10 August 2022

Your fingers run down my soul,
Kissing the sun.

Change II

Leave a little on the table,
Bad karma, you're not able.
Times are tough, to  be fabled,
Saga written every gable.

World has left kindness short.
Take all you can, the old sport.
Many now throw keen sharp darts,
None behind, our fine art.

War and hunger everywhere.
Children crying, pain, despair.
Depending on your cutting back,
Are  they  ever back on track.

Never some for everyone.
Need exceeds each daily run.
Not a time for fame and glory,
Time to write  a better story.

Wish I had more to give,
Disappoint my own two kids.
Spoiled them when they were little.
Now no strings on my old fiddle.

Change
27 July 2022

Never expected, as selected.
Life rearranged, even deranged.

New default, not my fault.
Fate painted, future tainted.

Mad and angry, feeling mangy
Wonder known, time has flown.

New doors open, groping.
Always hoping, wet and soaking.

When I’m ready, feet are steady.
New change comes, still not done.
Used to lope, now it’s run.

21 July 2022

Aging, the inverse relationship
Between capability and need.

A = N / C

Is there ever going to be enough time
19 July 2022

Suddenly it’s over.
Sun is setting in the west.
The darkness creeps in.
So much today was noted done.
Yesterday was full and felt complete.
Tired and ready to sleep, I pull up the covers,
Put my head down in the pillow, and wish for pleasant dreams.

Waiting this morning, I am blessed with a new day.
When the tears of morning are done,
Excitement of new possibilities sustain me.

Each day is full of promise.
Will there ever be enough time?

15 July 2022

Always feel a cycle pedal,
Up, down, round and round.
Not winning awards, medals,
Mental,  some unsound.

Always try for happiness,
Want you to see I'm wise..
Looks like i raise your guardess,
Lose each time I rise.

Not just you when t feel slain,
Seems the whole **** town.
Pants caught in that greasy chain,
Almost pulled them down.

Harassment turns, looks my way,
Fills up those cold bold days..
Oh well, spin wheel again,
Still got some hell to raise.

Reality
2 July 2038

Tattered Checker change-purse,
Zipper broken-worn.
Dented tin-full toolbox,
Sat with Clipper horn.

Handkerchief wash-snot-clean,
Work-boot bright-black-sheen.
Sweaty first dinner jacket,
Dusty rust-skin tack.

Stain-fold loving letters,
Hand scribed fuzzy matter,
Words he couldn’t spell,
Fear of burning hell.

Loved his owned reality,
Lived her life true well.