The Cycles

Life, wherever it may be found,

Will have a beginning and an end.

Cycles within cycles are our home.

There all life is experienced as truth

No matter the direction of the wind

Years end despite our tracking

Of days and hours

Which surely will not be remembered.

If there is value to our cyclic clock

It lies in the belief that it matters.

Alessia will not have finished her grades

Before we have settled our affairs.

The year just past may bear witness:

To time spent, some pleasantly,

The arrival of new people, and the passing of others.

If this, the first day, in this New Year,

Finds you with love for some earthling,

No matter its species,

Possibilities exist that your continued journey

Will not be without smiles.

For The Cause

They knew what was expected of them

What the reward would be

And the necessary transit fare

The killings righteous and mandatory

Each of them understood their martyrdom,

If the Caliphate was to become universal.

Their small contribution would be rewarded by eternal

Acceptance into the hallowed circles

This was her last night in Paris

She and her classmates were celebrating

The wonders of the six weeks

Of boys, music, wine, and a little learning

It was a star-filled, warm night

Sitting outside the café seemed

Just the prefect ending to their adventure

When a pair of bearded guys carrying guns approached

Word, maybe inaccurate, spread through

The refugee camp

Poland was closing its boarders

Would Germany be next?

Something had happened in Paris

He offered hope

We are not going to France

Tomorrow we reach Germany and freedom.

The Sun In My Eyes

It looks different

Orange Avenue bathed in morning sunlight

Feels altered, but without manifestation.

Momentarily stores will open, presenting their best face

Christmas has passed and tourists will surface

Recreating possibilities for retailers in this second season.

Nothing is out of order, but something is unique

I seldom walk north on Orange at this time of day

It must be the Sun’s warmth and glare

That has made this stroll to the barber

Particularly pleasant, and for the moment

Changed my perspective of the world.

Rose And Me

She is older then me

And I am not her primary caregiver,

But we share a certain state of life.

We look to our next move

Without a clear idea of how, why or where.

We have traveled and still are loved

We have our differences:

I can climb stairs with little difficulty,

She has arthritis, and needs to engage reluctant legs.

Rose sleeps more than I

And eats when hungry, not when served.

We can both expect a more sedentary future

With further personal limitations.

Diana or I need to assist

If she is to sleep in our bed,

Something she has been doing for 15 years.

Shame

Paris was attacked on Friday and over 120 people killed.

Paris was attacked and France bombed ISIS territory.

Paris was attacked but continued to take Syrian refugees.

Sunday Paris cafés were busy.

3000 miles away Washington was busy.

Politicians voiced outrage, and raised the “American Flag”.

Efforts have begun to honor Syrian Christians

As the only Syrian refugees worthy of our consideration.

Governors of half our states have hung “closed” signs

To Muslim refugees.

Rumor suggests that the Statue of Liberty

Is, for the foreseeable future, draped in funereal black.

Punch The Pickleball

I can take pleasure in announcing my legs still work!

Perhaps not with the swiftness of a 14 year old,

But substantially faster than an old man’s stroll.

That leaves contact as an unresolved issue.

My shots tend toward the velocity

Of a four year old throwing a baseball,

Easily reached and often high enough

To allow for a solid smash from an opponent

Who need not move her feet.

My serve is equally hospitable.

Given my competitive nature it is hard adjusting

To the very welcoming nature of the other players.

If you can’t scream at the offending Gods

How are you to improve your stroke?

The Joy Of Sailing

Having bought a sailboat it was time to sail.

It was a 24-foot Columbus,

Unless it was 22-foot something else.

My boat was docked in Kaneohe

Unless it was Kailua.

It was a Sunday… maybe,

And I was squeezing in an hour.

I turned down a tow-out to the bay,

And gone maybe 20 feet from my dock space

Before I ran into the rocks.

Fortunately, it being a Sunday (maybe),

There were lots of seafarers on the near shore

Who could and did holler advice.

It was fascinating to hear terms unfamiliar.

After maybe 20 minutes

The tow I had turned down appeared

And pulled me into the middle of the bay.

Where I sailed for about 15 minutes

Before my rudder whacked something, and …disconnected.

I put the boat up for sail the next day. It was a Monday.

Six People Waiting For Godot

Soon the angels of care will smile and push,

Push the six wheelchair bound patients to their rooms.

The passengers have made this trip before,

Except for Morris, a new case,

Who, like the other five, is destined to stay in waiting.

The silence of the patients is reflected in their blank eyes.

Doris, in the third chair, might speak if prompted.

Unlike the others, her eyes moved, perhaps seeing.

Of the 50 people in this senior end-of-life program

Several can cheer a bingo victory.

Perhaps fifteen could follow the called numbers to their card.

We did not do well locating the patio,

But we did not get lost on our way to the meal room.

Residents were wheeled in.

Each white clothed table seated three or four.

At the next table a woman fought a ham slice

To within inches of her mouth

The third person at our table was unable to speak audibly,

And I saw a thousand tomorrows.

I left Ray as lunch was ending.

He was not ready for this place

He could still laugh.

He did not belong in a row of becalmed living dead…yet.

Fairness In Parking

I waited patiently for what promised to be a superior parking spot. As I was idling to the right of the sport-coup that was getting ready to leave, an SUV moved to the left of my premium space.

Of course, as the next car-in-line I was ready to move. The little sport-coup pulled out facing me. OH NO, this could not be. I beeped several tims to alert the big, ugly SUV gliding into my spot. MY SPOT! I held the horn down  for several  seconds. It did no good. I’ll kill the son-of-bitch.  

OK, I will not kill the miserable bastard. I have spotted another slot just a little further on, so it isn’t really a problem, except that FUCKING BASTARD would have seen that spot & chose to not back up ten feet and claim his rightful parking slot.