Jack, 97, used to ride his pushie from Holbrook to Albury and back,
Visiting his lady, the late Marie,
“A ****** good catch!” he would say,
“And that's that.”

He loves to play the saxophone,
It's right there in his room!
He showed me some photos and put a CD on;
We sat back and listened to him croon.
Tears fell gently as memories surfaced;
His feet seemed to shuffle back into the dance of years gone by.

His breathing fell and rose,
And rose and fell again —

Then he shared how he liked to fish - several dozen at a time…
He stared back from the memories;
Hearing the ocean clap against the shore,
He was right there, now, what a catch! Sublime.
He would arrive home aplenty,
Weathered though, from the storm and sunshine galore!

Life has been full with his wife and kids in tow,
Though here now, in this small room,
photos, artefacts, and memories are the wrapping and bow,
Tying it all together when his current, present memory goes.

My bones creaked
As loud as the frogs,
On the logs and in the pond,
this morning
Aging is as ubiquitous as nature;
In that sense:
You could say ‘I am at one with nature’ today.

She knows, oh, she knows,
That I gaze when the moment slows.

A glance, a touch, a silent prayer,
But she’s already claimed, unaware.

Her laughter rings, a melody sweet,
In the rhythm of her heartbeat,
Yet in the silence of my eyes,
I hold a secret I can’t disguise.

She moves with grace, her world complete,
While mine, it bends beneath her feet.

She wears love like a golden crown,
While I keep mine tucked down,
Beneath the layers of "what might have been,"
A wish that lingers, never seen.

She knows, but the heart is a quiet thief,
Stealing moments in unspoken grief.

For she is his, and I remain,
A shadow dancing in the rain.

Mom can I borrow some $$

A. Yes
       B. Maybe
C. No
          D. Hell no!

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I remember when,
As a child,
My mum would "blow raspberries",
In my face...

She would tell me:
I would laugh
and giggle,
until the craze
meant I couldn’t wiggle
or scream, from paralysis.

I remember when,
As a teen,
I would blow raspberries,
In my cousins’ faces,
As I would babysit them
And play hide-and-chase
Until they came out screamin’

I remember when,
As an adult,
I would blow raspberries,
In my nieces’ faces,
Until they would dream of,
and scream for, wild raspberries.

I remember when...
All of that seemed not so long ago —