Category Archives: Life

Falling

We say we fall in love
As into a vat, perhaps
Of cream, or chocolate
A pile of smooth down
Feathers, or silk, as if
Love offers us a soft
Place in which to land,
A place to catch us and
To hold us, embrace us.
It will, no matter how
Hard we fall, no matter
How sudden the descent. 
And, yes, although it 
Is not down that we 
Fall when we fall in 
Love, it's a falling 
Up into dreams and into
Clouds, into spaces that Welcome us and keep us
Happy, secure, sure of
Where we stand, even if 
Our legs wobble with the
Strange emotions that we
Feel when we fall in love, 
The unfamiliar sensation
That envelops us when we 
Fall in love. We say we 
Fall in love, as if that 
Is a fall, a drop, but  Falling in love elevates
Us, lands us into love
Where comfort is found.
Embraces us, a feeling 
Of soaring, gives us
Balance and knocks us 
Off our complacent perch.
It's quite breathtaking.
Really.

Just yesterday

What happens to our ages
As we age, as we get older,
We are different people as
The years pass us slowly, 
It seems while they pass, 
They seem to pass slowly, 
But looking back, it's so
Clear that it, all our life,
Passed us by in a flash, as
Quickly as that proverbial
Wink, and all of a sudden
We are old. Older than I 
Ever expected I could be. 
My life is entwined with so
Many others, it is as if 
It's a we whose ages, whose
Years have passed quickly 
And before we, -I - could
Blink, proverbially or in
Real life, in irl, in the
Delightful parlance of this
Time of my real life, old,
Aging, quickly, wasn't it
Just yesterday, that we 
Were young. When can I no
Longer pretend that youth 
Is just behind me, like all
Things in the rear view, are
Closer than they appear.

Roads most travelled

So I am thinking or am
I streaming my memories
Looking at all the paths
That wound in and out of
My life, running rings 
Not of smoke but similar,
Of nebulae, sparkly and
Low in the sky. Clouds
Have passed overhead,in
The myriad times of my
Life, spilling second by
Second, ticking slowly
As it does, but veering
In different directions,
As life does. We are so
Fragmented by our many
Experiences, exploding,
Unwinding, crawling over
Unexplored territory, we
Start anew at each phase
Of our life's adventures
Every turn is an episode
In a new season outlining
Occurrences, familiar or
Practiced. Life is your
Continuum, as it is mine.
Cliffs left hanging but
Dazzling as sunsets, and
Sunrise, as starry skies

Heredity

We are damaged by
The uniqueness of
Our parents. All
Of us, as they are
All unique, not at
All as we expected
Our parents are as
Different as each
Person is unlike
Each other person.
Our parents might 
Be accomplished or
Just eccentric or
A little unhinged.
We like to think we
Alone are special
We deny them that
Uniqueness we think
Makes us distinct
And special. We want
To keep that for
Ourselves.

Mark of time

We see others age and fade,
Never holding that mirror to
Ourselves. Their youth, even
Though they are younger now
As then, than are we, dwindles,
Lost in wrinkles. Our eyes see 
Only a twinkle of humor when
Looking upon ourselves. Our
Lines become us, theirs make
Them look old. We see others,
Never spying our face in the
Mirror of time passing, aging,
Fading, youth receding into a
Memory of our years gone by.

Working, another way

Poets are not a lazy gazy lot, I can 
Attest as I am hard at work putting pen
To page, in the metaphorical custom of
A digital age. I write in deep reflection, thinking 
Hard of what it all means, all– I
mean 
To say– is life itself from beginning to an end we 
Do not want to imagine or foresee, foretelling with the
Same foreboding you feel, an 
end I 
Can see is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my doings, coming and 
Goings, as carefree as if there were not
An end in sight.
Working

Working

Poets are not a lazy
Gazy lot, I can attest
As I am hard at work
Putting pen to page,
In the metaphorical
Custom of a digital
Age. I write in deep
Reflection, thinking
Hard of what it all
Means, all-- I mean
To say-- is life itself
From beginning to an
End we do not want
To imagine or foresee,
Foretelling with the
Same foreboding you
Feel, an end I can see
Is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my
Doings, coming and 
Goings, as carefree 
As if there were not
An end in sight.

Unravelling

Living is a long thread 
Of yarn, sometimes in
My favorite color, a red
So bright and vibrant it
Leaves no mystery but
Can always be found.
In subtler moments, a
Quiet beige blends into
The corners, teases but
Never tempts or stands
Out, not flagrant or bold.
The yarn makes patterns
It clumps in soft places.
The defiance gone from
It after days of following
Its destiny. Color mixes,
Dulled by the passing of
Time, only hinting at its
Fullest force.

Poem of peace

Peace is a big goal. The
Kind of thing that calls 
For all the New Age stuff
I can muster but find it
Wearying. It's a letting be
I look for, have looked for
And sometimes found
Floating in the bubbles
In my glass of soda or
Under the soles of my 
Footfalls