The trees are standing naked
In the cold and wind and rain
The leaves, now burnt and brown and crisp
Are on the ground again
The cold rain drowns the fallen leaves
A soggy carpet stays
And darkness fills the afternoon,
Of the shortened autumn days.

The geese are almost all gone south
The rivers start to freeze
The first few winter snowflakes
Are blown by biting breeze
Frost carpets frozen morning grass
Piers from the lakes removed
Children walk to school in
Coats and scarves -  all “Mom approved.”

The witches and the pumpkins
Left from Halloween
And the turkeys from Thanksgiving
Morph into Manger scenes
Stores advertise the Holidays
Special sales for One and All
As just before the winter comes
The Other Face of Fall.
Phil Lindsey 11/9/15

On the Lake’s North Shore
The leaves are quickly turning
Green and brown ignited. Brilliant, blazing, burning
Yellow, orange and fiery red,
An eagle soars high overhead,
Circling the steel blue sky,
While waxwings sing, and
Sea gulls cry, and
Loons laugh at yesterday’s mistakes, and
Whitecaps dance on the ancient lake.
The cliffs and rocks still pounding waves, and
Waterfalls spring from unseen caves.
Cloudy mornings, frosty, still,
The sunrise warms the early chill.
Squirrels hoard their winter store
An autumn day
On the Lake’s North Shore
Phil Lindsey- October 16, 2015

The blade was so sharp,
That it cut without pain.
Did anyone notice?
Do I have to explain?
Will my voice cry forever?
Or forever be still - as
I join my lost comrades
On the top of the Hill.

They laughed with me, at me,
And behind my back
All the while my morals
Were under attack,
I, the unfaithful,
Became my own jury
That’s when the laughter
Became full-blown fury.

There were many others
As guilty as me
Why are they still laughing?
Why can’t they see?
Why will no one judge them?
My ears ring with pain
I became judge and jury
For I could never explain.
pwl August 2015

Fly by night,
Or the seat of your pants
Hang on tight,
May I have the next dance?
Take a deep breath,
Or a load off your feet,
Hey pretty mama,
May I sit in this seat?

Snoopy and Sloopy and Sloop John B too
Don’t you know
I think I love you?
All night long,
Nothing else can compare
Mickey Mouse, Elvis, Frankie, Annette
Down on the corner, cool
Cigarette.

All grown up
With no where to go
I left it to ******
But he didn’t know
Wally and Eddie
Were out selling drugs
Popeye and Brutus
Were two vicious thugs.

In the Fifities and Sixties:
It was hard to keep up
“They” fed us the Kool Aid
We drank from the cup.
Kent State and Woodstock
And a man on the moon,
Kaleidoscope childhood,
Ended too soon.
Phil Lindsey 9/16/15

It’s the top of the sixth, and
I don’t know the score;
If I am losing the game
I will have to score more.  If
I am winning that’s good,
But the game might be tied, and
If it ended right now,
Would you know that I tried?

How many innings
Do we get to play?
That’s a question that no one
Can answer today.
The game might go nine, or
It might end after seven. Do
I have enough runs to get me
Into Heaven?

How did I play?
Good field – no hit?
Playing hard till the last out was made -
Never quit?
Did I hit some home runs?
Was I good in the clutch?
Help my teammates score runs
With sacrifice bunts.

It’s the bottom of nine
Doctor said, “Game’s almost done.
You have just enough time
To score one more run.
Get your teammates together
You gave it your best,
You played as well as you could
Now it’s time for a rest.”

In the labyrinth inside my mind,
Sometimes my thoughts get lost.
I search down long dark tunnels
Where old memories are tossed
Like antiques in the attic, that
I can’t bear to throw away
Saved forever just in case
I need them again some day!

And as I age these memories
Show up at the strangest times
But there is no one there to talk to
So I turn them into rhymes
And hope some day that someone
Might discover them and see
That my poems are about my life
My poems are ‘bout me!

When age finally blocks the tunnel -
I no longer can break through
And I’m trapped inside with memories
And nothing left to do
But stare out through the window
Or at the closed front door,
Know I’m still inside the labyrinth
And I wish I’d written more!
Phil Lindsey 9/14/15

I think I'm like the headlines,
Flashy, just for show,
but when it comes to substance,
It's left untouched, alone.

What is the purpose of my story,
If it isn't read?
Each page left forgotten,
my words fleeting; dead.