What is a man's life worth?

A man who cares,
gives,
loves,
shares?

And yet, is unappreciated?

A man who stands
by his wife,
through
harsh realities?

And yet, remains unappreciated?

A man who is faithful,
fun,
talented,
hardworking?

And yet, remains unappreciated?

A man who loves wholly,
gives freely,
seeks only
love in return?

And yet, remains unappreciated?

For the one who sees,
the one who knows,
will find
that with appreciation,
his worth is
immeasureable.  

His value priceless.

Oh the enjoyment
of full deployment
in lines of unemployment.

No more paper,
To cut a caper,
Might as well go ride a tapir.

No more phone calls
driving me up the walls
Ringing dinging until my skin crawls.

Freedom is my new motto
Gonna drive down to the Grotto
And have me a margarita until I'm sotto.

Mitochondria generating the necessary energy
to graze my fingertips across your zygomatic arch.
Feeling your breath quicken to almost hyperventilation
as desire fills your eyes.  Blood pounding through your heart
containing red cells, white cells, fibrin, plasma, life-giving oxygen.
I brush hair behind your ear and feel a quadrigeminal leap
in the need to hold you close.

Early morning comes too soon.
Fish are biting by the moon.
Father and son make their way
Out of the house to meet the day.

The men of the house are outward bound
Seeking their fortune on the water sound.
Fishing poles and tackle boxes in hand
Off they go, to the dock to be manned.

Eyes gleaming bright, with the wind in his hair,
My son grins wide, and says, "Dad, Look There!"
Sure enough my son sees, fish to be caught,
Their trip is promising, will not be for naught.

His father smiles at the look from his son,
Saying, "Yes, son, you've found them, quite well done."
Bringing their boat to a stop they let glide,
Unpack their equiment, and come along side.

Taking their time and setting their hooks,
Plenty of fish here, judging by the looks.
There's sunfish and carp, some salmon and trout,
Walleye and crappie, and catfish so stout.

As the sun rises higher, they reel those fish in.
There's plenty of fish, with tail and fin.
The father and son are laughing together.
Can't believe their luck, or such perfect weather.

Returning home from a long day of fun,
They unload their catch and in they run.
Fish stories abound, They can't say enough,
The fish they missed, get bigger and rough.

I watch my two men, with quiet delight.
Enjoying the warmth, they create in my sight
Fishing is fun, fishing is great,
My men bonding, makes my heart elate.

Bright flashes of red
Give away the Cardinals.

Chick-a-dee-dee-dee
from the capped visitors.

Warning! Warning!
Shriek the Blue Jays!

Loud as a siren
our tiny wrens.

Crowned with a point
the titmouse displays.

Dressed to the nines
the juncos present before a storm.

Sparrows flock about
White crowned ones too.

Nuthatches scampering
like the squirrels around the limbs.

Brown creeper so shy
round and round the trunk.

Mockingbird flashing white on the wing
singing multitudes of songs.

Crows hold caucuses
along side the road.

Whirring wings buzz
Hummingbird zips on by.

Feathered friends on the wing
Speak to nature's diversity.

During my second trimester I felt like getting some fresh air.
I went out cycling through town in the warm sunny day.
Observing the comings and goings of people all around.
The flower cart on the corner, lent a lovely lilac scent to the air.
The street preacher was shouting out his testimonials,
trying to recruit believers to his cause.
Further on as my pedaling took me, I saw a group of boys.
They were pantomiming their favorite rockstars.
Strumming the air for all they were worth and
Jamming to the silent music in their heads.
Down the block past the Bakery, smelling of cinnamon buns,
was the museum.  My favorite place to stroll on a quiet day.
The gregarious doorman always wished me "A fine  day, Madam!",
as he ushered me into the foyer. He always wore that silly hat that makes me smile.  
And, of course, he kept an eye on my red bicycle by the door.
Making my way through the corridors, observing the sculptures, paintings and artifacts.
Wondering at the archaeologists dinosaur finds, mounted above and behind the glass.
Finally, on to see Pandora and her ill-fated decision to open the box.  
Letting forth into the world all manner of toxicity.  And then, again, opening the box
she set Hope free so we could cope in this danger-laden world.  
Ending my museum tour, I contemplated my coming child
and what he would find to make him cry or hope or love
in this world, as I slowly pedaled through the spring infused day.

It is not "giving up"
It is not "giving in"
It is not "the end"

What it is
Is the acceptance of
the cycle of Life.
The appreciation of a life lived.
The celebration of that life.
The time to examine the meaning of one's life.
To revel in the joy and the sorrow of living.
To find the peace one needs to move on
To whatever the next realm brings.

Hospice to me is life.

Sitting there yesterday at the football game,
Watching my son tackling the quarterback,
Feeling the warm sun and watching him earn respect,
From his teammates, made my heart proud.

Looking around, I saw the cheerleaders, 11 yrs old, too.
Yelling and flipping and shouting.
Then from nowhere, "My glitter is sweating off!"
Makes me laugh outloud.  

Little kids running everywhere,
Parents watching their kids, visiting,
It was a great scene!

Until I looked down in this sneezing little boys face,
And watched him scoop up some boogers
and have a snack.

Looking back I suppose it is only to be expected
as part of the scenery, and I can laugh now.
Just as watching the cheerleaders commenting,
And the poor kid who pulled a groin muscle,
Hobble off the field, is part of the scene.

All in all, a beautiful day, fun, family, and reality all at once.

Sitting in this dusty old attic
listening to the shingles flapping in the wind
I flip through a dog-eared book from my childhood.

As I skip through the pages,
I look up and notice the fine inlaid
carpentry work of an old chest.

Going over, leaving prints on the dusty floor,
I lift the lid.  With reptilian slowness
a lazy fat spider edges away.

Inside this trove of ancient treasure,
magnificent finds of days gone by.
Mementos of a honeymoon, a parachute jump.
Gramma's best biscuit recipe.  A photo of
Sam the hound with spittle running down his jowls.
A picture of a babe at his mother's ******.

A permutation of these tucked away articles
give meaning to a life well and truly lived.  
Closing the pages of these treasures I
wander away to watch my grandchildren
make memories of their own.

If wishes were fishes,
I'd have a whole bunch.
Swimming in fishbowls,
Awaiting their lunch.

If wishes were french fries,
I'd have a caboodle.
Frying in the skillet,
To feed to my poodle.

If wishes were colors,
I'd have a rainbow.
Coloring the world,
In hues of magenta and mango.

If wishes were flowers,
I'd have a garden full.
Showing their pretty faces,
And smelling of taffy pull.

If wishes were mine,
I'd hand out a dozen.
To every girl and boy,
To each uncle and cousin.

Lovely chocolate icing,
in sensuous swirls.

Covering velvety,
tantalizing heaven.

Smelling of that warm,
soulful chocolate.

Slightly warm
and still gooey.

Served up with
a cold crisp glass of milk.  

Mmmmmmm. :)

An ogre set out to have a
     feast one day.
Dreaming of all the creatures
     he would slay.

He'd have bowls
     full of trolls.
And fairies buttered
     on rolls.

He'd eat hairy mountain
     goat coats
And fattened up ducklings
     full of their oats.

He'd chomp on legs
     of forest elves
And pickled gnomes feet
     from his shelves.

This fearsome young ogre
     planned quite well,
Except for a troublesome
     oyster shell.

It landed quite wrong
     deep in his gullet.
And never more was heard
     from Ogre Trullet.

My mind blazes with an inferno of music.

Notes created to play

Point, counter-point, one to another,

To flame into blazing fury.



Tiny tinkling notes crash

To low sonorous tones.

Metallic vibrations lead to

Unearthly bursts of melancholy discord.



Not for the pretentious musician

But for the appreciative of symphonic quality

Such that would ignite a Phoenix.

Traveling the hollows,
Of this deep, damp, mountain,
Seeking treasure in mother earth,
Placed eons ago in times unknown.

Lanterns shedding light,
Illuminating the dark depths,
Casting elongated shadows,
On the dark tunnelled walls

Soft gold metal woven in tendrils
Through ponderous tons of granite.
Given away by the presence of
Shards of broken quartz,
Shining dully at my feet.

Why is this golden metal so precious?
Why would men give their lives for it?
Indeed, beautiful, rare, mysterious.
But I find myself captured by the reflections,
In these quartz crystals.

Not only quartz, but diamonds,
Emeralds, rubies, sapphires.
Heated and compressed over millenia,
Awaiting discovery in mother earth's,
Deep dark recesses.

Brought to the surface,
Faceted, polished, mounted.
Dazzling, sparkling color,
Eye-catching, elegant, mesmerizing.

Jewels.

To think and wish what ifs...

To look to the past for what might have beens...

To gaze upon what once was and what could have come to past.....

Leaves one's heart tender and aching

Until you realize, what is

Is good and true and joyous

In its own right.

Crusty *****
           scuttle through
                        the tide pools.

Fish dart among
                 undulating
                         sea-**** forests.

Salted breezes
             push waves
                       on to shore.

Seagulls
         surf the ocean
                           rhythm.

Tides rise and fall.
                 Waves roll in.
                               Peace abides.

I was 'bout a haf mile down Shadow Holler, lookin' for my dog Jack.  I rounded the bend long the river and thar he sat just lookin' up at the moon that was back dropped behind him.  I was so entranced I stood stockstill in the chill evening air.  He raised his head and let out with that beautiful soulful baying only a huntin' dog can make.
Then he took off tearing through the woods like his tail was on fire.

Well, I commenced chasin' ol' Jack down, but I swear evra tree in that holler was out to get me.
My clothes, they was ripped up and my feet were on fire from being torn by briars and such.
I finally, upped and caught up to Jack.  He was pacing the bottom of a Sycamore that was glowing white in the moonlight.  I heard some cacklin' up in that tree and I looked up to see a sight that I nev'r saw afore.  They was a **** up in there just grinnin' down at Jack like he was playing with him.  Now Jack was in a right tizzy over that ****.  He leaped up the side of the tree as high as he could, barking treed as though his life depended on it.  That **** was doing a bit of glowing in the moonlight itself.  I'd never seen a Cinnamon colored **** before, but thar 'e was, bigger 'an life.  And while it was grinnin' it was busy collecting some twigs.  Next thing ya know it was chattering to beat the band and throwin' sticks at ol' Jack.  Well, I can tell you, Jack didn't appreciate the humor in this sitcheation.  He backed up and made a leap so high I thought shore he was gonna take flight, but he got nothin' for his trouble but a whack in the head as he collided with a big ol' twig thrown by that ****.  

Thinkin' that Jack had had about enuf I tried coaxing him home, but he was havin' nothing to do with it.  So, I told Jack I was heading home and he could come if he had a mind to, but I wasn't staying out in the woods all night while he made an *** of himself over a **** that was makin' fun of him.  I started off and then heard a loud yelp.  All of a sudden Jack came blastin' past me, and not far behind was that old Cinnamon **** giving it all he was worth.  Well, as he was headin' towards home I followed along.  Just at the mouth of Shadow Holler, and not to fer from home I found ol' Jack.  He was up a low slung tree whimperin' like a puppy.  That **** was pacing the trunk, back ****** up, teeth bared and laughin' out the side of its mouth.  As I walked up on this pathetic scene, ol' Jack took one look at me and started crying fer help.  Well, I took pity on the poor fella and walked up on that **** with a right big stick.  And right afore my eyes it just faded into nothin'.  Scared the bejeebers outta me!

Took me an hour to coax ol' Jack outta that tree.  And then I couldn't keep up with him once he headed towards our cabin.  At home I told Pa all about our lil adventure, and he bout whooped me fer even goin' into Shadow Holler.  He said, "Son, I tole you to stay outta that holla.  They's ghosts and spooks down in thar.  Old Lady Jalson disappeared never to be seen again until the Smith boys saw her wanderin' a trail down there.  On'y problem is they cud see through 'er.  They's all sorts of stories 'bout shadows roaming free and playin' tricks an' worse on folks."  

Well I never seen my Pa so scairt as when he was tellin' me that, so now I just keep away from that holler.  And, ya know what?  I ain't never seen ol' Jack even turn in that direction since that night.  Musta learned himself somethin'.

This aviator alone in his cabin
traveling back through time then.

Riding a zephyr to Venus
Contemplating his genus.

Glancing sideways at his bottle
He pulls back on the throttle.

Spaghetti-like wisps of mist
Blurring vision during the shift.

From space flight to ozone light
Coming in for a landing! Hold Tight!

Aardvarks and Applesnarks,
filling in between the quarks.

Scratching and scraping behind the door.
Shuffling and snuffling all across the floor.

I hear them tapping, hear them scraping,
wonder where they've gone a traipsing.

Aardvarks on the move,
Applesnarks in the groove.

Looking like land sharks after the ants,
Make sure you don't get one up your pants.

Red bed,
Rat sat.

Cat mew,
Pat cat.

Dog ate,
Bit ***.

Cow moo,
Hay too.

You try,
Woo Emu.

Bee fly,
Eye Bye.

15 to 20 times a day, with minor variation,
I review these questions, via oration.

"Do you hear voices?"
"Do you see visions?"
"Are you paranoid?"
"Are you suicidal?"
"Are you homicidal?"
"How is your energy level?"
"How is your mood?"
"Depressed?"
"Anxious?"
"Irritable?"
"Mood swings?"
"How is your concentration?"
"How is your appetite?"
"How are you sleeping?"
"Do you have racing or disorganized thoughts?"
"Do you have shaking or tremors?"

Reviewing meds, assessing situations,
Discussing reactions, discussing relations.

Monotony could well become a factor,
I'm easily bored, easily distracted,

But every single time I ask these questions,
I learn something new and think up a suggestion.

Everyday is the same, Going through the motions,
And yet, I'm never bored, and I have a notion.

Everyone is different, No answer the same,
Sorting through the verbage, looking for that grain.

The single detail to tell me what can be done,
To find a better system to assist each one.

Slow and methodical, and yet amazing in variation,
Questions and answers, a myriad of striation.

So, let's see, cheeriness personified.
****** if I can think of anything depressing.
Again and again, my mind goes on ever and ever,
In search of that infernal lightening rod
To which the dark and dreary are attracted.
And yet, butterflies and billowing clouds,
erupt magnificently in full bloom.
Hiding in the nooks of my cranium
fluffy bunnies and poofy flowers.
Anything really to while away the hours.
And so I write about grand battles,
frogs on crack, and ladies in your lap.
Seems this perky cheeriness is infectious....

A wink and a nod to my friend Frank. ;)

Eyes of brown
Heart of gold
Sending love
I've been told.

Across the waves
between the vibes.
Written on paper
by the scribes.

Affairs of love in
history gone by.
Lover's seduced
by blink of eye.

Romeo and Juliet.
Cleopatra's Antony.
Guinevere and Lancelot.
And no less, you and me.

Loved and lusted
Sweet as wine.
Stories told
throughout time.

Love goes on
and on my dear.
Open your heart,
put away fear.

For love's soft vision
may well come.
When unsuspected,
heart strings thrum.

Tabla beat
hear the rhythm.

Triumphant
rise unto heav'n.

Abandon all
the nano-cares.

Freedom sought
found and shared.

Peeking out the window
On all Hallow's Eve
Watching little Globlins
Skip about with glee.

Witch's and warlocks
traveling the streets
Looking so scary
Asking for treats.

Dinos and gators
fairies and elves,
scurry about
frightening themselves.

The sun grows dim,
the porchlight shines,
the ghouls and monsters
scowl just fine.

Creatures a-plenty
Come out to play
Once each year
for All Hallow's Day.

Xenophiles see it all the time.

The transubstantiation of matter
causing hysteria among every culture.

One alchemical shift from lead to gold
and you have empaths weeping over asps,
telekinetics dropping things on fairy's heads.

A tiny fusion of atoms and the next thing you know
satyrs are dancing with dingos, sphinxes are doing the two step.

Who knows what the next time/space shift is going to bring?

Sigh...........makes for a long day at work.  Ya know?

Sitting in her chair
Wanting out of there,
The Notorious Natalie
Plotted quite frantically.

Mind absorbed in many plots,
Its a wonder she didn't develop brain clots.
Hearing her quarry coming down the hall,
She wheeled herself closer to the wall.

She spoke so low with all due sobriety,
"Here goes the plan in all its entirety."
Giving a wink, tossing a mickey,
Choosing her time, being quite picky.

Catching sight of that sanctimonious nurse,
She vented her rage, let out a curse.
Flew through the air, and let out a yell.
Poor old Nurse Agnes sure did quell.

Natalie's plan, to take the nurse down,
Ended badly with her on the ground.
The belts snapped her back and she hit the floor.
The ice pick she had flew into the door.

And even now that she's forgetful
Natalie's heart is still regretful.
Avoiding plots of ice picks and death,
Focusing mainly on keeping her breath.

The Notorious Natalie sat in her chair plotting the downfall of Nurse Agnes.  She did not notice her quarry coming down the hall as her mind was absorbed in plots of ******.  Having only recently attained sobriety, she took the picky Nurse Agnes as being a sanctimonious old bat. Startled, she looked up into that very old nurse's face, and lunged at her with her icepick in hand.  Unfortunately for Natalie, being forgetful as she was, she tripped over the walker she was using.  The ice pick entered her easily and put an end to Notorious Natalie's plotting for good.  

Thus Ends a Terrible Story.