Hallelujah from the heart of Leonard Cohen
just took Leonard and his old scratchy voice
into my heart. What a gift my music app
just slung into my afternoon
to wake me from my late afternoon fatigue.

I do not take these tech gifts for granted
remembering when I would have to get the LP album
from off the crammed shelf and play it on a turntable.

Here in a moment of peace
I look up and see the trees
and the neighbor’s garden
beyond my windows.

And I thank God for this lovely peaceful moment
thank my old piano teacher
and the conductor of the Houston Youth Symphony
where I sang before my voice changed
and my parents who carpooled me from our suburb
to the old auditorium downtown
where my young mind and soul were nourished
by adults who cared for our young minds and voices.

Who knew that the gifts of these people
would spring up in my mind eight decades later
and mental images of Leopold Stokowski who directed us
at a grand concert in the Houston Music Hall.
He loved children but delivered high pitched hell
to the symphony players at rehearsals.

Before I woke this morning
this title was peeking through the cobwebs,
eventually waking me before dawn.

Now with Bernstein’s Grofe Grand Canyon Sunrise
is playing before first light, violins barely audible,
mules waking up with their weird wail
ready to hit the high trail.
Those magnificent odd beasts.

My old body still  dull,
my left hip protesting the early wake,
my brain puzzling with this title
me saddling the mules
for their trudge down the curvey canyon walls,
young adventurers on their old swaying backs.

Here I am looking out over the trees beyond the back yard
into the gray dawn.
I write with the thought of visiting my old friends
on the poetry website,
they probably wondering where I’ve been for the last several months
with  nary a word posted there.

Last night, the Beatles’ White Album played,
those young shaggy heads
awake with popping images
tunes and words tumbling from John and Paul,
they  too, like me, oblivious of where the trail would  lead.

Put me back together.
That’s what the Great Spirit is trying to do
between my synapses
while they still stir up there in the attic
among the dusty old books and broken furniture
and the all but forgotten dreams there
among the silverfish.

Recently Moses was trying to teach me and the new generation
in Deuteronomy
before they crossed the Jordan into the Promised Land.,
his old body still holding on in the mountains
where he would finally be laid to rest.
I  never thought I would get anything from that old book
but Moses had one more old mind to reach.
I am grateful his words were preserved
for me before I too make it up
beyond the top of the mountain
finally put together.

you sense it grow
and rather would not
     look at it too closely
prefer that it remain
just vaguely powerful

until one day it crystallized
into a sphere
     perfectly polished  brilliant
but hard to bear alone

you start the search
for one who would be willing
and of worth to share
     with you
what weighs you down
while it elates you
      desperately
at times

you recognize that there are few
whom you would gladly have
     alleviate your burden

many just want to share
     the tiny part
you’d rather keep yourself

others already bear their lot
and  willing though
could only join you for a while

love can be a hard thing
in its time

Sixty plus years ago
and the pall that covers us today
takes me there
as if I'd never escaped
the dark secrets are darker
the lies run deeper
and the consequences are greater

'those who fail to learn from the mistakes
of their predecessors
are destined to repeat them'

and here we are
watching helpless as we drown in the muddy waters
of apathy
silent
we are even more unaware
as to what is truth and what is fiction

we will soon pay the price
for not listening
not reacting
to the desperate plea of salvation
and to one man
who knew the consequences

and this time there will be no chance
to find solace in our dreams
peace within our hollow contentment
for we have lost everything
that is sacred

In many poems,
Indeed mine own,
Relationships are defined
As two vessels sailing
In close company,
Plotting the same course
By choice and happiness
Choosing to stay close by,

But in truth a relationship
IS a ship,
A single hull with
Two crew to sail it,
Working together
To maintain the five essentials,
A level hull, with sails and foils well set,
And direction agreed,

Who holds the helm,
The tiller and extension,
That person controls
The direction of travel,
And that has been you,
When you sailed us into danger
My hand was there to guide
Us back from hazard,

Now I am steering
And the course is arrow straight
In lieu of help
Or kind suggestion,
A crew entirely focussed not
Upon the vessel but themself,
And no gentle hand to
Re direct our boat

Nor kind word
Or still small voice of calm
To calm the storm for more
Than a minute,
And that is a shame,
It takes two to tango
Only one to sail a boat,
But it is better by far

With another

I am the giver of hugs,
The dispenser of caressing comfort,
The holder of those in need,
The squeezer out of pain and sorrow,
The shutter out of this world and its woe,
If only for a moment a head Upon my shoulder
Is free of sadness and sorrow,
Free of fear and frustration,
Safety resides within my embrace,
Sanctuary whence nowt can reach thee,

But right now it's the hugger
In hugging need,
That tap gushing
From a bottomless jug has
Just a hint of falter,
A tiniest reduction of pressure,
Insufficient for regard by others
But keenly felt by me,
Hints at limits being reached,
And I rail against that potential
Failure to project and protect,

So here I am,
Pouring out hugs,
While inside every sinew
Screams for someone,
Anyone in fact, to see ME,
See the pain and need,
See my faltering heart
And hope,
And step up,
Wrap me in THEIR arms,
Hold me and heal MY broken
Worn out heart a bit,

So I can hold and heal
Those many more
Still in need.

I keep saying I carried
Us alone for a year,
In the face of
Abhorrence - derision and rage,
In truth some of each with
Much good reason,

I keep saying,
As you did,
That my love is not enough,
Keep saying that now
It's your time to shine and that Indeed now you must,

And yet even as you
Reach out in a way
I am supposed to honour,
Your tone is dipped
In censure and rebuke,
Accusation and deep ire,

What you seem not
To understand is you
Are in fact,
For all your vaunted effort,
Merely nailing our coffin lid,
Firmly,

Shut.

Yes you had the best of me,
You also had the worst
Sadly all you see
Or acknowledge
Is that you had the worst,
Complain ad infinitum
About the bad,
Never once admitted
The good

What made
us so beautiful
Is that we
were never
likely to happen,
And here we are;
Pretending
to be oblivious
To the obvious
love waves
Bouncing back
and forth
Between
our hearts
This thing
Is a never
ending start...
Where the moments
we are meant to share,
Are carelessly
forced apart.