Under The Sheltering Pines

Carpeting brown beneath canopy green,

Layer on layer so spongy and plush

That the sole of my shoe makes no sound

As I stroll through the stand,

So endearing, I dare not to rush.

Afraid I may miss the sweet laughter of robins

Proclaiming their conquest

Pulled fresh from the earth.

I seek out their nesting place every springtime,

Amazed and bewitched at nature's rebirth.

 

But the pine is a constant.

It always endures.

With roots running deeper than diamond mines.

So blissful to saunter,

Admiring the view,

In the shade of the sheltering pines.

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Umbilical

Even before we pass into this world,

Before the first life-breath invades our breast,

A bond of attachment is formed in the mind,

Bred in the heart, in the womb where we rest.

 

Breaking free only means changing our course

And direction. Freedom itself is benign.

Certain connections can never be broken.

Some things can never be left behind.

 

Trading in secrets of youthful dimension,

Bargaining, bartering, striving to grow,

Trace the umbilical to its beginning.

The past tells the future which way it must go.

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Testing Memory

Life is just a "jeopardy" game.

Someone yells the answer,

And you wonder what the question was.

Sometimes you hesitate and think.

Sometimes you answer without pause.

Sometimes you ponder and reflect,

"I used to know that way back when".

But then before you can remember

Some smartass comes buzzing in

To steal your thunder,

Such a blunder.

Thinks he's such a modern wonder.

Makes you want to dig a hole

And put him about six feet under....

Only kidding... Just a game.

Violence is sick and lame.

And I'm sure that you'll agree,

It's such fun testing memory.

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Total Recall

I remember it all...

Every word, every sigh,

Every breath to the last...

Silent echo... Goodbye.

Waiting motionless...

Senseless denial of rest.

Counting the rise and fall

Of your chest.

Time becoming a road without end.

Taking the measure of this gentle friend.

Each second is stilled.

I remember it all.

A burden to carry,

This total recall.

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Thrown Back

Like a fish too small to bother...

Doesn't register or rate...

Tossed back into murky waters.

Wasted time. Wasted bait.

 

Young love spurned and unrequited...

Heart of glass begins to crack...

Till it shatters into pieces...

Mercilessly thrown back.

 

Wiser now and more mature...

Bitter hindsight turned around

To face the cold hard facts ahead,

To not look back,

Not look down.

 

Knowing that the pond holds many

As we glide among the pack,

One will find and swim beside me.

We will never be thrown back.

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Searching For Details

The ifs and whens and

Wherefores and therefores.

The whats, the whos and whys

Plague the air in search of a reason.

Searching for details

To uncover lies.

Forces of evil surround the encampment.

Flagrantly rumoring innuendo,

Disseminating their disinformation,

Clouding the truth with a blanket of snow.

Fact into fiction,

Fiction to fact.

Follow the paper trail,

Find and attack.

Becoming a sleuth with a monocled brow.

Searching for details,

Wondering how.

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Snakes and Lizards

Don't like slimly...

Don't like slinky...

Don't like creepy, crawly, stinky...

Don't like flies or

Bees or bugs...

Snakes or lizards...

Snails or slugs.

I know boys are supposed to like

Things that slither, sting or bite.

It's just curiosity. They say that's how it ought to be.

Well,

Call me crazy.

Call me strange.

To me it seems a bit deranged

To want to see or

Even touch

These snakes and lizards,

Bugs and such.

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Souvenirs

I recall when we climbed "Stone Mountain",

Looking out over mile after mile

Of tall Georgia pine reaching skyward

In worship. It still makes me smile

To think of that day, so majestic and free

Where sight never sees and sound never hears.

A small piece of granite

From high on the mountain

Became my most treasured

Of all souvenirs.

Not platinum or silver,

Not diamond or gold,

Not emerald or ruby red stone.

A piece of a memory.

A glorious moment.

God and the mountain...

And me all alone.

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Reminders

Tie a string around your finger.

Write yourself a little note and

Place it where you're sure to see it,

Pin it to your overcoat!

Ask a friend to call you later.

Cause a memory to stir.

Looking out beyond tomorrow,

Write it on your calendar.

Tricks and stunts abound aplenty

In the old reminder game.

Those who use them will succeed.

Those who don't... Well, who's to blame?

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Recollections

The mind plays tricks

On mundane recollections from the past.

It bogs down in a swamp

Just when it's needed to run fast.

Fleetingly just out of reach,

It wants to be unmasked,

And when it's caught, it breathes a sigh

As it is shared at last.

Recollections told by friends,

Such sweet apparitions.

Calling up a smiling past,

A memory transmission.

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Remembrance

Floating ghosts of yesterday,

Background crawlers coiled to spring.

Frosting on a memory

Sweetly comes recycling.

Spurred forth in a second's flash,

Keyed by senses, sound or sight.

Spilling out in conversation

Or reflected cool and quiet.

Thoughtful longings for the past,

Tucked in memory, not by chance.

Keepsakes treasured, never spent,

Shrines of fond remembrance.

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The Quarry

Deserted now...

The old granite quarry where

Boulders the size of elephants

Grazed in herds on red clay and sand.

Beached whales washed up on the shore

Of the lake-filled canyon formed unexpectedly

From an underground spring.

Crystalline water as pure as the dew drops

Affording a view of the bottomless pond.

Formidable and invitingly clear,

Cool and refreshing from summertime's heat.

 

Hovering battlements tall as the tree tops

Surrounding three sides with lake castle walls.

A child might imagine the parapets riding the crest

With cannon and catapult ready to fire.

 

The old stone quarry, deserted now.

How many stories do you have to tell?

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Quid Pro Quo

Swapping baseball cards when I was young

Was not a business.

Sentimental value was the only valid key.

Even up and fair exchange had nothing whatsoever

To do with money. It just seemed

The way it ought to be.

 

Values change like seedlings into saplings into trees.

Quid pro quo grows less important

As the leaves turn brown.

Even up no longer is the goal

Or the safe haven.

Motive turns to greed

Before the leaves come crashing down.

 

Why is it never quite enough

To reap just what you sow?

Why can't we just be satisfied?

What's wrong with quid pro quo?

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Pretending

Little Joey plays so hard at being what he sees,

Imagination racing like the rhythm of a train.

Making temporary worlds inspires as it frees

His soul to grow like new mown grass after the rain.

 

Susie tries to catch a star and hold it as a treasure,

Growing up so quickly that she causes heads to spin.

Stepping into mother's shoes, trying hard to measure

Up to expectations of both kith and kin.

 

Animations learned in youth

Become a lifetime folly.

Pretending soon becomes a vivid point of reference.

The wise will quickly learn to use escape

To keep them jolly.

The unwise simply cannot see

To tell the difference.

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Pistols, Slingshots and Mason Jar Lids

A carved out pistol of pliable pine

Tucked away neatly in the belt

Made me the toughest hombre in town,

King of the hill, the fastest draw,

Cop to their robbers, hop-along kid,

Equal to whatever hand might be dealt,

Eager to challenge the forces of evil,

Ready with lightning to face one and all.

 

Sturdy piece cut from the fork of a sapling,

Strips of old inner tube tied to each end,

Tin cans and bottles lined up on a boulder

To practice an art form as old as dirt.

Pebbles fly with the speed of a rocket.

Bottles smash and tin cans bend

As mother admonishes, ranting and scolding,

Wildly afraid that someone may get hurt.

 

Pilfered ring from a Mason jar lid,

And fifty three tons of imagination,

I've license to drive, spinning wheels, popping gears,

Changing course and direction but never speed.

I become Richard Petty, or Bobby or Cale,

The winner's circle my one destination.

Not looking back as I race the wide oval,

Desperately trying to stay in the lead.

 

Life is so simple with youth as companion.

Imagination is all that you need.

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Perception / Misconception

Looking out on a level plain

And asking the question "does anyone care?"

Silently longing to break with tradition

Without ending up alone in despair.

Perception from angles acute and obtuse,

Varying versions of justice and truth,

Backgrounds and foregrounds, shadows and glare,

Break down the barriers formed in our youth.

 

Plans thought out, though ill conceived,

Treasures sought for a rainy day,

Pleasures of the world surrounding

All our simple folksy ways.

Trouble comes and, unprepared,

The burden stings like iron gloves

Smashed upon the cheek of wisdom,

Crashing down from high above.

 

Perception of our misconception.

Embarrassment to noble thought.

Deeds will out and battles count

When we perceive them to be fought.

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Only Time

How long is forever?

When did it begin?

Is existence a recurring thing?

Does anything really ever end?

Do spirits live inside our shells?

Do lonely souls continue on?

Is everlasting peace a dream

Or just another fabled con?

Do you have all the vivid answers?

Does reason plague your mortal mind?

Does life slap back at you when you

Pose questions seemingly unkind?

Is it our place to understand

The fleeting rhythm or the rhyme?

Or does the answer lie beyond this life?

Who knows?

Only time.

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Out of Step... Out of Place

The army steps in step by step,

Each footfall neatly mapped.

With twelve to the front

And eight to the rear

Each arm swing has been choreographed.

Eyes straight forward,

Posture checked,

Weapons neatly held in place,

No syncopation is allowed

In this display of rhythmic grace.

No one allowed to miss a beat...

No one allowed to wander...

No time for stopping to reflect...

No time to pose or ponder.

Always in a rush,

Though I don't understand the race.

No wonder I feel out of step...

And even out of place.

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Observation Point

Looking out from a vantage point

High above the masses,

Seeking all the wisdom left by ages eons past,

Yearning understanding as a guide

Through rocky passes,

Hoping against hope that every breath

Won't be the last.

Being an observer of

The human situation,

Learning how they deal with strain

And daily aggravation,

Seeing how they grow and go

In multiple directions,

Little secrets that they hide

Just to avoid detection.

Mumbled, jumbled lives so

Froth with muddled complication.

Amazing what one sees from this

High point of observation.

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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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