It was my first Cathedral,
Cavernous and nearly silent.
Dark enough that I closed,
My eyes giving them time
To adjust to the depths,
Of it's shadowed blackness.

Languid slanting rays
Of penetrating sunshine,
Alive with moving mists,
Of floating, rotating dust,
The only source of light.

The bittersweet scents,
Of venerable age mixed,
With fodder and animal waste,
Not at all unpleasant to sniff.

Leather tack hung on walls,
Awaiting the call to work.
Long delayed, and overlooked,
Replaced by mechanical steeds,
Wheels and blades of steel.

Neatly festooned wall hooks
Displaying wooden handled
Hard-worn steel hand tools,
Flecked with rust, chipped by use.

The choir was in the rafters,
Pigeons’ and Doves
Cooing Heavenly Hymns.
Occasionally the murmur of,
Feathers flapping on high,
Like the sounds,
Of Angels wings.

I climbed the ladder,
Into the Loft up high,
Followed by a friendly,
Old one eyed Barn Cat,
I recall his name was Cy.

Old Cy who knew,
All the good places,
To explore and secretly hide.
And too, where tasty rodents
Were found in heavenly,
bountiful supply.

That lofty perch,
Among the penetrating
slanting rays of sunlight
Inspired a fathomless hush
of contemplation and inner bliss,
I'd never known before, or since.

We sat silent for many minutes,
In a state of transfixed repose,
Old Cy and I, speaking not a word.  

We crawled among stacked bales,
Of fragrant fresh cut hay,
Like a lofty Fortress built for us,
Playing and imagining,
Endless flights of fantasy,
Long into the eve of day.

Yes, my Grandfather’s
Old wooden Barn,
Was indeed a magical,
Reverent and sacred place,  
As any formal denominational
house, of any faith can be.

If ever, I truly felt,
The presence of Holy Grace
Surely it was within,
That impressionable
all inspiring place.

Even fleeing memories
of a long ago small boy,
Have not diminished,
That big Cathedral's
Prevailing, exalted space.
Spiritually overseen by,
An old, feline, one-eyed
clergyman named Cy.

Upon awakening I almost never,
jump right out of bed, as I once did.
Slowly I rise to sit awhile on the edge
of  my days desired intentions.
Stiffly I stand and tentatively step away
towards the bathroom to relieve my
most pressing bladder urges.

Those parts of me that do still work,
do now mostly hurt and that's for certain.
Like any other machine, my body's warranty
has long ago mostly expired.

When we old friends now gather,
rather than palavering about our kids,
our golf game, or our ******* Boss at work,
the collective commiserating talk always turns
to our individual deteriorating health matters.

How things once were and no longer are.
Our new hurts and concerns laid out in
vivid detail, what the latest tests revealed
and what the Doctor said or concluded.  
These shared aging complaints you see,
seem almost limitless and all consuming.

We become a little like a hapless clergyman,
preaching wishful consoling rhetoric to his choir.
Not one of us knows, or has the answers
to any of life's BIG questions and actually
never did.

Misery you see, does indeed love company,
talking and sharing seems to help I guess,
being the only real tonic offered or taken,
no prescription required or need be written.

Sitting on my porch,
A refreshing morning
Breeze gentling blowing,
Conveying aromatic scents
Of yard plants blooming,
The hum of fluttering Bee’s
Seeking Nectar among them.
The songs of early birds
punctuating all this convivial congeniality.
You can not purchase a ticket
to this particular show at any price.
Other than say,
An invitation to sit beside me.

Young dog at my feet,
Him with full tummy,
Basking in the sun.
I can almost see a smile on his face.  
Already he knows how to live.

There is tranquility here,
In my yard,
Among these plants and trees,
This grass so green, still fresh
With drops of recent rain a dripping,
The ethereal scent,
Of now wet earth arising.

No real need to go a traveling,
Far or even near a field.
I have almost all I need and want,
Right here in my yard,
on this porch of mine.

There is one other strong sensation here,
It is my feelings of utter contentment.
The simple things are always the best.

They swarm in
Their thousands,
Moving as one,
Erratic it seems,
Rolling and undulating,
Rippling like a
wave on the sea,
Traversing the Valley
And Hillsides,
Seeking plunder,
In their numbers.
A well rehearsed
Sky dance perhaps.
A demonstration of
superior, formidable
and menacing forces.

Soon the air cannons
Will boom
And echo.
Hired men will walk
Among the vines,
Banging on metal pans,
Firing shotguns.
The swarms you see,
Wants the fruit.

Starlings care nothing,
for aged fermented,
Fine Pinot Noir,
By the glass,
Or bottle.
The grapes their prize.
Nor are they concerned
with the efforts of man,
Or his air cannons.
What is noise to them,
When fat sweet grapes
Are in plain view?

The war of the Vineyards',
A yearly event.

If we must worship a Deity,
we need look no further
than the mighty mountains
around us, the glorious deep
abiding oceans that surround
us, the nurturing forests of green
that provide the very air we breath.

Our mother Earth is the GOD
we seek, from her all life, hope
and blessings flow and repeat.

A dark moonless night,
Envelopes and hides the field.
The puddles upon the ground,
Have lost their crimson hue.
The twisted stiffened bodies,
Hidden in long deep shadows.

His perch atop the Bell Tower
A lofty lonely isle amid,
A sea of waste and death.
His filthy hands still griping
His instrument of war,
His eye straining at the glass
Searching for movement
In the silent depths below,
Finger on the trigger,
Sweat upon his brow

Three days have come and gone,
Since he climbed those stairs
And took his place among
The pigeons’ and the bells.
He had been a mere boy of
Seventeen three long days ago.
Now he felt a hundred sick,
And tired years old.
And even the pigeons had
Deserted him and flown,
Or been shot to pieces,
From the troops below.

His fingers took inventory,
Only sixteen rounds remained.
He had fired his weapon
Over ninety times and
Never once, had he missed.
Haunting ****** pictures,
Of their devastation continuously
Replayed in his head.

An hour ago he heard
Its treads and engine
Churning in the dark.
The tank had come for him,
Would **** him at first light.

Strangely he felt no fear,
Resigned and willing,
To make of this,
A final, fitting end.
Grown to a man and dead,
All within four days span.

Life and Time
are an illusion
only in the minds
of we humans.
All other living
things on this Earth,
pay to either, not the
slightest attention.

He lays there at my feet,
Deaf and nearly blind.
Wearing upon him
All the traces,
Of his 15 summers,
(105 in people years.)
His coat grown sparse,
A body gone frail and thin.
Fatty benign tumors below his skin.
A worn tired expression,
Almost always visible,
On his still sweet old dog face.

Yet there is something regal,
About this aged fellow.
With the dignity of maturity
He moves about his domain,
With a cautious measured pace,
And conserved energy suited
To the elderly among us.

He prefers one mounded spot,
In our yard, on high ground,
On the greenest grass,
In the summer sun,
That restores and warms
His old bones.

Diligently working the breeze
with his still receptive nose,
Sensing the things he can,
No longer see or hear.
Appreciating and feeling all
That he has left to him.
This likely his last summer.
And he and I both know it.
We two old souls can sense,
The end is drawing near.

I reach down rub and scratch,
His soft Yellow Labrador ears,
Tail rhythmically thumping the deck,
He succumbs and leans into my touch.
Closes his eyes and receives my love.

He is my son’s and grandson’s dog.
The first dog my son ever owned.
The companion that has slept
At the foot of my two grandson’s beds,
Since both of those boys were born.
Protector, playmate and devoted friend.
Without question, he shall always remain,
A most important part of,
This our own little,
Family Of Man.

I see them still,
From time to time,
Their goofy smiles,
Their laughing eyes.
Still hear their *******,
Their growled complaints,
Their farts in the night,
from five bunks down.
The relentless joke telling,
The brotherly jabs.
Still see their sad empty eyes
When no mail from home arrives.

Oh and the lists of things
That they would do,
When back they'd go,
Into the World,
Added to daily, always growing.
Get that new Camaro,
"Set them tires on fire!",
Cruse the strip back home
and pick up chicks.
Put on their Class A,
And strut down the block.
Find that foxy girl from English class,
And make her his wife.
Tell his old man,
to actually "*******!"
We were but boys,
Too eager and green,
Posturing and playing at being men.
What I wonder, would they have become,
Given the chance to grow to a man?

Young lives cut short by ballistic pain.
So now still they linger, boys they remain,
Night visions left in the mud and the rain.

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.

They come off my vines,
All ripe and fine,
Sun kissed to a rich,
Deep red glow.
All varied sizes,
Into my upturned
Shirt front they go,
ultimately they overflow.

I can not resist,
Popping a few Cherry
Ones into my greedy,
Salivating mouth.

Tomatoes, Natures own,
Summer sweet candy,
Directly off the vine.

Not many days left,
To enjoy the show.
Hopefully there will be,
another bounty next year.

I know within my eyes you see my hurt, but
do you know my pain when you exclude me?
Throw me but scraps from this table of life.
Chain up my freedom, for you convenience.
With force, enforce your many rules, most
of which I am not aware of until you yell or hit.
I try so hard to please you in every way and yet
you treat me more like a possession than a friend.
Do you even know I would die to save you or this
family from harm, that is how I'm made.

Know this, my Master, for all the thoughtless things
you do, like leaving me in an overheated parked car
at the store yesterday, I, your ever faithful canine friend,
forgive you and always will, 'cause that is how I'm made.

Now can we talk about that new flea collar thing?
I hate to complain, but I do so itch!

I wonder if IKEA will ever get around to
making a knock down Flat Pack version
of the perfect woman?

Just take that box home and carefully
reading all the instructions put that
little Home Maker together.

Comes is several hair shades and hues.
And has no religious or political convictions.

Making sure of course to insert all
her screws, bolts and handles.
Avoiding any "loose screws" at all costs.
No need to compromise your purchase.

I wonder if she will speak English?
Maybe they even have a silent version.

I open my eyes and there he'd be,
Sitting at the edge of the bed,
Staring right up at me.
I swear his eyes and expression
Have love written all over them.
A silent message impossible not to see.

I pat the bed and up he comes,
Flops down beside me and
nestles his head upon my chest,
A big contented sigh his only utterance.
This our ritual of the morn,
He always waits, never jumps the gun.
Waits for permission like any good son.

What do they think I wonder,
What drives their loyal companionship,
Their unconditional love for we human beings?

Truly did we ever have a better friend?
A shadow, follow us anywhere,
Willing to take a bullet to protect us,
Cries when we leave them,
Always overjoyed to see us even if it's only
been minutes since we left their sight?

What other living creature is so willing to
overlook our failures, our unintentional abuse,
And never guilt us for these our all too human mistakes.

I wish I only knew more people,
That had the loving, steadfast
Nobel character of a faithful dog.
Oh, what a better world this would be
if only we acquired some simple animal behavior.

Walked the Orchard this morn,
my dog and two barn cats in tow,
the sun brilliantly aglow,
comforting whispers
of westerly breezes,
the air wonderfully pristine'.

Sat for a while out front in the sun,
watching clouds morphing to recognizable
forms. The valley orchards and crops below
resplendently dressed in multi shades of green.
Further east Cascade Peaks remain white
crested in blankets of snow. . . Beauty all,
to humble the soul.

Home on the farm with family, is everything.
Why travel afar to lands I've previously been,
to revisit sights already seen and recorded within?

Why would I indeed, when everything
I love and need resides only steps away,
right here where the spirit of
this land dwells deep within me?

When I die, I wish my ashes spread
here among these orchard trees.
In death, nurturing life.
What stunning Head Stones
these trees will be.

Perhaps my soul will linger, forever
walking these orchard rows with
my dog and two old barn
cats eternally, faithfully in tow.

If that is not heaven what is?

Freedom is a seven letter word that denotes an illusion.
A fleeting boundless state of mind, seldom achieved.
An illusive gift perhaps only truly given from us to
our selves. Maintained with diligence and positive thought.
(I believe and so I am.) Living within, in a Dictatorship or
a Marriage, it remains a state of mind. To attain it, worth a
revolution or a divorce.

I don't get bigotry, never have.

I don't get born again Christians,
Weren't they born once already?
I don't get do nothing Tea Party Republicans,
Who as it turns out are mostly the same
Born Again people.

I don't get any fake *** politicians,
They aren't people they're a product.
Manufactured and packaged to please
the tastes of the gullible public.

I don't get why super rich people would
want to go to Washington and take
(For them) a low paying job in Congress
and then sit on their hands and do nothing?
With their money they could go buy a lush
Island in the sun and lay about and really
do nothing while drinking a ice cold beer.
Which sounds like lots more fun.  

I don't get bad wars fought for bad reasons.

I don't get people that **** other people
of the same religion for no discernible reason.
While yelling "God Is Good or Great!" or what ever.
I don't get why they'd think "God" would even
appreciate that.

But then, I don't get people that **** people.
Or insanity, religious insanity is even worse.

I don't get still using oil to power things
while we know **** well there are good
viable alternatives.

I don't get the rabid Right To Lifers,
who want to dictate to all woman
their "One And Only Solution".

I guess I don't get why
People tell you they love you,
Then later change their minds.

I don't get kids killing kids
on school yards with guns.
Or the fools that do not lock
up their guns that their kids
find and use to **** other kids
on school yards.

I don't get why so many people
want things to stand still,
just because they can't keep up.

I don't get those folks that swear
that global warming is not a reality,
while every day the oceans rise
a little more.

I don't get why we little people let the
one per centers run our country and lives.

I don't get why we allow Big Business
to out source millions of jobs to other lands
when people here at home are unemployed.

I get "Humanitarian Aid" but why do we send
billions of dollars to countries that hate us?

I don't get why we need a dozen TV channels
of 24 hour news, (Some of which distort the truth
to fit their political leanings) news repeated and
repeated until we are scared and numb and
don't know truth from pure old *******.

I don't get where honest "News Men" like
Mr. Cronkite and his breed, guys that made
sure of their facts and would only dispense
the truth, went and why there are no more
of them?

I don't get why Bush and Cheney are not
in the slammer for their many lies and
outright Treason! Starting wars that never
end and shouting WMDs when none existed.

The simple answer to all this,
"these things that I do not get", is,
"It's all ******* and It's Bad For Ya' ."

The third day of sitting vigil.
He lay so still,
Eyes closed,
Shallow breathing.
How small and in repose he looked.
His skin taunt and sunken,
So pale and grey.

Long had I loved and respected
This grown ancient appearing face,
Now pain and sickness changed.
His hands barely covered,
With a thin veneer of grey skin.
The finger bones so plainly visible.
Holding his hand, it felt ice cold.

I had watched some men die,
Understood how sudden,
Death could come.
Eyes open and voice speaking,
And a second later, they were gone.
An empty shell of what they had been.

For days now family and friends,
Came and went,
Seeing no change,
Tired or bored,
Needing Nicotine,
Or food left that room.
And yet I stayed,
Vowing to myself,
That he should not die alone,
To be there to the end.

He had fought the good fight,
Fending off the inevitable,
Brave and stubborn was who he was.
The results of all that,
Turned his departure into a
Protracted reluctant journey.

He had not opened his eyes
Nor said a word in days.
Still once in a while a shallow
Breathe was taken,
And the Life Monitor,
Beeped and abated.

Alone in the room,
I said my goodbyes,
Professed my love
and kissed his forehead.
He stirred and weakly,
Opened his eyes,
The most he could offer in reply.

His eye lids fluttered twice and
One last breath was audibly taken.
74 years of living and just like that,
My Father’s worldly existence ended.  

The Heart Monitor toned,
A continuous flat line death song.
I reached up and unplugged it.
All these years later,
In my mind I can still hear it.

How brief and fleeting,
This gift of life,
Never to be taken for granted.
To a young person 74 years seems
like forever, take it from me, it is not.

At times I wish I was a
dolphin free swimming
and frolicking in the sea,
in the convivial company
of others just like me.
Free of debt or strife,
wars and the endless prattle
of human beings, who think
themselves so very supreme
over all other living things.

If only wishes could come true.

Questions, so many questions.
The why and how of things?
The acceptance of ourselves
And all others that pass through?
Those mysteries of Life itself,
Elusive and obscured?
Is romantic Love a real
And lasting thing,
Or a made up Fairytale?
Moments of clarity that vanish
in the mist?
Visions of understanding
That never truly appear?
The answers that elude our wisdom?
The doubts that repress and confuse?
The highs and lows of living,
That forever, ebb and flow?
Clarity that seems eternally,
Just beyond our struggling,
Out stretched reach?

Near a life time lived,
And still more questions,
Than answers stubbornly persist.

In all these years,
Through thick and thin,
Marriges and many other,
“Loves” known and spent,
Why have I never once heard,
Those few simple
Words sincerely said?
Words so basic and important to hear,
to know and share.
Words that should be a necessary ingredient
For any recipe of Love declared.

I have for the most part lived a life free of sins,
(At least the big ones.)
Worked hard at always doing the right thing.
Provided for and put others first,
Loved with passion and fidelity.
Giving my trust, offered respect,
When sometimes it was not earned.
Granted Forgiveness, not deserved.
Played life by all the rules.
Was it just my bad luck,
Or something I did or did not do?

Not once have I ever heard from a woman I loved
Or professed that she loved me, (completely unsolicited,)
Taking my face in her hands, looking straight in my eyes,
uttering this few words;
“You’re a good and decent man; I love you with all my heart.”
Not merely a “Me Too” or exchange of “I love you” in
Our comings or goings, or good byes on the phone,
Or in a return reply to my words of devotion.
Not just in the cries of a completion of passion on the sheets.
Something a little more, unexpected, sincere from the heart.
A freely offered anthem, a true irrefutable declaration.
Pledged for no reason but truthfulness of thought and feeling.

If we doubt ourselves, continue to seek that elusive thing we
All seek, that unconditional love we cannot seem to find,
Perhaps this simple sentence of plain words spoken and
felt would have made all the difference, every single time.
If you truly feel it, take a moment to say those words,
To your own man or women. They too need to hear it.
Indeed, we all do.

I have loved this time spent and shared
with you, said some things that meant
something to me, and read some beautiful
thoughts and words said by others.

Frankly this thing, this site can become
down right addictive, and before we know it
a whole day is shot, we might even give up
needed sleep to pursue it.

Like any addiction it needs to be controlled,
taken if at all, in small doses and that then
is my intention.

For new and old friends, I treasure your
warm embrace and no doubt I shall return.
There are other things I must and wish to do,
and as in all matters, I peruse everything in moderation.
Hugs of friendship to all, keep writing, be happy.
Thanks for the tutorial on Poetry communication.
I very much enjoyed it.

Pull in the sheets,
trim the tiller,
shifting to the other rail,
light airs prevail, the
sails they luff.

Seeking the wind,
Cat's paws to Starboard
Hard-a-lee tacking to Port,
the breeze she comes,
boom shifts, helm heels
over, sails crack and fill.
Reef in the Jib, slack off the main.
She digs in, laying her rail
into the water, riding on the
seas thin knifes edge again,
the keel rises, steadies her passage.
We fly!

Ah, fair winds, sailors delight,
pleasant sailing, safe harbor ahead.
No greater joy than to sail and muck
about in boats on blue water.

Freedom achieved, intensely felt.

The sun still below the trees,
Morning insects in full brigade
Buzz and bite our ears and face.
Walking a staggered formation,
Our eyes every where.
No one talks, we only stare,
Grim faced and scared.

"198 days and a wake up",
Keeps running through my head.
The air always, so thick and damp,
Lays like a wet blanket on my lungs,
Every breath takes more effort.
The Corpsman assures me,
"take some aspirin" I'd be fine.
Man, I hate this ******* place!

There are moments,
When beauty can be seen,
When the population
Viewed from a distance,
Seems less threatening.

If only their sing song high pitched
speech did not grate on my ears,
Like ******* finger nails raked,
Repeatedly cross a black board,
In forward and reverse!

The kids are kind of cute,
But always with a
Hand in your pocket.
Hell, even they got to live,
It's merely their Rice Bowl
Needing a fix.

I often wonder what this place,
might be like without the war.
How different it would be.
Maybe some kind of Paradise.
What the **** are we even doing here?
It's a complete ******* mystery to me.
No one ever bothered to ask my opinion,
I'm only a lowly grunt, not entitled to one.
A ground pounder with a *******.
Counting the days 'till I ******' split.

Emerging from the trees and tall grass,
Steps down into warm water and mud.
Another ******* rice paddy!
My feet are ****, always wet and sore.
My thighs and crotch forever in rash.
****, I do so hate this place.
"Hundred ninety eight days and a wake up,
On the Freedom Bird, back to the world."
Forever a mantra in my brain.

The ******* bordom is almost as
bad as the fear of being in the ****.
Those times are fleeting, over quick.
The rest is routine, a grind to endure.
Seems endless 'cause it ******* is!

Like the sharp crack of a whip,
One snaps past my ear!
Coming then like a swarm of Bees,
Announced by that God awful,
Chatter those A-Ks put out.
*** holes and elbows dispersed,
All of us on the run, looking for cover.
They got us boxed in cross fire,
No place to run, no spot to hide.
Hunker down in the mud,
Throw out some rounds,
And kiss your *** goodbye!

Return fire as best we can,
Spray the trees where we reckoned they be.
Mortars' now, crash and splash!
Earth erupts and mud explodes.
Some guy down the line screams in pain.
Dear God I hate this ******* place!

Do you ******* hear me God?
198 days and a wake up call,
And I'm out of here!
**** I'm only 19,
I ain't no martyr and don't wanna' be!

"Tiss that time of year,
the field rodents run,
the big machines hum,
the snakes slither,
gofers go deeper,
all to avoid the whirling blades,
dust clouds rise and damper the sun,
scavenger birds look for eatable pieces.
Harvest time busy the crops to gather.

Gravel crunches beneath my feet,
the meadowlark sings it's song,  
Low morning sun breaking upon the dawn.

Across the valley the back lit blue Cascades
majestically fence off the Eastern sky,
as if to hold back the light.
Mount Hood wears the emerging sun,
like a lighted crown upon her regal peak.

Out in the valley harvested golden wheat
fields stand side lighted and resplendent,
stalks shimmering with nighttime dew.  

Ground hovering Fog off the river,
to the eyes delight, rising with the sun.
Crisp clean air as Fall descends,
blowing chill breath around my ears.
Oh how sweet to be right here,
and look upon this sight.

Oh, The If's
If I were only half
the man I used to be,
I would be a whole
lot better off.

Dads are people sons never
forget, for good or bad and
when the son is gone there
is no one to remember the
father. Say for some fading
black and white photos in a
scrap book: "That was your
great grandfather. He fought
in the war. People called him
Bud, but his real name was
Wyett with an E. He taught
me to cast a fly in a mountain
stream and tune the engine
in my first car, and not to lie."

My grandsons almost grown
are good and loving chaps, but
never ask me about their Great
Grandfather. Out of sight, out of
mind, I guess. Maybe I am the last
to remember or care. Our touchstones
to the past are frail at best.

I started life with lofty ambitions,
To do great things,
Without conditions.
Venture out beyond, ever expanding
and distant Horizons.
Seek out lands and people unknown,
Sail the oceans never sailed before.
Acquire knowledge I did not possess,
Speak in tongues not my own.
Stand upon the tallest mountains.
Jump out of planes,
With out my wings.
Ride a spirited horse into the surf,
Galloping that steed, along a beach,
in fading moments of yellow sunset.
Build a dream house on my own.

Cradle my child in my arms,
Minutes after his amazing birth.
Discovering Love that never ends.

Money never that important,
Seemed to come in spite,
Which was good because,
Ambitions do have a price.

With all these things I have been blessed,
And thankfully, I'm not done yet.

I knew you then,
Yes by sight, little more,
Strangers on a common ground.
Children in the same town.
Exchanging appraising glances,
Given and quickly shed,
Reduced to but a few,
Written words in our Year Books,
No time for more.

An all too brief encounter on a train,
Sweet kisses given and accepted.
Then total disappearance,
For fifty long years.

Separate lives lived,
Marriages come and gone,
Beloved children, Grand children born.
Some bumpy roads traveled,
Individual journeys taken,
Knowledge and maturity hard earned.

After all that time and distance,
Fate returned us to each other.
Happenstance some might say,
Something much more, my answer.
In a room filled with many people,
We two magnetically drawn together.

Second chances almost never come,
Yet it seems we have found one.
Laughter like I've never known,
It almost seems incredible,
All this profound happiness,
You have brought me,
When perhaps we both thought,
Those days and emotions dead.
Now I feel so young, all over again,
As if 50 years had never been.

It's a time out I seek,
too many words and poems
read and said,
Too many feelings flow
through my head,
I'm dizzy with it,
Not at all fed up,
That's something else again.

I love my HP friends,
The exchanges,
The encouragement.
The world of computer companionship,
The joy of all the written words.

Yet for now as to this,
Our shared passion,
I do for a time relent.

Pay more attention
to my woman and kids,
Take the dogs for a walk
down by the river bridge.
Seek some sun
and hurry the Spring.
Shoot some photographs,
That do so please.
Rest assured I shall return.

So good friends for a time,
if I do not reply,
That would be the reason why.
Not sick, not dead, just resting.

Look friends, this is a only a lighted screen.
On which people paint their dreams.
Spill out their fears,
Perhaps cleanse their souls.
Words printed not in stone,
Gone with the strike of a key.
Meaningless to all,
But perhaps their own creator.
Never intended to live forever.
As if they were wispy clouds in the sky,
Shifting, changing and then goodbye.
Does the maker of those clouds care
Who sees them there, need comment
of awe and splendor, an adoring audience
from below to lavish him with praise?
My guess is he does not,
Like our thoughts on this screen,
impermanent and fleeting,
His are flights of artful heavenly whimsy,  
A clear endeavor of self expression,
Not meant to last.
Put up there on his canvas,
Merely for his own enjoyment.

My almost grown grandsons
see only a stooped withered
old man when they look at me,
no clue of the young man I used
to be. Or where I have been, the
things I've done. They've only
known me like this. Even 20
years ago, when they were born
I was already a senior citizen.

In my mirror I also see what they
see and can barely recall that
once upon a time younger me.

Time and the elements move
on leaving erosion behind upon
mountains and people too.

Her eyes bespoke
à depth untouched,
an allure of sensual
mystery that she kept
locked inside.

We married, but sadly,
I never found the key
to unlock the voided
recesses of her walled
citadel, containing the
inner depths of unselfish
love and beauty that I'd
hoped resided there.
She remained a self-absorbed
isolated Island unto herself.

On Knees, was taught to prey.
The concept of religion,
Learned as a small child,
Later replaced with actual knowledge.
Discovering then that,
The “Soul” of Bible Talk,
Does indeed exist,
Within all we humans.
Neurons, tangled nerves of
Electric arc, impulses sent
And received, thoughts formulated,
Visions seen, recalled all in an instant.
Memories cataloged and stored.
The original Grey Matter Computer,
Our Humanity the result of all this,
Wondrous, remarkable activity.
Love, Thought, Empathy, Kindness,
Knowing Right from wrong,
Rational Reasoning, Humor,
Ingenuity, Creativity, Forgiveness
When needed.  Pride exceeded.

Yes, we have a soul, it lives within
Our Human Intelligence,
And all the abilities it affords us.
Without this Brain, this our Soul *****,
The body, our very existence is nothing.

I turned away for what seemed a brief bit of time,
Life got in the way, work, family, other joys.
When I returned to my sweet friends on HP
nothing much looked the same, unfamiliar,
even strange.

Then there are all those unknown names,
Talented folks among them for sure,
but too many to count and begin to know.
Lonely alienation disconnect,
Like transferring to a new school in your, Senior year.

Change they say is a good thing,
even inevitable, most of the time,
But, where is that old loved gang of mine?

Not unlike needed caresses or gentle kisses,
the morning sun did bathe my upturned
face in needed glow of restorative warmth.
An encouraging respite after weeks of clouds
and cold rain to lift my flagging spirts,
supported and enhanced by the celebratory
songs of a plethora of birds, all this perhaps
the shining moments of glory in my entire
self isolated day.

She stood as she always did,
at the sink in the tiny kitchen.
Wearing that apron,
with all the little red Tea Pots,
scattered around on a field
of white cotton.
Tied with a big bow in the back.
Gloved in yellow rubber,
to protect her hands and nails.

I stood a moment in the doorway
and we smiled at one another,
the way Mother's and half grown
children do.

Reflectively she reached up and
brushed back a brownish-blond
lock of hair that had straggled
down too close to her right eye.
A frequent and oft repeated
movement that always made
me smile.

I passed by her and briefly,
touched her shoulder,
As I went.
She patted my hand,
in a simple gesture of
returned implied affection,
Like we always did.

There was the sweet scent
Of Lilac hovering around her.
"Hi Son". She said barely
above a whisper.

My Mother died that next year.
She was only 54.

That was 46 years ago this month.
And yet, I still see her standing there.

I've never betrayed my dreams,
           I've lived them.

My breath like smoke
upon autumn's morn.

Into my boot chill water seeps,
the stream runs icy clear and deep.

He comes up swiftly, turns,
sees my fly and does reverse,
takes a pass and eyes the prize,
quickly I ****** back my line.

He is big and brown,
speckled and Steelhead sleek.
  
I cast again,
briefly let it float,
where he was
only a moment ago.

The silvers of his belly flash,
he rolls and rises
takes another look,
ever so sly and cautious,
or so he thinks.

Does this beauty not know,
I'm strictly Catch and Release?

I thought Snake Oil Salesmen were
a relic of the past, standing up on a stage dispensing
blatant lies and bogus even dangerous cures for
exaggerated imagined illness and or personal fears.

I thought we ran all of them out of town,
suitably tarred and feathered,
Riding on a hitching post rail.
Perhaps some things never change.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Step right up folks!
In this little bottle, I hold in my hand,
is a magic elixir of my own imagination and invention,
That is absolutely-unconditionally guaranteed
To Make America great again,
All I ask for this be all, cure all, is one small vote
cast for me, crowning me King of all there is."

Now where did we put that rail?

Oh look, look again on what we see,
Another war on ABC and CNBC TV.
Black hooded thugs waving AK-47’s
Jam Packed into little Pickup Trucks,
Moving in, onto Bagdad street,
It all looks so very familiar.

What is it with we Human Beings?
Why do we continue to do such things?
Back in my day it was Viet Nam,
The suits made a case for war,
And we young answered the call.
3 million Vietnamese and over 58,000
Of us died in that mess,
All for what,
A Civil War?
Not our business.
Profits for Corporations,
Big and small?

Who are we to Police the World?
Who appointed us to that dire role?

Then it was “Desert Storm”
And we mobilized all over again.
Rolled over the sands and those
Third World people,
As if they were not even there.
It’s said 100,000 of them died.
But the guy that pulled their Strings,
That **** fool survived,
To play again yet another day.

The peoples in the Middle East
Hated us for our intervention,
And began to sing songs of revenge.

Fast forward 10 years of hate and
Resentment and some of them
Flew our own planes into our cities,
Killed our non combatant people
Without so much as a warning,
And absolutely no remorse.
Stealing our national innocents.

Excuses and lies were made,
Fingers pointed in the wrong direction,
Now it was us plotting revenge.
WMD’s in the hands of a Mad Man
We were told,
“Get him before he can use his missiles.
Him and them,
That attacked our Cities,
Killed our people.
How dare they do such a thing?"

Once again our young men and women
Answered the call.
And once again over a 100,000 of that
Dictator’s people died, along with
Far too many of our own children.
But the “Lie” made some big American
Corporations rich beyond belief.
And gasoline went to over
$4.00 a gallon and is still ascending.

Oh look, on further study and investigation,
That guy and his country had no WMD’s
And indeed may not have actually been,
Behind The Twin Towers tragic end.
Afganstan “They” now too pointed,
That’s the backward 3ed world place,
Harboring a rich Saudi guy named Bin.
He and his gang, they are the ones,
Run ‘em to ground and break their bones.
Suspend our laws and stretch the truth,
Get it done, forget the price,
Break some rules and ignore,
Our Constitution and even our laws.
Behind closed doors, they whisper,
“Need more men, mobilize the Reserves.”
“The little people will never tolerate a Draft”.

How many people die this time?
We don’t even know the price.
It’s not yet done over there.
Money spent over 3 Trillion,
More than spent to fight
The entire Second World War.
Yes I said “Trillion”
Now how many new schools,
Roads and bridges here,
At home would that buy I wonder?

We left Bagdad declaring things “done”.
Installed yet another Corrupt,
Puppet Army and Government.
Like Viet Nam,
Our Generals all said we’d won.

Be it an Iraq or Afghanistan,
Who can possibly rule a nation of Tribes.
Of people that can’t even agree on the
Same shared religion belief.
People that hate each other more,
Then they even hate us.

No one but an iron ****** ****** Dictator,
A Tribal Chief who enforces his rule with
Corruption, Brutality and Death
Can rule such people.
Too long ingrained is their
Mode of hating and living.
Too clouded and old
Their desire for revenge
And corruption.

So add it all up, too many deaths,
Trillions of dollars spent.
And in the end, has returned to
Where it all started again.

Political deceit,
Poor judgment,
Or Personal greed?
Why do our leaders
Keep making the same mistakes?
I don’t have the answer.

If I don’t end up in Gitmo,
Boarded, with water in my mouth,
Or locked up in the Pen,
For expressing my own opinion,
Perhaps things aren’t yet as bad
As things could possibly get.

I do however regret that all these years
With we little people answering the call,
With all the fighting, waste,
Needless ****** death and all,
It seems to have been for nothing more,
Than the egos and stupidly,
Of a few rich and high born men,
Big Corporation profits,
And lustful greed for the all mighty dollar.

Change, embrace it!
It's you knocking on the door
of new opportunities.

Within the unfolding creation of this Earth,
with its majestic mountains and valleys,
its rocks and trees, its life-giving streams and seas,
Surely man was but a minor afterthought
no more important than birds, or snakes.
Only we see ourselves as exalted above all other
living things. Our opinion is highly overrated
and wholly underserved.

I extend out my arm,
just as far as it can go,
I covet things you know,

More things can be the
answer to all my dreams,
The abolishment of my pain,
An ending to my loneliness,
And even buy me friends.

There is nothing they say,
that money can't buy,
It's a proven panacea.

I want to be a Has,
and not a Has Not,
And I want everyone
to see it.

The only real problem is I guess,
That my grasp it seems,
Can't begin to match my reach.

The days are long and hard to go,
Walkin' down my side of the road.

Up ahead I see Emmylou comin' ,
known her since we was 2 or 3.
Yet, she crosses over from,
My side of the road,
Making like she don’t see me.

Up ahead comes old Nat Black,
Shuffling along and limping some,
He marched with Mister King,
Over in Selma in ‘63,
That’s how he got that limp you see.
But still he keeps to his side of the road,
On the opposite side from me.

Further ahead comes Jake Sutton’s kid,
Strutting along at a pretty brisk clip,
A stout club in one hand,
and a white sheet tucked under his arm.
Off I bet, to burn a cross somewheres.
Him and his rowdy friends cluttering up,
both sides of this road I tread.

Sleepy little ‘Bama town,
With so much trouble all around,
I just keep on trudging down,
My side of the road.

Hoping someday, it will lead us all,
Someplace better and fair,
Then this divided road we all share.

It happened again today,
as it does too often.
A super sized new roll of
toilet paper unwound off
it's holder in a heap upon
the floor.

She followed me into the
bathroom and sat slyly
staring gauging my reaction.
I thought I could actually
discern a slight smile upon
her enchanting face.

What is it about cats that
makes them do that,
unroll all the Toilet Paper?
Are they merely mischievous
or inherently evil? I am in a
quandary to know the difference.

Weak from Love’s embrace,
We whisper in the shadows,
Words of breathy adoration,
Laying  skin to skin,
Arms and legs entwined,
Our bodies dripping wet.
Cool night breezes
from the window,
Contentment blowing in.

If only I could
capture this feeling,
Duplicate its magic,
Bottle it perhaps.
Deliver it on tiny parachutes,
This heart busting happiness.
To all my brothers and sisters,
The people of the world.
Gone would be the burden
of hate and disrespect.

If they got to feeling mean,
Pull the stopper and take a sip.
'Cause who can think of doing harm
When we can all feel as loved as this.

With more life behind us than ahead,
as we age, though our futures dim,
our memories brighten each day
that remains.

We are here to love one another,
To procreate, love, teach, protect
and raise our progenies to be decent,
loving human beings.

All else is merely a distraction,
to our very purpose for existence.