Pilgrim

And we are all on pilgrimage

From day one to the last,

One eye upon the future,

The other on the past.

Searching for the answers

To the questions yet unasked,

As the journey disentangles up ahead.

Ever-changing pathways loom

in striking vistas wide and vast.

So many players in our movie

We cannot count the cast.

And though our sojourn may be filled with

Days of sun or overcast

We journey on until our needs are fed.

 

Patience is a constant friend

From journey’s start until the end,

And when at last our trek has passed

Perhaps we’ll start it all again.

 

You are What You Think

Others may judge you with

Critical eyes

Without ever knowing the

Fire that lies in

The pit of your being that multiplies

Exponentially every day.

 

You know what you know but

You don’t know it all, so

You struggle to learn every day.

And you think what you think

As you stand on the brink

Til you sink to complete disarray.

 

Life moves in circles and mosaic patterns,

And it can be gone in a blink.

But while you are here simply trust your instincts.

Remember, you are what you think.

 

Meditation

Quiet…

Calm…

Stillness…

Breathe.

Repeat and then repeat again.

Muscles soften one by one

To soothe the thirst of yang and yen.

 

Moments melt in innocence til

Earth makes sky a silent friend

And time fails in its flow

Without beginning,

Without end.

 

Peaceful breath infused so deep

As rivals the song of a dulcet wren.

Finding rest at end of day

Wrapped in the arms of a gentle friend.

 

All are welcome to the pause

To contemplate the where and when

With silent prayer

That goes nowhere

And stills the soul.

 

Amen.

 

The Competitor

There is always at least one

In every group who runs the gamut,

Must be better than the rest,

Must be proved to be the best.

 

Surely, nothing could be wrong with

A bit of healthy competition.

Run the race with pumped profusion,

Guts and guile and vile collusion.

 

Weep not for the also-rans

Who could not seem to measure up.

Let them muddle in defeat

And grovel at the victor’s feet.

 

No one strives for second- best

Or settles to be in the pack.

All who enter long to see

And hear the praise of victory.

 

In the end, the final truth,

The final measure of success

Is not who plays to win the game,

But he who gives his very best.

 

Evolution

Hard to comprehend it all begins

When horrid harry beasts

Decided to descend from trees to

Terra firma’s fertile roost.

 

Can it be that all we know

Began to grow to something more?

To morph into a form so new

It never had been seen before?

 

And how shall we evolve and swift resolve

To find meaningful end if

We have dubious concern

Of origins that might have been?

 

There are those who swift deny

The theories and what they imply

With vehemently brash reply and

Fervent fits that rail and stun.

 

But do we really need to know?

Must we bash and come to blows?

The rivers will not cease to flow

If the answer is undone.

 

Plant a Tree

A promise of tomorrow as

A seedling finds the soil, and

Roots seek loving nourishment

To live and lift and grow.

 

Turning leaf to seek the sunlight,

Breathing life into the air,

Chasing seasons to a future

Impossible to know.

 

Standing stalwart to the winds, the rains,

The heat, the hurricanes.

 Bending without breaking

As the years pass swiftly by.

Whispering its’ secrets to

An ever-changing whimsical wind

Answering each question with

A heavy-hearted sigh.

 

And we who stand in wonder

Can argue mightily,

No greater gift can we bestow

Than to simply plant a tree.

 

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is a fantasy that never quite arrives.

Always speaks of promise,

Always offers hope that

Miracles and wonderment can

Keep the dream alive,

Offering a medicine

To help and heal and cope.

 

Yesterday? Forever gone.

Today is where we bide.

Tomorrow is a place for dreams

To humbly reside.

And if by chance tomorrow’s dream

Should happily come in play,

The fruits will be consumed

In the space know as today.

 

And so, the simple truth is clear,

The plus, the minus and the sum.

Today is all that matters, for

Tomorrow never comes.

 

Tenderness

Quiet hours spent in silence

Alone or with that special someone

Tends to tender, calm and soothe

The jumbled jungle of the mind.

Hectic days and crowded nights

Are merely battles to be won

So all may rest in sweet repose

And leave hostilities behind.

 

Life can oft be bitter cruel

And fate unfair when said and done,

Causing hearts to harden beyond pardon

In the mid-day sun.

And circumstance can call the dance

That rends the party into pain,

And leaves a once-forgiving soul to

Harden in a world undone.

 

Life can often be a place

That understanding can’t process.

To face the trials of each day

The heart must yield to tenderness.

 

War Stinks

W. T. Sherman was quoted as saying,

“War is Hell.”

That about sums it up.

Nothing redeeming in that catamount,

Stalking and preying on the unsuspecting

Without remorse til its hunger is sated.

Innocents dying;

            Collateral damage:

                        Battlefield sacrifice:

                                    Misfortune’s tariff.

Let all the heralds ring out with pomposity

The cause célèbres that your banners proclaim.

There is no glory.

There is no worthiness.

There is only emptiness tossed beyond reason.

 

When reckoning finally unravels,

When the survivors pick up the pieces,

When the net tally is calculated

Only one truth remains to be told:

 

War stinks.

 

Please, Be Kind

It’s true,

Navigating this labyrinth of life

Can be daunting as to baffle the

Most brilliant of minds. But

No matter how cruel or challenged

The pathway, there is never a reason

To fail to be kind.

 

Compete if you must,

Disagree if you will and

Argue a point to the edge of perdition

In voices emphatic,

Tempered with monotone,

Ladled with logic and

Braced by tradition.

 

No reason to battle, beat or berate

When confronted with a cold controversial choice.

Sound sensibility, patience and poise

Can seek resolution wrapped calmly, sans noise.

 

And when, in the end, there is pause to reflect,

May it always be true that we find

Through the mush and the mosh of

The wallow and wash

We made the choice to be kind.

 

Worth

There will come a time when

Doubt will haunt you and

Uncertainty flaunts as

You question your worth.

 

Regrets from the past can

Cause havoc that lingers and

Mocks without mercy,

Sings without mirth.

 

Hung out to dry with a

Tear in your eye,

You seek justice from

Worry and doubt.

And wonder, “Oh, my!

Will this feeling pass by?”

Never knowing what it’s all about.

 

But you alone are the master of you.

It is up to you to unearth all

The vision and wonder

You bring to the table.

Only you can measure your worth.

 

Pleasure

On a scale of one to ten,

What pleasure do you demand?

Do you yen for sun and sin or

Do you worship wholesomeness?

 

Does giving of your time and self

Bring satisfaction to your soul,

Or do you find self-serving goals

Your key to happiness?

 

Whatever brings you pleasure in

This helter-skelter wounded world is

Treasure beyond measure as

The fickle flag of life unfurls.

 

Fitful time moves ever forward

With unbending certainty

Toward a place where our existence

On this sphere will cease to be.

 

Pleasure is a state of mind,

A fleeting flash of green and gold.

Find it, press it in your book,

A precious memory to hold.

 

Make a Difference

It doesn’t take much effort

To be the tiny spark

That kindles caring kindness

In another’s lonely heart.

 

Often it’s a simple phrase or gesture

Made without pretense,

Offered without second thought with

No request for recompense.

 

Ego simply disappears

And generosity inspires

A giving kinship in a world too

Often filled with base desires.

 

Offer up a loving smile to

One whose eyes may tilt forlorn.

A kiss upon the forehead can

Give hope to one

Whose heart is torn.

 

A simple hug can mend

So many doubts when times are

Taut and tense,

And you may be the catalyst

To calmly make a difference.

 

The Ocean Breathes

Standing beside her to seek her horizon,

Struck by her aire of august majesty,

Watching the cadence of white-capped migration,

The rise and the fall as she strives to be free.

 

But freedom forbids her to glide past her borders,

Confined as a victim of proclivity,

Trapped by the steeliness of gravity and

Shaped by the odd folds of geography.

Slowly she rises in vaporous billows

To sky above mountains, rivers and plains.

Offering nurture to land-loving presence,

Her cycle facilitates life-giving rain

While deep in her catacombs giants roam freely

To feast on her sustenance unceasingly.

Teaming with buoyant, benevolent bounty

That seems to reach far beyond eternity..

 

Witness her lifeforce,

Marvel her wonders,

Sing her a song so sweet no one conceives

Of the beauty she bears,

The glamour she wears,

The wonders she shares

As she rhythmically breathes.

 

The Weather Report

What will the new dawn awaken

To this little corner of earth

Where we wait with wandering wonder

At the advent of daylight’s rebirth?

 

Will skies be sunny with luminous luster

Or dank with the dreariness of cheerless clouds?

Will the winds make us cower, the rains drown the flowers,

Or shall we assemble in frolicsome crowds?

 

Harken the prophets of prognostication,

The gurus of guesswork and technologies,

Whose bold postulations are mere speculation

Given in faith but without guarantees.

 

And we give them credit,

And we consign blame to

These ardent messengers of prophesy

For plans that we make,

For plans that we cancel,

For plans that we modify with impunity.

 

So, harken, my frolicsome friend, to their foresight

With dubious wisdom before you cavort.

Though nothing is certain

Til they pull back the curtain

No harm comes from heeding the weather report.

Feeling Small

Do you feel small in the grand scheme of things?

No? Take but a moment of deep introspection and

Hold yourself captive to imagination

As awe overtakes

And reality quakes

At the breadth of the universe

In mock indignation.

 

Consider the gnat.

You are larger than that,

Yet he flies in your face

Without fear or remorse.

While elephants tower with unfettered power

And leave you to cower at their fearsome force.

 

And how do you feel when you stand by the ocean

With nary a notion of where it might end?

Or look upon Everest ascending to Heaven

Or the canyon so grand that you can’t comprehend.

 

Do you feel small?

 

Take a look at the moon with face shining bright,

Reflecting the luster of brilliant sunlight.

The massive expanse of our galaxy fair,

Just one among millions of millions out there.

No mind can imagine the breadth of it all.

So, I ask you again.

Do you feel small?

 

Save the World

Yes, it is true. She is only a child,

But something special dwells in her soul

To set her apart from the status quo,

Beaming her aura with a spirited glow.

 

Call it compassion or empathy

In such a small and guarded girl,

More worthy than a precious pearl

Who only wants to save the world,

 

Whose thoughts and dreams are priceless schemes

Of building love and hope for all,

To be a lynchpin in the wall,

To help protect the weak and small.

 

Often sad is she who serves

As empath to a broken life

Reaching out to those in strife

When sorrow cuts them like a knife.

 

Planning projects, large and small,

To serve the masses drowning in need,

Restore the plenty lost to greed

And be the first to plant the seed of

Love where fields of flowers grow,

And rows of rainbow flags unfurl.

The spirit of one delicate girl

Whose only wish:

To save the world.

Age is Just a Number

Father Time is masterful at

Changing plots and storylines,

And all bear witness as

The transformations are discerned.

As season shifts to season

Etched in incremental stages,

Mortality becomes

An unavoidable concern.

 

But age is just a number

And old is but a state of mind.

And I’ll be here (until I’m not),

So, set the feast and pour the wine.

 

Like Mister Frost whose lifelong task

Was oft misunderstood,

But found the road to longevity

In a lonely yellow wood.

Or Glenn, the younger, circumnavigating

Time and space

To Glenn, the elder, after

Seven decades and still in the chase.

 

So, let the aging process roll

Unchecked and unforgiving,

And I’ll be here (until I’m not)

To make the most of living.

 

Finally

So, now we come to the very end.

This is the last poem in my book.

Just remember, when life serves you lemons,

Make lemonade,

And don't shoot the cook.

 

Baking Cookies

Holiday cookies at our house;

A traditional affair.

To see them stacked from door to door

And floor to ceiling isn't rare.

 

Whether plain and basic,

Or decorated with a flair,

Each is made from start to finish

With our tender loving care.

 

Is it worth the effort?

Is it worth the wear and tear?

Is there any satisfaction

When we offer up our fare?

 

With all the people waiting

We would be remiss to dare

To call off our yearly Christmas

Cookie bake extraordinaire.

 

Broadway

I've only been twice to a Broadway show;

Saw the same show both times.

Marveled each time at just being there;

All the glint and glitter on forty third,

The "Majestic" the "Helen Hayes",

The magic of just walking through Times Square.

There's something truly special in

The lights along Broadway.

They beam to say they've nothing left to hide.

And after dining on the veal from

Sardi's evening fare,

One tends to overlook the seamy side.

But it's inside, when lights go dim,

That the senses exercise.

The stage transforms to a life of its own,

And a new world fills the eyes.

Reality takes a holiday trip

To a playwright's fantasy;

To wake the mind,

To stir the soul,

To set the spirit free.

 

Page One Fourteen

Here we are on page one fourteen;

Our reading just begun to glean.

Have we learned anything that’s new?

Kindled up a thought or two

'Til it becomes a soaring fire

Forty stories, maybe higher?

Have you stopped to see yourself

In the eyes of someone else?

Will you read and read again

From beginning to the end?

If you only stopped to think,

Poetry could be a drink

Nourishing the very soul,

Nurturing to young and old.

Don't stop now. No! Please, read on.

Many battles to be won.

There's more beyond page one fourteen.

 

A Day at the Races

Stepping out with ticket in hand

And hope riding high on a yet unseen steed,

I stand in awe of the spectacle,

Unknowing of where the adventure may lead.

 

Unlike those to whom the event is

A common occurrence, a daily routine,

Mine is a mindset of fresh undertaking,

Reviving old memories evoked by the scene.

 

The oval of sand and sod stretching out

And around the lush pasture of freshly mown green.

The anticipation of speed, grace and power

Makes me feel like a child of sixteen.

 

The princely procession parades for the masses,

Stately and proud their colors display.

Noble demeanor etched in their faces;

Confident, each one, that this is their day.

 

The strutting completed, each one takes their places,

Guarded and stroked by encouraging hands

Until, on a cue, the portals burst open

And power emerges to meet their demands.

Around the wide oval they unleash their power,

Demeanor abandoned, forsaken for speed.

Muscular strides of sinew and sweat

Stretching and straining to get to the lead.

Around the turns race the thundering hoard

Attacking and churning and tearing the track.

Surging and soaring to stretch for the forefront;

No time to pause, demure or look back.

 

And now to the stretch, as they run for the wire,

Unbridled excitement and tension abound.

Knowing that one and only one

Can lay his claim on the winner's crown.

And all who are standing and urging them on,

With a lump crying deep in the pit of their throat,

Pray that the ticket they clutch to their breast

Will offer them the honor to gloat.

 

And now the great mass of sinew and flesh

Break their stride as the race is at end.

And I look at my ticket, tear it in half,

And go back to the window again.

 

Next race in twenty minutes.