Nothing Left But Goodbye

I hate funeral parlors....
Never want to be the object
Of morose attention.
Sobbing, weeping, wailing, moaning
Mourners. Not to mention
All the things the undertakers
Do to violate the dead.
Filling them with fluids...
Pancaked cheeks of phony red.

Remembrance is in the heart,
Not lying in a box of steel.
Respects are paid conveying to the living
How we truly feel.
In the last analysis,
Though it be cause to cry,
There's really nothing left to say
Except a silent, fond goodbye.

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Next Time

If at first you don't succeed...
You all know the rest.
You can fill the blanks,
So there's no need to have a test.
A lot of truth is handled in
That simple one line phrase
About persistence. How the human
Spirit can amaze
And rise above the petty failures
Caused by being unprepared,
Learning from mistakes,
Never running scared.
Climbing from the pit of doubt,
Eyes on the sublime.
Stars are out there.
You can reach them if you try...
Next time.

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Notions

Vague thoughts, like mental clouds,
Come floating through the air.
Bubbles burst into a whim
Of unexpected quick desire.
A rush of strong adrenaline goes
Coursing through our veins
To raise imagination
Floating higher, ever higher.
Mental images abound,
Resound, repeat aplenty,
Views, opinions, vague beliefs,
A plan or an intention.
Notions come and notions go
As quickly as they started,
Father of discovery...
Mother of invention.

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Metamorphosis

We often think of butterflies
When needing an example
Of metamorphosis in it's pure state.
Nestled safe in its cocoon the
Caterpillar undergoes
The multiplicity of changes
Meant to seal its fate.

Humans can't afford the
Luxury of a cocoon.
Our changes come more subtly and slow.
Unclothed to every whit and whim
Life throws in our direction,
Exposure is the kindling that
Makes our fire grow.

As the piper plays our tune,
Beckoning our ear,
As the crowd chants and the chorus sings,
We are growing,
Ever growing,
Through all our doubts and fears,
Ever closer to the day when
We too spread our wings.

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Mirrored Images

You are me and I am you.
We are both each other.
Mother, father, friend or foe,
Sister, cousin, brother.
Members of a kindred species,
Born of earth and water.
Unexplained existence,
Universal teeter-totter.
Black or yellow,
Red or white,
Should we really care?
Images are mirrored
In the common bonds we share.
Loving is the fruit we seek,
Caring is our need.
A harvest grand when
Simple understanding plants the seed.

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Memory Fails

It comes at the most inconvenient of times.
A thought that was there
Just as quickly is gone.
Then struggle is futile to
Bring back the wrinkle
Of gray matter.
We smile or yawn
And simply apologize.
We can't imagine what ails.
It's such an embarrassment,
So unexplainable,
So typical when memory fails.

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Light the Way Home

Logs on the fire create a soft glow.
Torches enlighten the spirited night.
Candles illuminate corners and nooks,
While the night skies are sprinkled
With pinpoints of light.
Brash incandescent
Or softly florescent,
Halogen, laser, whatever...
The face of the moon forms a
Pool of reflection
Of sunlight that
Streams on forever.

Light is a seeker,
A giver of life.
It follows wherever we roam.
No matter how far
The journey may take us,
There will always be someone to
Light the way home.

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Lake Lanier

Someone turned these fields into
A thriving heaving lake.
Was this for recreation
Or for population's sake?
Miles and miles of shoreline
Stretching from Gwinnett through Hall,
And all the way to Habersham
Where mountain waters fall
To creeks and streams to form the waterways
To fill your basins deep,
While pine trees keep good company
To willows as they weep.
Gateway to the Chattahoochee,
Formed by Buford's dam.
Power from your mighty waters
Surging through the lines.
Strength of Shamu's mighty jaws,
Yet gentle as a lamb,
Sitting quiet and sedate,
Nestled in the pines.

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Looking Forward / Glancing Back

Moving with a forward motion,
Growing with each passing day,
Side step, glide step, leaping, dipping,
Gaining speed along the way.
Side trips are a sweet diversion.
Short hiatus. That's okay.
Sometimes needed, always welcome,
Brief vacation from the fray.

Back in step and onward marching,
Arms at ready for attack.
Struggling to make the front,
To be the leader of the pack.
Reaching out to those who need us,
Unafraid to take the flack.
Not forgetting where we came from...
Looking forward, glancing back.

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Killing Time

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Fingers on the table rap.
Rocking, swaying forth and back...
Counting tiles and ceiling cracks...
Pacing, pacing to and fro.
Waiting as impatience grows.
Blankly twiddling a thumb
'Til the appointed time has come.
Making up a silly rhyme
Soon forgotten...
Killing time

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Kindred Spirits

I can't remember...
Was there a time I didn't know you?
Was there a me before we met?
Seems as if we've always been.
If we haven't... I forget.
All my youth was spent in search of
Everything I found in you,
And now every day is special,
Every morning fresh and new.
When you find a kindred spirit
In your trek with father time,
In your search for truth and meaning,
In your quest for the sublime,
Hold on tight and make the most
Of every second that you share.
Life is short and oh! So precious,
And such luck is truly rare.
Beating hearts keep time together,
Breathing out, breathing in.
Walking step by step beside me
'Til we reach the very end.
Kindred spirits in our longings,
Sharing secrets day by day,
Walking through life's welcome garden,
Smelling roses on the way.

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Keepsakes

Where are your keepsakes?
Your treasure chest?
Do you keep them under lock and key?
Do you hide them from others?
Keep them in private?
Is that where they ought to be?
Those items you treasure
That bring up fond memories
With which you would never part,
Are they simply possessions?
For keepsakes, true keepsakes,
Dwell deep within the heart.

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Justifying Tomorrow

It was yesterday that brought us to
This place, this here, this now.
A ship of time continuing
As we stroll stern to bow
Taking in the scenery,
Learning as we go,
Wrinkling gray matter
As the ship rocks to and fro.
Building aspirations as
We learn more of our fate,
Longing to be rich or famous,
Striving to be great.
All our yesterdays compile
And build on joy and sorrow,
Contemplating what's to come
To justify tomorrow.

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Just One More Time

Going swimming Saturdays
At the Fish and Fiddle Inn,
Little sandy strip of beach
Just up around the bend.
Jumping off the deep end
Between boats docked at the pier.
Daring one another touch the bottom,
Testing fear.

Happy, carefree, lazy days
Cloud my memory with haze.

Sunday afternoon,
Rock Dodger Stadium awaits.
Hurling baseballs through the air
'Til evening sun abates.
Summer, winter, didn't matter,
Not as I recall.
The only thing that changed
Was the dimensions of the ball.

Running, catching, in my prime.
How I'd love just one more time...

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Jealousy Hurts

Green is the color
Of nature's true glory,
A marvelous uplifting shade.
But green as the color of
Human emotion
Is one we should always evade.

Jealousy creeps on
The borders and edges,
Silently praying on fears
Real or imagined.
Flagrantly flaunting,
Hoping to bring us to tears.

No one can accurately
Speak of the outcome.
No one predicts what may be.
Jealousy hurts
When fidelity's challenged.
Trust holds the ultimate key.

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Illusion

First it was there...
Then it was gone...
Then it was back again.
Was it magic,
Real or imagined,
Or was it just slight of hand?
Wizardry's easy when
Played to an audience
Of young impressionable minds.
Innocence entertains without question
The story as it unwinds.
How sad that growing up
Breeds skepticism...
The loss of an innocent age.
Illusion is wasted,
Delusion forsaken.
Maturity turns the page.

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If at First...

Mother? Please!
All the other kids...
What if father says I can?
"I said no! Now just what part
Did you not understand?"
But if dad agrees...
"If he agrees, it would be
A surprise to me."
May I ask?
"He'll just say no and
Give you the third degree."
Dad, may I?
"Go ask your mother."
But she said to ask your advice.
The other kids...
"What other kids?"
Oh, they're all very nice.
"Who are they? Names. Addresses.
What do their parents do?
Just what time will you be home?
Who'll be there to look after you?"
Is all this necessary? It's a party, not a war.
Just this once. I promise. I'll never ask for more.
Obstacles of childhood want
Can be a harsh deterrent.
So, if at first you don't succeed,
Ask the other parent.

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Images

Gazing at old photographs
In glossy black and white,
Washed out grays or textured browns,
Antique plates of imagery.
Who are these faces who stare from the page
As if I were their camera?
Asking me to give back their souls
As though that gift were privy to me.
Bustles and bolos and high hats and spats,
Hooped skirts and derbies and all such as that.
Vaguely yet strangely familiar wear
Seen in old movies or at the state fair,
Where for only ten bucks you can put on old clothes
And they take your photograph
Striking a pose.
But who are these images?
Where did they go?
Will they be us someday?
How can we know?

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Mother

She was

     And is

My most treasured memory, 

Instilling all that is decent and good.

Gentle hands

     Gentle soul. 

Gliding through life on gossamer wings. 

Wise in her measure, she 

Spoke without judgment, 

Softly, quietly, never in anger, 

Unless in defense of those she called

Family, 

In which case she fought 

With the heart of a lion. 

Always near

     In spite of the distance, 

Always dear 

     To those she adored, 

Playfully childlike 

     Without being childish, 

Quick with a smile 

     Or a soft-spoken word.

Mothers are jewels,

Honored and precious.
Keep them forever.
You only get one.


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Honeymoon Suite

Who really cared if it rained all week?
Who noticed anyway?
Young and in love and alive for each other,
We hardly knew night from day.

Waterlogged room in a spot near the ocean,
Too wet for exploring the sands.
Beaches deserted by fair weather visitors
Walking the shore hand in hand.

We were so much making two into one,
With no time to notice the skies,
And the only exploring we needed to do
Was deep into each other's eyes.

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High School Hijinks

Smoking in the boy's room...
Kibitzing a test...
Peeping the girl's locker room,
A brash unwelcome guest.
Monday morning cutting class.
Off to "Mickey D's",
Sneaking peeks at skirts hiked high
Above the teacher's knees.
Empty hallways populate
And scurry off from harm,
'Til moments later someone yells
"It was a false alarm".
Wondering who the moron was
Who pulled the bitter joke.
Although thankful for the break,
We still hoped they would choke.
Waiting for the final bell,
The governor's reprieve.
Knowing if we ne'er returned,
Not one of us would grieve.
High school hijinks. What a blast!
A howl! A hoot! A wow!
If I had only known back then
Half of what I know now.

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Hiatus

Happily vacationing.
Inactive situationing.
Attuned to rationalizationing
To ward off logic's rationing and
Useless aggravationing.
Simplification bid "come in".
Hiatus...
Surely, not a sin.

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Gone but Not Forgotten

Sunday morning trips to Atlanta,
Grandpa would open his barbershop
For us rag-headed boys who would
Raid him of quarters
And drink up his profits in soda pop.
Calm, sedate and stalwart was he,
Keenly attuned to each sight, every sound.
Striding the sidewalks, leaving us children
Scurrying, trying to cover his ground.

Tall straight-backed rocking chair,
Front porch theater,
Cigarette rolling machine.
Don't disturb grandpa now.
He's much too busy.
Try not to make such a scene.
While granny fries bacon and ham
In the kitchen,
Grandpa has only one goal.
With tobacco and paper,
He sits in his rocker,
And gives a new meaning
To rock and roll.

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Getting Mugged

Suddenly, unexpectedly,
A flash of cold steel in you face.
Eyes transfixed on muzzle and trigger,
No time for logic,
No time to brace
Against evil surprise as it springs into gear,
Quickly confronting mortality's fears.
The bold perpetrator relies on surprise,
Sensing the terror he finds in your eyes.
Swiftly he moves in his dastardly deed,
His mind set determined on feeding his greed.
Leaving his victim a cold hollow shell,
Cast in the dark of their own private hell.
There won’t be many events on your life
That cause more grief,
Cause more strife,
Than the cold realization a mugging can bring,
That life, at it's worst,
Is a precious thing.

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Games of Childhood

Cowboys and Indians,
Good guys and bad,
Coppers and robbers,
Hero and cad.
Fire engine driver,
Bull dozing man,
Tall tree top cropper,
Rock and roll band. 
A young boy goes chasing
A young man's desire,
Socially teaching him
What to aspire.

Dollies and doilies
And playing at house,
Learning to screech at
The sight of a mouse,
Wild flowers forming
A lovely bouquet,
Tea party centerpiece
Proudly displayed.
A young girl goes chasing
Young women's desires,
Socially teaching her
What to aspire.

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Flowery Branch

The Indians named you Flowery Branch, most appropriately.
Nestled on a hillside sitting high above the brook.
Sleepy little village where the
Train-tracks used to stop for just a moment,
Hardly long enough to look.
Almost missed when driving by
If sunlight makes one blink an eye.
Causing you to miss the charm
Which there within her borders lie.
The style of Simpson's grocery
Or Carlisle's barber shop
Where Saturdays were made for swapping tales
And drinking soda pop.
The small town manufacturing...
The bait and tackle store...
Wood framed homes so old
Nobody lives there anymore.
A little slice out of the past,
This small town by the creek.
Treasured gemstone from our youth...
An American antique.

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Figments of My Imagination

Aaron and Curtis and Betty Mae,
Judy and Janice and Jimmy Ray,
Childhood companions from our congregation?
Or were they just figments of imagination?
Names from the past, from a youth thought forgotten.
Memories stolen, some fresh, others rotten.
Laughing and playing...
Running and fighting...
Learning our 'rithmatic,
Reading and writing.
Where are they now?
Are they living or buried?
Did they switch off the airwaves
Or just change the station?
Were they real?
Did I touch them?
Did they touch me back?
Or were they just figments of imagination?

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Echoes

Echoes of my mother's voice
Are always in my mind,
Bounding and resounding
In a melancholy way.
Sound advice is her forte,
Although she never presses
Or preaches or demands
That I obey.

Tolerance and temperament,
Patience, hope and faith,
Honesty and charity
And even-handed truth.
All will echo back to you
And be a faithful guide
If your mother's voice
Instilled them in your youth.

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Every Day Life

Morning breaks slowly
As eyelids peel upward,
Blinking and rubbing 'til fully alert.
Rising with dread of
The workday ahead,
Headaches and heartaches
And fingernail dirt.
Breakfast... A doughnut...
A fast bite or two...
Gulping down coffee,
A quick glance at news...
Skeptically donning the workday apparel
As daily routines help to keep us on cue.
Five days a week
The rat race continues,
Living for weekends and vacation breaks,
Hoping the golden years
Make it worthwhile,
That everyday life gives back
More than it takes.

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Experience: The Great Teacher

Books are filled with wonders,
Unbounded in their scope,
Filled with trinkets, tidbits,
Treasure troves of faith and hope.
Classrooms and instructors teach
The fundamental learning
Meant to give direction
And thus instill a yearning.
But doing is the only way
To find out where and whence.
The greatest teacher of them all
Is plain experience.

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Distant Relations

Remember the family reunions
You were dragged to as a child?
Aunts and uncles pinching cheeks
Until it drove you wild.
Cousins, first, second, third,
Twice removed or more,
In-laws, outlaws, closet-dwellers,
Relations rich,
Relations poor.
Roots run deep in family,
Surviving through both fire and ice.
Children often can't
Appreciate the sacrifice
Of those who went before
Too blaze the trail,
To give their passage ease
So they may sit in sun and shade
And just enjoy the breeze.
Do you still remember
All the distant names and faces?
Relations of our youth
Disappearing without traces.

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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.

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