Tag Archives: life

Voices in My Head

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I shuffle forward along the forest floor,
impeded by the infirmities of an Old Man.
I rest by a crystal-clear-blue stream,
lost in the futile dreams of a Young Man.

Filling my canteen to the brim, I
drink my fill—water clear and bright.
Standing to resume my walk,
my footsteps are sure and light.

A wind-fallen tree blocks my way,
Old Man’s voice cautions, “go around,
don’t risk harm in those tangled limbs,”
Young Man’s voice asserts, “hold your ground.”

I face the obstacle in my path,
weigh the two voices in my head.
Pick my way around the impasse,
or jump—end up impaled or dead?

I reflect on the wisdom of my years—
marvel at the Young Man’s absence of fear.

 

First Snow

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It’s early December as I rake the last
of fall’s leaves. Red, purple, yellow—
intoxicating after first frost, 
now dull, dreary, and dirty. Piled
in the bed of my truck, we drive
to the dump, racing the season’s
first snowfall.
 
Time to pull down the snow shovel.
Studies have shown men over sixty-five
ought to avoid shoveling snow. I visit
the gym three days each week only
to stay in Olympic shoveling shape.
 
So far so good, lots of snow falls
in Colorado, and here I am in my
seventies, shovel in hand. With
Parkinson’s, snow is not all that falls.
Red, purple, yellow—painful bruises.
 
Some days are easy, four inches
of feather-light powder brushed off
with a push broom. Other days,
the drifts are so tall, even the snow-
blower surrenders all hope.
Then my trusty shovel steps up.
 
A while ago, a friend of mine died
at his office desk working on a corporate
budget in the early morning hours.
I can think of nothing worse.
 
Well, dying on the driveway shoveling
snow, that may be worse.

Cameron’s Halloween

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He steps onto the stoop
In the cool mountain air,
Glances at the night sky,
Are there witches to scare?

Four years old, now not so sure
If he’s the monster tonight
Or if real ghosts and goblins
Will give him a fright.

A parade of costumed kids,
From fairy-tales to scary-tales,
They yell “trick-or-treat”
From behind frightful veils.

Latter at home he spills his bounty
Spread out on the floor,
Mom says, “Have a taste tonight,”
Two small pieces, no more.

She pulls off his costume and
Lays him in bed, turns off the light.
He lies awake and wonders
If monsters still roam the night.

Imagination Playtime With Cameron

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We flew by the Sun,
My grandson and I,
On a witch’s broom
Custom made to fly.

We circled Venus and Uranus,
And Jupiter and Mars.
We flew on to the Milky Way,
And ate cookies surrounded by stars.

And when our fuel ran low
We landed on the Moon
Where the conductor said,
“The train will leave soon.”

“All aboard the Polar Express!”
He called, “Next stop planet Earth!”
We took our seats and fell asleep—
Waited to arrive at our berth.

We awoke on the sofa
Covered in Legos and spacemen,
And Cameron’s sweet voice,
“Grandpa, let’s do it again!”

The Light

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Thought I saw something
On your dock last night
Watched across the lake
Slender beam of light

There was a time your light
Guided me through the dark
Led me safely to your dock
Where we ignited the spark

Of forever love we shared
Doing all those things we did
While parents slept in cabins
We laid on the dock and slid

Into the water
Greased by alcohol
Skin pressed together
An eye on landfall

Promises burned between us
Like matching couple tattoos
Consummated at fifteen
Mind-bending colorful hues

Your dad murdered the light
Snuffed my guide to your side
Forty years gone by now
The night my heart died

Ice Princess (excerpt)

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I watch guys approach you as if an exotic animal.
You provide them no hope. It’s hopeless.
Are you hopeless? I don’t think so. I saw you
smile once when talking to the librarian, and
in that moment, you blossomed from pretty
to beautiful like a caterpillar morphing
into a butterfly. A smile can do that to a face.
I live only for the gift of your smile, which
I will carry in my heart always.