When I was young, I looked ahead
To years I would spend facing the
Great unknowns, the unexpected.
When I was young, the future was
Not in the rearview but it loomed
Near and far. The future was just
Where I wanted it. Where it should
Loom. It was all my tomorrows. I
Loved its mystery. I anticipated
The twists and turns but did not
Know where it would lead me nor
Where I would follow. Today, the
Tomorrows may be fewer but I do
Not know what that future holds.
Now, that I am not young, I hold
The hope that the future brings a
Little closer and tighter. It will be
A surprise, I hope. Unexpected, a
Mystery lies in my tomorrows, or
Maybe if I am lucky there will be
Many mysteries. Still even now.
Category Archives: Gratitude
Along Northern Blvd
The churches along Northern
Boulevard are sprinkled next
To eateries, intermittent but
Fewer than the restaurants,
Of all denominations that dot
My route. A taste of America,
As befits a melting pot, its mix
Of cuisines a potpourri of all
Our origins, in tribute to where
You're from and where I'd like
To visit
Walking his dog
He wears open-toed and
Backless sandals, as if
To confirm that it's his
Sunday and he's still or
Should still be relaxing
In his jammies, or would
Be, if the little pup hadn't
Forced him to the street
Words
I listen not for meaning,
I cannot understand but
Every sixth word, but for
The rhythm, the pitch, I
Feel the music pulsing in
The delicate delivery. It
Is deliberate, written with
Care, I know this from an
English rendition I heard
First, and that knowledge
Has me listening, careful,
Listening deliberately, for
That sixth word I might
Catch, as if my butterfly
Net is dense enough to
Keep foreign words from
Escaping into the ether
I listen for the pleasure
Sound brings as words
Hit the air, reverberating
With sense or nonsense
I listen, not for meaning,
For the pleasing rhythms
Silhouettes
The perfect light spilling
Through the window,
Splattering a path, a rug
At her feet, the light
Scatters as she steps on
That silhouette swath,
Then reforms its shape
A shadow in reverse,
The photo-negative made
Out of moonlight and
Window panes leads her
Across the room
Walking on clouds
Science tells me that
When fog envelops us
It's just low-lying clouds,
Clouds at waist-level, it's
Cold, the vapor gathers
Into fog, thin clouds at
Street level
It’s clear
It's such a clear, such
A bright blue day, that
Every object I see in
The distance is clearer
And brighter, reveals
Its own outlines with
Moral clarity and the
Strength of defiance.
That water tower is
Defined by its bulk
And by the lines of its
Shape held high in the
Clear blue, traced by it.
There are, for instance
Also windows that shine
Today, looking out and
Inward, brightened by
The clarity, clarified by
The brightness.
Here. Now.
In the abstract
I welcome death
In reality I will
Hate it. Oblivion
Is not for those
Who seek
Attention
Eggplant / Aubergine
Aubergine, the breathy British
Voice reads, and I translate it
Forming the word silently, it's
Eggplant, I hear in my head. I
Regret it sounds so provincial
In the American. Isn't the UK
Interpretation of the vegetable
Prettier? More melodious and
Exotic. I say that as someone
Intoxicated by any food that's
Eggplant-adjacent, it was with
A thrill I discovered pizza that
Was topped by large rings of
The purple bulb, for example.
Aubergine on my pizza, does
That not trip off your tongue,
Easily, sweetly, with the total
Alacrity. Aubergine parmesan?
Eggplant parmegiano? Which
One is more delectable do you
Think? Aubergine parmegiano.
First cold night. 2025
When the air is chilled, sound
Travels more crisply; that guy
Behind, who would have been
Loud anyway, well tonight his
Voice carries brightly past my
Ear. It's that kind of cold night,
Early enough so those out in
It are not carousers, too late
To be coming from the office
Unless you're inclined to late
Hours. Maybe you're strolling
Home from a dinner, or out
With your dog. In the cold, it's
Hard but walking your dog is
A duty. He probably loves it
The bright clean air. Some of
You put coats on the critter
But I think he'd be happier if
You let him out au naturel.
This little guy swaggers out
And down the steps, his guy
A coupla steps behind him.
It's that kind of cold night.
Tamara, really 