Finishing Thoughts

If there’s a measure for 25 years,
It’s the words I never utter.
No not the sweet endearments,
Though I’ve unfailingly been remiss
With those small touches,
But rather, the unspoken, yet clearly communicated
Thought that, a priori, my loves property
She is always ready,
Should I hesitate to complete my ideas,
Or clarify my expressions,
No one reads my poems or hears my thoughts
With such insight.

Yes, we can still surprise one another,
But we have reached the place
Where thoughts are shared
By the slightest movement of a finger,
An eyelash flutter, or a pause.

She is my home.
Her presence lifts me
And shows me what is possible.

I cherish her and wish to spend the next 40 years at her side.

At one hundred eleven I will reconsider my options.

A Bowl of Orange Juice

Poured a glass of orange juice
Into my cereal bowl.
What to do?
Maybe stare until it morphs
Into a magical TV commercial?

If “bad” can mean “good”
Could it apply to “juice”?
I picture a small glowing fairy
Wizard wand in hand,
A gift no doubt from the energizer bunny,
Tapping my bowl.
Presto! Handsome boys and girls,
Dressed as cheerleaders, dance about my small kitchen table,
Extolling the virtues of free-range Orange juice.
Now no longer limited to gay plastic containers,
Or more mature glasses and bottles.

Having a barbeque?
What better then Orange Juice sauce?
Surely your coffee will win prizes
If you mix it in “OJ”?

“But why limit it merely to food products”?
Those tiresome bouncing boys and girls suggest.
Consider your shower, your hot tub or a near-by lake.

After breakfast I think I’ll start the car
And leave the garage door shut.
But, only if I can remember where I put the car keys.

Transshipping

After 6 months, of preparation for today’s delivery,
Trips to Florida, Hong Kong and Taiwan,
Today was “the day”.

They had our money,
Our order was confirmed,
Production and shipping, 5 weeks

Confirmation of the ships arrival on Monday
Meant we could run ads
Knowing the merchandise would get to the stores today.

We arrived at the warehouse early,
Filled with fear of 100 potential catastrophes.
“Would the product meet expectations?”,
“Were the parts balanced?” “Were the motors
Equal to the samples?”
Frantic, I picked up an incoming call.
It was our freight agent. “Your container is not on the ship.”

“What, What did you say?”
Bellowing, I tried vainly to reach through the phone.
“How can you lose one container crossing the Pacific.?”
“But, it isn’t lost,” the piece of shit at the other end of the conversation said.
“It’s in Korea”. “Of course, what could make greater sense.”
“They mistook Seoul for Oakland, a common occurrence”, I thought.

Maybe my concerns were unnecessary?
No need to fret balance or motor quality.
We would simply tell customers
To pick up the goods in Korea.

We could provide directions to those docks,
Almost adjacent to Oakland.
Perhaps the goods weren’t needed ‘til summer,
A mere 3 months from now.

I mark that day. It was an education.
Here I thought “No transshipping” were terms.
It turned out it is was merely a suggestion.

Now, this years later,
It is evident I survived
But occasionally, when I pass a container depot,
I get a wee bit shaky and think of 116 unhappy customers.

Walk with me

Walk with me
So that I might feel connected,
Aware that outside my enclosure
There are possibilities.

Walk with me
And we might touch,
Creating a universe
Beyond my limits.

Walk with me,
Allowing the sea and sky
To seek recognition,
Removing the internal monologue.

Walk with me
And call out
So I might know,
Imperfectly, a part of your world.

Walk with me
Making love an alternative
To self absorption.

Walk with me
And I will lie foolishly,
Hoping to enlist you
In my journey.

Walk with me
And bring the light
That brightens my humor,
Expanding my boundaries.

Walk with me,
Walk with me.

Silence

Quiet that moves beyond thought,
Permits no conversation,
Releases the days haunting,
And time ceases.

House and city fall away.
Eyes shut, launched into oblivion,
I do not find landmarks.
There is nowhere to go,
No words enter.

Existence suspended.
Should I consider
Where I am or what is happening
I will have left the silence.

War

A rising sun on a smoldering valley.
A smell, offensive, persistent,
Overwhelms the odor of smoke
That rises from the burnt out trees.

Union troops intent on stripping the dead -
Boots, belts, anything of use.
Soon the fallen will share a common pit.
In time new life will replace this scarred landscape
And the smell of death will diminish and pass.
But for now it is omnipresent.

In the valley the sounds that fix attention
Are reduced from yesterday’s Armageddon,
No cannons, no rebel battle-cries charge the field
With terror and panic.

Today it is the moans and screams
Of the wounded and dying, men and horses,
Pained beyond endurance, waiting for help
Or death.

We kill fewer horses now.