I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Over eight years a family friend,
his daily antics always on display,
morning and afternoon walks and talks,
his joyful baths in his small pond while
he playfully bobbed and dove beneath
the spray of my garden hose.

This was no human being,
a handsome Mallard Duck instead.
The self proclaimed King
of our barnyard clan,
always strolling and patrolling the
grounds, waiting for us, quacking
his greetings, excitingly flapping
his flightless wings at our approach.

His loneliness petticoat showing, he
followed everywhere, seemed to live
merely to be in our company, eat corn
from our hands, living precious minutes
of needed shared congeniality.

Two morning ago he was not there,
we searched and called his name
but he had completely disappeared.

A coyote perhaps, or bird of prey
our King taken and gone away.
Our lives are diminished by his loss,
Though only a bird, he was our
dear companion, a convivial friend.

I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Today I mourn his loss.

Divisiveness is a sword wielded by a leader fool.
The people suffer while the leaders rule and huge
profits for them ensue. A game as old as when
human man did first rise up to stand, within his
own small clan, picking up a club to strike down
his fellow man.

Thousands of years gone by and we have learned
nothing new, still the leaders rant and we implode
and like addled sheep too easily led we march out
to our own inevitable slaughtered end.

Kings and Despots rule for their benefit not ours.
Divisiveness is but one of their deceitful tools.
Divide and concur is the rule.

Once I was young and strong,
Consumed with compelling
desires of Horizon Lust,
traveling forth wide and far.

Time and age has intervened,
now I stand alone and wait
high above on the city gate,
Silent sentry to all of those young
lives that venture forth to explore
horizons of their own, and those
weather beat ones like me
returning to rest and remain.

Accepting as I must, that I shall
never again roam too far afield  
from my place upon the gate,
Content with a life well lived,
to languish now upon this place.

Horizon Lust is for the young.

My Grandson is now ten and
growing like the proverbial ****,
but still young and sweet enough
to yet sit upon my knee,
to share moments of joy
and reflection, or for me
to tell him a story.

He still giggles when I tickle him,
and thankfully he's not too old to
give and receive hugs and kisses.
Best of all he never fails to tell me he
loves me whenever he arrives or leaves.

Half sleep whispers in the night,
faint yet stubbornly persist.
Words fully formed of
encouragement and regret.
Always in concert with the
background pendulum beat
of a relentlessly ticking clock.
Our lives never as precious as
in those waning years when
time is no longer our friend.

I dream dreams of places
I have never been,
Of people I've yet to meet,
Of songs I've never sung,
Of horizons I've not yet crossed.
Every morning I awake with
a smile of hope upon my face.
As my dreams are an invitation
to all that awaits.

She was no saint, no wonder woman and yet
my mom possessed some of those qualities.
A strong sweet person, with a loving heart.

My father was no fool, but with mom's quite
strength and guidance he was a better, smarter
man and family leader. This fact never more
obvious than after she died at 54 and he had to
cope on his own without her. A grieving man
reduced to a child for a time. He never fully
recovered. Rational decisions eluded him.

No matter how well it's constructed,
Every ship needs a good compass and
strong rudder and my mother was ours.
My brother and I though grown and
aging men, still steer the course she charted.