Today marks a milestone
for me, tho no trumpets
sounded or crowds cheered
no banners to announce
some heroic action I
have done for mankind,
some life saving event
for someone I’ve never met.
But a milestone nonetheless
in that this very day,
I lived.
This day my eyes encountered
the sunlight brightly shinning
thru the oak trees,
bathed in golden caresses
back lit, as stars from heaven.
This day I breathed
God’s life giving air
which my body so desires.
This day, which I lived,
brought nothing special
to the world around me,
other than I was present
to see many wonders.
Wonders such as a rose
bathing our senses with
sweet fragrances.
A butterfly dancing from
blossom to blossom,
searching for tasty nectar.
Many special gifts
I received this day.
This day.
A blessed day.

The poet attempts to
transform thoughts into
words of art,
enticing images, emotions
thru the minds of readers.
His canvas is paper
fine linen upon which
words come alive.
His palette is not of wood,
fashioned into artistic form,
but thoughts set in his mind
waiting to be released.
His paint is not of oil,
water, or pastel,
but simply a liquid
of blue or black,
sometimes of lead
if he chooses to use pencil.
A simple quill may
accompany his tools,
upon which paint flows thru.
A poets tools are few
and simple,
nothing fancy, for he is
a person of simplicity,
nothing of wealth is his
as a poet,
other than the masterpieces
he creates on his
canvas of words.

I stand still, quiet, as I
allow the rain to envelop me.
barefoot, I begin to sense
mud and water squish between
my naked toes,
my feet become an earthly color
As they are taken over by
this soft wet earth.
I’m taken back to
memories of childhood days,
where my young feet, covered
in mud after a day of playing
mom sending out her warning
we had better not track
mud on her freshly mopped floors.
But I have grown, matured
since then, no longer
am I allowed to have such fun.
I must act like the adult I am.
I must worry about adult things.
The bills, the work around the house
that needs to be done.
There is no fun allowed
when you become “grown up”
But no matter, here I stand
in this rain, in this mud
like in the days of my youth
that has long since passed,
or so I thought.
For today I will stand and run
and squish in the mud
like the child I feel I am still.
Of course tomorrow says
there is a new doorknob
that needs to be put
on the bathroom door.

Someday as I slowly walk along
I will see you in a memory
an instant along the way
when I gaze into the past
a long lost thought
of days gone by.
Perhaps a smell
of a dish I haven’t
eaten since that moment
of my youth.
I will see you sitting
at my favorite table
with smiling eyes,
happy heart.
Maybe later I will
again see you
admiring a symphonic
performance of soft
strings, a classic
concerto that
brings the spirit back in time.
Yes I will see you in many places
we have been.
Many memorable events
that makes it’s way every
once in a while to
our present memory.
Although I miss you so
know I will never forget
our time together.
So for now I will bid so long.
I will raise my tired hand
and wave slowly as I pass by.
My gait not as peppy
as what you remember.
My eyes not as sharp
so forgive me if I
miss you in other places.
My years have been many,
although in our time
these years seemed so far away.
But my dear friend
I will try not to shed a tear
as you fade into the distance.
Just know nothing would I change
from our time together,
unless I was given the chance
to go back and visit you again.
For my old body would enjoy
the feeling of youth.
My youth.
But for now, farewell
dear youthfulness.
Farewell till another memory
brings us back together again.