain that hard labor exacts.

 

But no matter how far his travels would take him,

How hard the journey back home was required,

Weekends were his and ours together.

He was never too busy,

Never too tired.

 

Saturday morning...  Crack of dawn...

Mother was up... Breakfast was done...

No time to dawdle...  Too much to do...

No sleeping in today... Dad's come home.

 

Plastic Money

Plastic money isn't funny.

It's become our way of living.

Whether for necessities

Or buying gifts for giving.

 

It's so easy when we're asked,

"Will that be charge or cash?"

We lay that plastic money

On the counter in a flash.

 

Yes, it's easy. Much too easy.

We seldom contemplate.

We charge and charge like raging bulls

'Til sometimes it's too late.

 

We really need to think on all

The spending we are doing.

This crazy madcap lifestyle that

Too many are pursuing.

 

For when it all is said and done,

Remember what they say.

The piper's waiting down the road,

And someone has to pay.

 

Procreation

What is this obsession that

Man has with procreation?

Why so rushed to overcrowd

A crowded situation?

 

Standing arm to elbow

In a mock civilization;

Creating more while having less

To feed the population.

 

When will man be sated

To his full realization?

Why is he obsessed with such

Destructive procreation?

Take My Picture

Take my picture, if you please.

Capture a moment in time.

Caption it. Frame it. Make me immortal

For the next generation to find.

 

Pull out the Polaroid. Load up the Nikon.

Prepare to put time in a freeze.

Wait 'til I smile for the world to remember.

Take my picture... Please!

 

The Miracles of Life

Ours is a memory of sweeter days gone by.

Days of lilting laughter; nights to make us cry.

Memories of growing up in harmony, through strife,

Learning through experience the miracles of life.

 

Miracles of "laughter" and good humor that we share;

"Faith" and "hope" and "charity";

The things that make us care...

"Compassion" for our fellow-man, and with the one above...

"Friendship" lodged with "loyalty". "trust" begetting "love"...

"Aspirations" giving rise to even greater change.

While "health" will bear our burden,

And "truth" will hold the reins.

 

And all of these are miracles.

Each cause has its effect.

And every one will follow one,

And each one will direct

Us as we make our way from dawn to dusk.

They give us our direction;

For each one has a special link...

A valuable connection.

And when they come together

To form that special chain,

It's a band that can't be broken

And no mortal can explain.

 

Signs of Spring

The blue jay laughs at the young termite

Who tries to cut down the great pine tree.

The wind sighs through the thickly needled pine.

The lilac's fragrance is one of a kind,

And the quiet spring rainbow smiles down at me.

 

The showers come softly, soothing and quiet.

The sweet shrub in the meadow grows wild and free.

The wind sighs through the thickly needled pine.

The lilac's fragrance is one of a kind,

And the quiet spring rainbow smiles down at me.

 

Daffodils smile sweetly as they rise to kiss the sun.

The dogwood flaunts its' stately ware for all the world to see.

The wind sighs through the thickly needled pine.

The lilac's fragrance is one of a kind,

And the quiet spring rainbow smiles down at me.

 

Calendar

Three hundred sixty five partitioned units...

        Partitioned to twenty four.

        Multiplied by seven...

        Divided by twelve or more

        Or less or in between,

        Except for one that's never seen,

        But pops up each second even year.

        All this makes a calendar.

 

Just like a boy

 I've never seen more

And I've never seen less

Than a wee little boy

Make a great big mess.

 

War

Serpents creep...

Men sleep.

Tigers walk...

Men talk.

All is quiet...

Men fight.

Birds fly...

Men die.

Creatures sleep...

Mothers weep.

 

Look Into MY mirror Part 5. Winning

In the tempest of life I serenely saunter,

Picking up bits and pieces of humanity;

Interring in my mind the facts and figures before me.

I walk in the realm of reality,

With the knowledge of ending mortality;

To make the most of the time at hand,

And to not live a life of fatality.

 

The creature of age creeps into my life

With slow steadiness,

And I look back to ask,

"Where have I been?

What have I done?

Have I accomplished my goals?

Have I won?"

 

Life is too short to tread on triviality.

The things held most dear must come to the front

And lead us along through the light and the dark.

We should always be able to make the remark,

"Today I lived and laughed and loved;

Took each thing as it came and put it in place;

Recorded each smile, each frown, every face."

Then we can say that our life is worthwhile

And face the next day with a smile.

 

Within these lines my lament has its start

In scanning the surface of love, truth and art.

I beckon to this generation of man,

Take a look at yourself if you can;

To see where you're from and where you must go;

To see what you'll reap from the seeds that you sow.

 

Look in my mirror and see my heart,

But don't be surprised if you see a small part

Of your very own heart... Your very own soul.

Then look to yourself.

Seek to find your own goal.

 

Look Into My Mirror Part 4. The game

As the days may seem long, so is life just as short,

And time so fleeting that too soon it's gone;

But living should still be a joy,

Not a chore,

And if life is a task, then it's wrong.

 

For he who is always too busy to live,

Who lets selfish anger and greed rule his mind

Is missing so much of the meaning of life,

And so doing betrays his own kind.

 

So, let us think what can be done,

And let us all then act our parts.

For are we all not actors in the game of life

From the very start of life

As life we know and live.

Have we all not something to give:

 

A song, a poem, a moment of mirth.

The simple act of kindness is worth

So much in troubled times as these.

To think we can turn our heads with ease

Makes my blood run cold with fear.

When men turn away without lending an ear

To his brother in need,

And walk calmly away,

And ease his conscience another day.

 

Look Into My Mirror Part 3. The need to laugh

For I...

I am a wandering minstrel;

A jester of a thousand nights,

And days if day permits me

To jest in folly as the world is passing the day

One moment to next

Laying up its gain.

 

Oh, world! I cannot understand you...

Coveting more... Forever more.

 

True. True.

It's something to do.

A thing worthwhile for some men.

They smile

And go about

To gain more and more.

 

I long for more...

For a better life.

I crave all the pleasures that life has to give.

But not so important I find them as most.

They're not to break one's back to gain.

 

I merely say, "What I have, I have.

                           What I gain, I gain."

 

What I have not makes for another day.

It's better not to fain desire

For those things that are out of reach...

                Out of sight.

To desire and not gain

Is to gain only pain.

 

To let pass by the folly in a smile,

In a laugh,

In a roar of mirth is a sin...

But to capture a moment for levity's sake

And to laugh at yourself

Is to win.

 

Look Into My Mirror Part2. The need to simplify

With all the world in apathy, still optimism dwells in me

Along with pessimistic views of this world that was meant to be

A paradise for man to live, and not to die beneath its crust.

But we have seen that all are fated once from dust to dust.

The contrasts mixed within our souls...

The paradox of life itself...

The mysteries explored by minds, explained by man

To no avail.

The love and hate... Both different, yet one...

The beauty of ugliness...  The giant. The elf.

Success and failure in reaching our goals,

Though even succeeding still we fail

To grasp the meaning of it all.

We rise to a peak... We stumble and fall;

Yet pick ourselves up and continue our search;

To live life and love it for all it's worth.

For life in itself is a beautiful thing,

Meant only to bring out the best within men;

The love within man;

For the beauty of life is always at hand:

The free and unbound flight of a bird...

The soft sweet silence of new-fallen snow...

The great chameleon forest of green and yellow,

Of orange, of brown and gold...

The joy of a child,

Or an off-colored joke...

The thrill of a swim, or a ski-riding boat...

The summer walks with the one you adore...

Just watching TV on a carpeted floor.

The simplest things in this world seem to bring

The most joy to my heart through the winter and spring

And summer and fall.

No matter how small

I laugh at them all.

They give to my heart a lasting song,

And I'll sing it and love it my whole life long.

 

Look Into My Mirror

1. The question

In this there is nothing "for" me; but "of" me. It is yours.

For you to look inside of me; inside of me... And you.

Let me be your looking glass.

Discover what a new and different person,

Who you've never known before,

Dwells within, without, with all around one central core.

Humanity from man to man and inhumanity...

Competition runs between / betwixt...

Compassion once and rage again run hand in hand in me;

A vacuum where contrasting forces mix.

A lilac in the early spring surprised by winter snow..

The blossom of a dying tree in crumbling to the earth.

The funeral procession and the laughter as we go about

Forgetting death... Has life such little worth?

We go about to fill our ears with business not our own.

We seek to know of tragedy; but not concerning us.

Yet, striking home a hurting blow is worse than worsest bad,

And no one knows our plight. We're drowned in dust.

In dust our eyes see dizziness inside our spinning heads.

The road unclear, we do not care, in part, as much to know

In which direction footsteps lead. We stumble through the dead

Until the dealer calls our bluff... It's time to go.

Life in a vacuum, struggling for air.

Mind of confusion going nowhere.

Mingling feelings... Vanishing hopes...

Time revealing tangling ropes

Of tied up ambitions offering naught

Of that satisfaction for which life has sought.

Confusion! Confusion is all that I see;

Sadness and happiness all around me.

Eight hour days and eight hour nights...

Land and sea and free-falling flights.

The oceans of air swirling round in my head

With the burnt leather stench of the things that are dead.

Decaying of man in his own burning flesh

While our visions of harmony want for a fresh,

A new, and equal start...

While peace through destruction seeks to depart

From peace through peace,

Which we never have known,

But have longed for and hoped for and needed so long.

 Are we coming to end?

Will we ever begin to find the world we've waited to see?

Is it only our dust that will set us free?

One Last Word

Let me say just one more thing

Before I rest my quill and muse.

I’ll make no apologies to those

Bewildered or bemused by

The uncluttered caterwauling

Found within these simple lines

And pages to exemplify

Opinions that are clearly mine.

 

You may love or hate or view

My words with bland indifference.

Mayhap you feel I castigate

With malice or impertinence.

 

But wait.

 

I hold no malice in my heart

For any who might bid me same.

To issue harm or cause alarm

Are items that I dire disclaim.

But dare not test the limits

Of my patriotic verve.

It is resolute, with absolute

Perpetual reserve.

 

Decades

Our lives are made up of decades

From zero to ninety-nine.  

When we recollect the “Good Old Days”

It is how we measure our time.

 

Think back on the roaring twenties:

Prohibition, speak-easies and flappers.

Then it all fell apart in the thirties,

The depression distressing that chapter.

 

The forties did not fare much better.

The whole world was a sad battle song.

Then the fifties saw wars, both hot and cold.

Thank God! Rock and roll came along.

 

The sixties saw turmoil with mobs in the street.

The age of assassins. The pain of defeat.

The seventies brought our resolve into question,

And Disco and leisure suits were the obsession.

 

The eighties and nineties were on cruise control

As if common sense may have returned to the fold.

So many lessons. You’d think we would learn.

But we just stalk the sidelines

And watch decades turn.

 

 

Neighborhoods

Oft’ times I stroll about meadows green

Or deep into the stately wood,

But more than not these measured treks

Traverse the local neighborhood.

I love a morning, crisp and clean,

Where mindfulness is understood,

But I avoid the burrs and ticks

If I simply stroll the neighborhood.

All these mirrored cookie-cutter houses

Built so long ago

Morphed by dwellers, claw and nail,

To suit their tastes and temperament.

 

At times, it can be better

Than a moving picture show,

And here am I to soak up

Every nuance, every element.

A chain-link-split-rail-picket fence

To hide-divide each precious patch.

Goblins, sprites and garden gnomes,

Sons and fathers playing catch.

This house, this lawn neat and tidy,

That one an ungodly mess.

Some with roses full in bloom,

Others fully flowerless.

 

Amazing all the sights you see,

A medley of the grim and good,

A blending of humanity exists

In every neighborhood.

 

N.I.M.B.Y. (not in my back yard)

Everyone agrees it’s a good idea,

One that will reap a real benefit.

Just don’t put it in my back yard.

That’s something I simply will not permit.

 

Now, I’m not heartless, don’t you know?

I feel compassion for those folk,

But I don’t want them in MY neighborhood.

My God! I think I’d have a stroke

 

If I had to associate, or

Even pass them on the street. No.

Let them find someplace where

Indiscretion isn’t indiscreet.

 

What? You think I’m insincere?

You say that I’m a hypocrite?

My friend, I have you know that

I am totally the opposite.

 

I don’t mind if you have your way.

I’ll even stand as your vanguard.

Go! Build the project of your dreams…

Just not in my back yard.

 

Cross Country

Sometimes you just want to hop on

That Harley and head off to nowhere

With no given plans,

Or leap on a slow-rolling freight train

To hide and ride thousands of miles

Across vast open lands.

 

A countryside long and wide

Ocean to ocean, border to boundary

To mountainside,

City to forest to desert and canyon

From dawn’s maiden brilliance to eventide.

 

You may fly through bright clouds

Laying claim to her wonders,

Drive her highways and byways in every detail,

View her marvels and monuments,

Forests and foundries,

Follow her mysteries

Down every trail.

 

Whether by train or plane, auto or boat,

No matter how long or how far you may roam

Across this great land, in all of its splendor,

One thing is certain:

There is nowhere like home.

 

The Longest Road

So many highways and byways to roam

In every imagined direction.

So many places to go and to see, but

Too little time for reflection.

 

Youth is a footpath of foreshadowed trails,

Much too busy to echo reproach, but

These pathways grow longer

As summers traverse

And culpability comes to encroach.

 

The cherished path is the lane that is shared

With the one true love, so adored.

As the dove lingers long it will warble its song

Like a wayfaring charmed troubadour.

 

The roadway of age lingers long, travels slow,

Pausing frequently to contemplate

All the streets and the avenues

Crossed and recrossed

And the memories each one relates.

 

But the longest road,

The loneliest road,

Is covered with cobblestone.

A thoroughfare paved in shades of despair,

For the longest road is travelled alone.

 

Breathe

Take a moment…

            Take a beat…

Just breathe.

Be amazed by graces you might find

Sleeping in dark passages where

Dreams are known to dwell,

Seeded deep inside a tranquil mind.

 

Close your eyes…

            Rest your thoughts…

Just breathe.

Teased, the fickle dantian brings chi

To rise in silent eyes,

Brings tension to a swift demise

And sets a weary spirit free.

 

Count your blessings…

            Muse your boon…

Just breathe.

The mind can be a transporting chair,

A vehicle able to roam anywhere.

And all may book passage to go there if you will

Just breathe.

 

A Twist of Fate

Plans are great…

            And necessary.

Everyone should have a goal

Along with a map to get there

To help them grasp and keep control.

 

But plans are often sidetracked by

A sure but subtle twist of fate

That recasts hunger’s fierce desire

And occupies a different plate.

 

Even blatant surety

Cannot be grist to guarantee that

Every plan must carry true to form.

The ride of cunning circumstance

Can oft unveil the gypsy’s dance

And transform to a search for unicorns.

 

But dreams need not be abdicated

Just because plans break apart.

The shattered pieces congregate to

Find a brand-new place to start.

 

Focus! Focus on the point.

Important plans do not abate.

They can thrive and will survive

The meanest, harshest twist of fate.