Thursday, July 20, 2017

20170720.0436

I have in my head songs from two decades or so ago.
I do not know why; I didn't really listen to many of them then.
I was not swimming in the main stream then,
But rather paddling along ineptly in a back-flowing eddy.
I think I still may be doing so, although the current differs.
I have never been a strong swimmer.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

20170719.0436

Each ball flies up, hovers a bit,
Then falls back down. I make to catch it
And toss it again or set it aside
Gently on a shelf, in a box just beside
My feet. I am standing in place just for now.
I'll need to move soon--soon's I figure how
To do it and keep aloft the balls I throw
And catch again. It's all I know.

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

20170718.0436

I should work harder to be thankful.
I should not have to work at it;
I should simply be so,
For I am given much.
For some of it,
I am grateful,
But not all of it is to my liking,
Not all as I would prefer.
It never will be, of course.
It cannot.
But I should still be tankful.
It could be much worse.

Monday, July 17, 2017

20170717.0445

In bringing things
Out of boxes
Out of wrapping
Out from where they have been hidden away
For years
The past emerges
As if from mist and cloud
And things once known
But forgotten
Return again to the waking world
Reminding us what we have been
And what we now are
And I
At least
Consider the exchange

Sunday, July 16, 2017

20170716.0751

Where do they go, those things that we value?
We look around for them, find them nowhere,
Go out to gather them, grasp them in vain,
Brush ourselves by them, bend to take them,
Maybe a moment might we hold them
But they pass away, and we seek again.
No thing endures. Never content,
To gather up goods we go out again,
And other look on at our departure,
Asking where we go, we whom they value.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

20170715.0933

Something I have known would come has come
As I sought to
And she sought to
Another she did so
But in a different way
And neither the first she nor I did

Friday, July 14, 2017

20170714.0439

It seems to be payday again,
That to which my work's an end.
I may from penury defend
Myself a little longer.
Some food I soon can go to buy,
And tools, perhaps, with which to ply
My skills--if I have time to try
To make them a bit stronger.
But before then, I'll work again,
For my tasks do never end,
Nor do body's needs off tend
To lessen as life's longer.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

20170712.0439

I looked in on my daughter as she lay
Asleep in bed, the sheets in disarray,
And she, lying sideways, all exposed,
As if a doll some collector posed
To show a sudden stop amid some time
Whose focal point denies all acts of rhyme--
Except she breathed n slow, deep rhythm. I,
Too, breathed deeply in content and drew not high
For fear of stirring her to wakefulness
And disturbing her growing progress--
And since I look for her to grow up strong
And brave and wise and true, and those take long
To burgeon in a person now quite small,
I let her be and walked back down the hall.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

20170712.0428

Thoughts of what I might well do
Bubble up within me,
Rising to the surface of my mind
And popping into the open air.
What of them remains?
Only the occasional chunk of stuff,
Stirred from depths by currents unseen
Remains to be found
And played with
By the rare child who comes traipsing along
And pokes it with a stick.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

20170711.0448

One of the cats is standing,
Staring,
A breathing canopic jar filled with
Something
And I have to wonder
Who provided the pulsing fleshy bits
Housed inside it.