Time for a poetry break
I Didn’t See Her Age – To my wife
I didn’t see her age although I saw her every day.
I didn’t see a wrinkle grow or a hair turn gray.
I didn’t see a shoulder bow or a muscle droop.
I didn’t see her skin lose that magic glow of youth.
I saw her every day; to me no changes had occurred;
although I know some do and cannot be deterred.
The hour hand on the clock moves persistently,
but is hardly noticed if we love consistently.
Her smile never faded nor did her step slow up,
Her love of life continued, passing time could not corrupt.
And I witnessed something else that grew in spite of time.
What I saw improved every day, as does aging wine.
What I saw was abiding love that grew with each passing day.
What I saw was something that time could not defray.
What I saw was growing love that changed but never faded.
What I saw was a bright new sky that the sun pervaded.
What I saw was something I was fortunate to find.
What I saw was matured love, the deepest, truest kind.
That kind of love sustained me through each and every day.
That kind of love I have endeavored to repay.
So now, as the evening shadows seem to creep too fast,
I cherish more than ever the time together now past.
I now hope to enjoy remaining years to come
as I walk with her in the slowly setting sun.
I used to think that memories were files tucked away
into little corners of my mind, where they would always stay,
sometimes to be forgotten and never found again,
sometimes to be recovered, and used now and then.
Then one day I realized that no files exist at all,
but they are created new, whenever we recall.
They really can’t be found in a cabinet or hard drive;
in any form or place they just do not survive.
Memories are merely pathways traveled by our thoughts.
They lead from here to there, but not always where they ought.
We cannot preserve our memories or store them for all time,
even if they’re ugly or beautifully sublime.
Memories are road maps that change as we drive.
We seldom take that same road, no matter how we strive.
Our memory map is often lost and created new each day.
It always is a little different, much to our dismay.
Memories are the dreams we have, when we are awake.
To believe them as gospel truth would be a grave mistake.
So, if we trust a memory dream that never is the same,
we must prepare to make mistakes, and then to take the blame.
Names are something I can’t remember.
That’s why I am a name pretender.
“How’re you doing my old friend,
It’s so good to see you.” again and again.
Not knowing a name is bad enough
but using the wrong one deserves a rebuff.
How stupid I feel when greeting a fellow
when I don’t know his name, I just say “hello”
Some think me stupid, some think me rude,
some think me careless, some think me crude.
I’m totally innocent of all of these charges,
I can’t even find my car in parking garages.
I can’t remember where I laid down my glasses
or the names of all those pretty young lasses.
I can’t remember how to get to your home
or where I left my last pocket comb.
So when you see me you must not expect
your face with your name I will connect.
And I won’t be upset or give you the blame
if you don’t greet me… with my correct name.
Why is it that we can’t figure out
without confusion and so much doubt
which line is shortest at the supermarket,
or the closest parking at Super Target?
Making decisions takes much too long
and decisions made are often wrong.
Why does fate play little games with us
leaving us frustrated and ready to cuss?
Are we punished for an ancient sin
by gods that act with dogmatic whim?
Is it planned by heavenly hosts,
that we’ll burn the last piece of toast?
Or do we all just remembering the times
we couldn’t find words to make clever rhymes?
Are we forgetting the times when we won,
when we succeeded and had so much fun?
Fate doesn’t know your face or your name.
The gods don’t exist to give you the blame.
Depend on yourself and friends you can trust.
Do what you can and do what you must.
Don’t blame others for your mistakes.
Don’t blame fate for decisions you make.
Live your short life the best that you can.
Even when fate interferes with your plan.
The armchair quarterback contemplates the past
and our poor decisions he just loves to blast.
His secondary wisdom is a marvel to behold,
your mistakes and mine he has conspicuously retold.
He marvels at his wisdom and his perfect calls,
and ridicules our mistakes and our brains so small.
He analyzes what he claims was right before our eyes
and wonders how we jerks could be so unwise.
His judgements on all matters are perfect as can be.
He never makes mistakes as far as he can see.
I marvel at this prophet of events already done
and wonder to myself if he were born this dumb.
A Little Treasure in the Sand
A little treasure in the sand waiting for a human hand
From eternity to be saved cradled by the endless waves
Fractured from its shining youth glistening like a shark’s tooth
Hidden among the sand and shell, its origin we cannot tell
Etching sand has dulled its shine once diamond clear in ocean brine
Softened edges hold glow within, captured light still crystalline
Amber, emerald, cobalt blue, pink and black, all other hew
Little morsels of dull glass treasure designed by nature for our pleasure
Yellow, purple, to our delight, like misty clouds, milky white
Wrapped in silver, wrapped in gold adorning necks both young and old
Reminding us of a morning stroll along a beach without a goal
Except to rescue a piece of glass, from the ocean, that we could not pass
A Little Home for God
A little home for God exists inside of you and me.
It’s deep inside our brains, in a place we cannot see.
Somewhere along neural tracts and in clumps of cells
The Lord, our God, resides comfortably and well.
He shares his home with other gods of other times and creeds
who, just like him, all claim to fill important needs.
They are there when we call as if by special magic,
but when we let them help us, it often turns out tragic.
Sometimes they take control of us just for their own ends
like a lethal virus when its life upon us depends.
Did nature put these cells inside of us for reason,
to help us through hard times and the deadly season?
For some of us it must have helped in the past as in the present,
that’s why now we need the comfort of the cross, the star, the crescent.
This godly home, some do think, is in our temporal lobe
or maybe our limbic system is the address of its abode.
It really makes no difference to some of us you see,
because in our brains and intellect, there is… no vacancy.