The Bridge

He was walking, head down, to’rd the center
Of the Coronado bridge.
Driving past I thought,
“This idiot will get himself killed”.

Walking at night where only car lanes exist?
“Bingo! He’s a suicide”, came to me belatedly.
“I should stop, I should stop, ...can’t” I reasoned,
“The following cars won’t let me”

Police arrived to find
He had jumped, leaving no trace.

Why here? Why this bridge?
I take no issue with giving up.
Life can sometimes be a poor choice,
Offering no respite.

Some view his act as egregious sin,
Others conclude the jumper is psychotic,
Or heroic.
I’ll stay with very unhappy.

He’d been here before,
Before the walls closed,
Cutting off his future,
Making the sun gray.

Always a brooder,
He’d found little comfort
In his own company.
Waters, under the bridge calmed him.

It spoke of changes, and mysteries,
Reaching all shores yet calling none home.
Omnipresent, omnipotent and contradictory.

Enveloped in sadness
Unable to find succor,
He returned to this bridge
Believing, the waters would accept his offering.

A Great Start to the Day

For 100,000 years or so
We've looked for the answer.
Sadly, progress has been very slow.
But now I can report the signs are bright,
For waking in the morning and starting the day right.
 
It may not be easy but there is a way
To measure if you should start the day
By remaining in bed, enduring the plight
Or rise and stride forth at maximum height.
 
The test is simple and free for the taking,
But one must be firm and abjure any faking
No suggesting a positive day,
When in fact the signs are all gray.
 
So, if you are ready to find
Whether this day will be kind
You need to simply test your polarity.
Did you sleep well and manifest regularity?

Greenies in Tulum

9 to 70 was the age range,
Our clan gathering, near a Mayan ruin
And a town wanting jets,
Along with tourist dollars.

We had planned a family gathering
But came away with much more.
Of course there was the expected
Incipient divide, all true to their age.

Paul and Julie brought banners,
Green shirts, enough for all,
Emblazoned with our motto,
“Jerry’s Birthday Bash”

We did not exactly incite fear,
Our motley tribe of 9.
Instead we were mistaken
For an all age baseball team.

A 9 year old still sees wonder.
A 12 year old is working on her cynicism.
The adults enjoy a drink
And toast to the shared dinners.

I had been the first to leave,
Now all have traveled
And come together more as names
Than interlocked pieces.

Our time as family is short.
How could it be otherwise?
Hugs all-round in air, soft,
And waters of clear turquoise.

There is a sense of loss
As all make plans
For their tomorrows.
Center stage, never held, can’t be lost.

Mothers and Fathers

Mother raised me.
Dad was a slightly distant figure,
Given to little interaction with us kids.
“He must work hard” I thought.

He’s gone 10 years
And I talk to him occasionally.
Listening, as I describe my parents
I hear unexpected fullness when I talk of Dad.

Often, since Dad’s death,
Diana and I have visited Mom, 3000 miles away
Until she moved into an “Adult Hotel”
I could, unfailingly, rejoice in her salami sandwiches.

Speaking of mom my voice sounds hollow.
I recall her painting ducks on the kitchen cabinets.
Red ducks on the while doors
I don’t know why I’ve kept that image.

She is not easy for me,
My most ancient memories are few.
Mom’s laughter was mezzo-soprano,
But I have difficulty coloring her picture.

Strange, white space blocks
Tears and bright recollections
A not young man,
I wait for approval.

Trust

A small virtue, trust.
Offered by all, never fulfilled.
Who knows what we see
Rather then seeing what we know?

We shake hands, then depart to different worlds.
What does the act signify?
Have we merely followed custom?
Do you find ritual or affirmation in the event?

I do not know your mother
Or the unspoken demands she makes.
Do you wish life as an adventure?
Are we at eye level?

A stranger offers refuge,
A nonbinding resolution.
We can address all issues, with prejudice,
Possibly, with equal ignorance.

Coming in from the cold,
Seeking shelter from isolation,
Allows the engine to run,
And accepts trusts decapitation.

Bob

“I now pronounce you Man and wife.”
My friend, for the last 40 years, said this often,
It was his reward as a Reverend to bless marriages.
He never gave me a chance to perform this rite of passage.

It seemed so unfair.
3 times as best man
Certainly seemed to qualify me.
Unfortunately, and may I say selfishly,
His last marriage stuck.

Indeed, Bob is a selfish guy.
I was ready, but the call never came.
Before finding a life partner
A 30-day trial marriage to someone else would have worked.

But no, all my preparations wasted.
What a guy!
Years ago he called to say our tennis game would be delayed.
He was flying to Mexico to get married.

I had no notice of, or any role in that disaster.
Of course he did not heed my sage advice.
“Wait until after our match”
Again, selfish Bob just went south.

I can’t tell you how lucky he is
To have a friend like me.
How many times did I point out his errors?
His only reply, “Thank you for Sharing”.

10 years ago we were 3 for lunch.
Our mutual friend dressed in Eskimo clothing
To avoid any rays. I wore a “T” shirt and trunks
Bob dressed as someone going to lunch..

Do you get the picture?
Do you wonder why I hung on?
You want the untarnished truth?
We are great and loving friends.