24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Walking the streets of Rome alone,
Solitude can be nice,
the smells, sights, in clearer focus.
A small cart with Nirvana,
Fresh, flat bread steaming,
A little sauce, a little cheese,
Perfection in a bite.
The next day, same place,
But Nirvana had moved on,
Gelato beckons but perfection will forever be,
Flat, steaming bread.
To Get Lost is to Learn the Way Lost many times in my life, unknowns, mounting fears. To walk along a narrow path that slowly disappears. Then find a new path wider, true, to see it soon has flew. The urge to lay down, give up the search, then find this light that grew. Each time like royalty, it seems, the higher plain dead ended. Masks and glitter lauded grace, but vanished soon, pretended. Today, the path careens about, I've learned to embrace the bumps. strong calluses and sturdy shoes, embracing all the jumps.
The time capsule in my backyard had a pill inside it
A pill that allows you to return anytime
One that allows you to talk to anyone that has left
What excitement it just gives excitement in my chest
I might get back to when Lady Di was alive
And will see how she helps those who need care and love
I might find out how life would be made easier
And learn how to be a little bit wiser
And also I will talk to our Jose Rizal
Maybe have him coach me how to write a novel
Or see how Spanish have ruled us so bad
And help him strategize how to win such a fight
Then I’ll return to the time when father was here
And have coffee and discuss how we will repair
Unfinished businesses and conversations
How to triumph in life how to be heroes
There are things i have to know, things from the past
To know how to pass the struggles at present
To talk to those who know to succeed at present
Yes I will do it yes I’m willing to wait.
POEM 09
Sorrow like a giving up, took and washed me out. I was tired of uncertainty, I was sick of doubt..
I went about humming trying not to despair. Fate so bitter as it is will find you anywhere.
When did this take hold, in the midst of the night? Did it reach for my very soul and strangle hope’s bird of flight?
Whose child am I whose sorrows are born again in me? Where next will my weary feet fall? What secret corner holds my destiny?
In a stormy sea I stay adrift my sails are weather worn and smiling out to me, the shore where my misery was born.
Then just as sudden as all this weight was cast, a lightness on the wind of time whispered. “this too shall past.”
Then all the silver slant of rain, began to softly fall, it lost the chill of weariness of having no hope at all.
Sometimes a miracle will show its sweet, fierce head and take the woe that snatched at you and leave its joy instead.
One thing about the pandemic was
that I spent a lot of time with myself.
Too often over the decades, I realized,
I tried to fit in and
it didn’t work,
I didn’t fit,
and I felt I had failed.
Now I’m embracing the weird.
OK, I don’t fit!
I like animals more than people
I’d rather be on a nature trail than in the office
I don’t like parties and small talk and fashion.
I like writers and artists, art and writing.
And that’s OK.
I’ve decided to keep me.
When will it pass?
I count the moments but the same voices scream
at night, keeping me anxious and afraid of tomorrow?
The seconds tick by as my mind runs ragged
with fear and anticipation of the very worst scenarios.
My dad always said, “This too shall pass”,
meaning the bad things
but it also means the good things.
I remember when times were much better and I was
flying with my family to a happy vacation –
a nagging fear came into my mind that this too shall pass:
the good times – I gulped my pinot grigio,
slammed my eyelids together and thought
that I’d better live in the moment and enjoy
the present for all it’s worth.
Though those good days are gone, and the ones that bring
pain now linger – but they too will pass.
After a long pause
Nose downward,
Watching waves polish
Her feet, lick at her ankles
Repeatedly, a clock’s tongue,
The background hum of sea
Echoing some famous adagio,
And my round reddening belly,
Patient as one of those
Smirking stone buddhas,
Yet desperate for her answer,
She at last mumbled,
“Maybe once in a blue moon.”
Looking back,
I don’t think she knew
The weight of that phrase,
Massive as the gravity
That yanks salty tides,
Into which she lurched,
Bobbing up a second later
Beckoning me in.
Sick and tired
Of being told ~
You can be anything
~ Except that
You can’t be that ~
You’re not tall enough
You’re not small enough
You’re not big enough
You’re not smart enough
Why don’t you do this ~
When I definitely, didn’t ask
Hey, can you do this too?
Sure, never enough time for this fool.
Who only seeks to colorfully create.
Instead, she’s bombarded
Till she’s sick
And tired
We were pen pals.
First, we were friends.
Then, we went to college,
she up north, I down south.
So, we bought stationery,
envelopes, and fine point pens.
The mailbox held word-gifts,
much awaited,
and, in return, smiles
at the little red flag at rest–
the letter box surprise.
We once lived together,
the three of us,
in apartment 3G,
like the comic strip
no one remembers.
Only two parking spots,
one of us running
to safely make it home
from across the street
of a shady neighborhood.
After, she lived with me,
in the circle, a house
we could not afford so
rented every square inch
to pay the mortgage.
Holly’s room, the queen
suite, suited her.
Her royal touch,
like the fingers she lay
on my shoulder, as
she leaned over
from the arm of the couch,
as if we’d always known
each other, as if we’d
been in mid-conversation.
“I’ve got these spots on my arm.
What do you think they could be?”
I was mortified.
Who dared speak to me, hiding
out in the back room, away
from the party’s throbbing center,
avoiding people?
And she captured me.
Somehow, she gathered my ease.
So, when I penned my words
on a neat square of yellow flowers,
a half dozen years later,
and sent it north, the red flag up,
she responded:
“He won’t leave you.
And if he does, it will hurt
until it doesn’t.
This too shall pass.”
It did.
She returned.
We toured the states
in celebration of college degrees.
Drove a Volkswagen Bug
her boyfriend’s friend rebuilt
cross country, losing parts
along the way,
swollen tires in Tacoma,
loud muffler in Yellowstone,
and ball bearings in Ohio,
and yet,
we made it to DC.
I took an Amtrak to New York,
where everything changed,
including a reason to be there.
Thirty years later,
I hugged her as she cried,
tears of shame and remembrance,
as I called her my “forever friend.”
My palms cupping her cheeks,
thick from stuffing grief,
I spoke her words,
“This too shall pass.”
And she did.
I took my friend to Freshman Orientation.
You volunteered to work at Freshman Orientation.
I was sitting in the stands.
You were directing students to their seats.
I was looking in your direction.
You were facing my direction.
It was love at first sight.
The rest is history. 😉