I am not a starving artist
I have been well nourished
By the sound and seasoned
Crumbs from
The words and music
Paintings and dancers
Athletes and doctors
Parents and teachers
Students and others
Now to savor and
Digest

Not unlike needed caresses or gentle kisses,
the morning sun did bathe my upturned
face in needed glow of restorative warmth.
An encouraging respite after weeks of clouds
and cold rain to lift my flagging spirts,
supported and enhanced by the celebratory
songs of a plethora of birds, all this perhaps
the shining moments of glory in my entire
self isolated day.

For most of my son's life
I was his teacher,
Now as an adult man
my son is teaching me.

The bent old man limped
out upon the wooden pier.
The day was bright and clear,
he had fished there for over
72 years, a high mountain
lake he revered as both boy
and man. Now at 82 every
step he takes hurts. Even in
sleep at night his pain persists.

The sparkling clear calm water was
like looking down into a mirror.
To his own reflection staring back
up at him, he softly uttered,
“I used to be someone,
but not anymore.”

No one was around to see him go,
or hear the splash that took him low,
deep under to his own desired ending.

Such things exist as I had no concept,
do exist, then I learned such things exist
as
order lines
for aesthetic
cause or motive,

beauty as a feeling, we feel that,
in inner darkness, cooling shade,
full-dark, and yet we know
beauty as a feeling
growing
something that eats our plastic right,
right out of our brain, our mob mind,

thinks, yeah, right, I know when enough,
is enough,
no munchies gonna make me old,
and fat,
'magine that, naked.