I keep looking behind each door
and around every corner
but I don’t see you anymore
where have you gone?
youth is fleeting
a series of silly and solemn acts
competing
with time and facts
where have you gone?
I look in the mirror
but you aren’t there
hiding behind tired eyes
and lengthy sighs
where have you gone?
enthusiasm and energy
are but a memory
lost in the passage of time
when I was in my prime
where have you gone?
-30-
Like leaves falling off of trees with the advance of winter
my Dad’s memories are caught up in the winds of change
as he struggles to remember my name
I watch his eyes wander off to other times
back to the “good old days”
when he was young and viral
a proud Marine and father of three
he will always be
my hero
sometimes his eyes are clear and when he looks at me
I can see the man he use to be even though he’s ninety-three
sometimes suddenly he talks rationally
but those days are fading away
as I watch him every day
waiting for a miracle to come his way
I wait
and pray
***
Bob the Cat was interviewed one day
by a curious kitten
who wouldn’t stay away
“How did your ears get that way?“
But Bob wouldn’t say
“How old are you?”
Bob told him to go away
“What do you do all day?”
Bob replied “Skip the survey”
so
the kitten finally had to concede
the old grouch wouldn’t proceed
and there’d be no interview
no wise worldview
from an old cat
like that
***
If I had dime for every epiphany
that I’ve had
it would add
up to a lot of money
however
remembering
those moments of inspiration
when something became clear
never lingered long enough
for them to physically appear
alas! my fleeting epiphanies
will never persevere
**
He rocks back-and-forth on the rickety wicker porch chair. He’s everyman, late in life with wrinkles distorting a once smooth face, and body. His life wasn’t spent seeking redemption in real time. His subconsciousness never gave a hint of being interested in the subject.
Memories did sometimes rudely intrude upon his daily routine and reality. As a combat veteran he was intimately acquainted with death. The sight. The smell. The moment he fired at a human being. The horror.
But he just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
He isn’t plagued with regrets on not being “saved” by any religion, or by being led to redemption like a sheep on the way to being sheared.
Freedom is his redemption for being alive and having survived many perilous times in his long life. His arthritis a badge of honor. His physical scars medals earned during a long life of adventures. His silver hair a crown of achievement.
He makes no claims of having redeemed others from sins and stupid moves in their lives. He never wanted to lead others to the top of any proverbial mountain. He’s unaware of ever being anyone’s leading light in life.
He just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
the end
it’s always been there…
my flirtation
with a runaway imagination
a cozy affair unhindered by reality
everything I wanted it to be
worlds opened like oysters
in the fertile fields of my mind
mysteries solved uninhibited
access to a fantasy land
that does not sleep or confine
the affairs in my imagination
which are open for all to see
my ideas wander on the verge of reality
I know the end will come for me
soon enough my body will be free
to fly where my imagination
can’t currently see
I can tell when people tell lies
with these eyes
their body movements a tell
making it easy to see
for an old man like me
decades of experience resides
compartmentally
in my brain
lurking behind my tired eyes
I’ve seen the horror
of war
I keep it behind a door
behind these eyes
I look forward
to each new day
putting aside yesterday
a daily exercise
behind these
still alert
eyes
I knew an old lady who use to say
“Ain’t it grand?“
Every day
about subjects big and small
on local people
and the town hall
her positive attitude
on all subjects
earned everyone’s gratitude
and the local newspaper ran
her column about the community
and her love for this land
readers looked forward every week
to read about their town’s activities
that were so unique
alas!
all good things come to an end
but she’ll always be remembered
as a godsend
it hung in the light from a nearby window
a black and white portrait of an old man
with wise eyes and a flowing beard
he was an elder and he was revered
oh, the stories he could tell
if he hadn’t died and went to hell!
the writer waited until he hit a century
before releasing the rights to his diary
while flipping through the pages one night
his still-active imagination took flight
and he was a young man again
as far as he could ascertain
and a young lady came near
and whispered in his ear
they went for a walk
and had a lovely talk
and
when the writer’s son
came to visit the next day
the old man had passed away
with a smile on his face
that showed
he was in a better place
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