Focus inward if you will
to that inner voice
that whispers be still
listen
breath
inhale
exhale
be open
to what’s
spoken
from the
heart
murmers
in the mind
listen
breath
inhale
exhale
be still
and learn
to be kind
and expand
your mind
Category: life story
Affairs of the Imagination
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
Good Morning
I hated getting up in the morning when I was in school
giving up delicious dreams to attend classes wasn’t cool
when I was on my own and working nearly every day
dragging my body out of bed in the morning wasn’t child’s play
but
now that I’m retired and have no place I have to go
I wake up early to watch the sunrise’s beautiful tableau
A Clean Slate
left behind
a lifetime
of regrets
no more
senseless
moments
to answer
for
I’ve closed
that door
and cleaned
that slate
forevermore
Emerald Dreams
in the dream there was an emerald glow
that enveloped me
as I walked
through the snow
seeking the mystery
that led me
into an unknown land
guided by the emerald glow
I sought answers from the gods
and wizards I didn’t know
my dream guiding me
into unknown country
where I walked on clouds
to see what I could see
it’s always exciting to me
when my emerald dreams
take me to new places to see
and I begrudge the long days
that are reality
waiting
patiently
for sleep
to envelope me
Ain’t It Grand?
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
Portrait
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!
Diary Reverie
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
Requiem for a Hoarder
decades of newspapers and magazines cluttered every room, silent witnesses to bygone eras, nestled alongside a lifetime of eclectic collections in the gathering gloom
when the coroner came to collect the old man, his worn-out body in his favorite chair in front of a fan, he was surrounded with trinkets and displays from his good old days
every room was piled high with one man’s treasure yet another man’s junk, standing lamps, piles of clothes from ages past that stunk worse than a skunk
boxes and crates with no labels butted against couches and tables, towers of books with subjects ranging from science to early fables, rolls of cables, and an assortment of turntables
souvenirs from other countries, plastic children’s toys that still made noise, clocks off all kinds, dried food, ancient weather vines, and assorted other sundries
missing were photos of family, a lonely man severed from humanity, living in an alternate reality, his life a mere triviality, his collections becoming his center of gravity
they said the old man had a mental disorder, a condition not unknown to many people trying to install order into their chaotic life, and turning into a hoarder
School Of Hard Knocks
when I was growing up my grandfather use to say
that boy is going to find out everything the hard way
if he comes out of his childhood alive
there’s a damn good chance he’ll survive
I was an eager student of the School of Hard Knocks
my troubles were never pebbles they were always rocks
taking the least traveled pathway had a price
I come close to losing my life twice
there was never really a choice for me
I’ve always been on the verge of tragedy
but in these later days of my life
I look back and appreciate the strife
and accept my past and my destiny
whatever that happens to be
