Penny

I’m panicked!
This shouldn’t be happening.
It’s almost morning
My heart is hammering.

Fear without object.
Knowing I must hide,
But not why or from what.
Dread has cornered my mind.

My sisters, awake now,
Ignore my frenzy,
Think I’m just crazy.
They have no idea how right they may be.

Sitting quietly in the garage,
Between the two parked cars,
Where no one would look for me,
I might be able to calm myself.

Dawn’s light moves across the concrete floor
And my breath begins to slow.
Darkness allows the enemy to close,
But light is winning this morning’s battle.

Street

Helen pushed the Costco shopping cart.
Larger than Von’s model,
It allowed for more debris,
The substance of her life.

All 4 wheels moved smoothly,
Far better then her last cart,
Allowing her to feel a little better,
With less chance of tipping, smoother turns.

Street lights had not taken effect,
As the cooling sun still
Illuminated the broken sidewalk,
And people had not taken their stations.

Her 2 sweaters and jacket
Impinged on her movements
But provided enough protection
To keep her warm.

Tied to the cart’s handle
Was a small wrinkled plastic bag
Holding a stolen banana, a day old roll
And a small bottle of Dago Red.

Her skirt, which covered
An older, more distressed one,
Had suffered from street use.
In contrast her sneakers looked clean.

She carried her 50 years
With determination, if not grace,
But grace would not do,
Genteel poverty lived indoors.

Watching Pete Seeger

It may not have happened the way it's told,
And he may not have been as saintly.
I choose to believe half,
For half is all I need.

He is a proponent of music,
Folk music from wherever.
A humanist who has fought to defend,
Yet outraged and saddened when his country was the aggressor.

I sat behind the stage at Carnegie Hall
Listened and thought.
Now I see his music
In the pictures of a Polar Bear and a Huskie... hugging.

I see something irrepressible in his smile;
Like those two animals, representing the possible.
Do you see the lighthearted humor?
A 72 year old cynic, with a 90 year old folk hero.

Conversation: Old man/young man

Old man
I can see your future
And it troubles me.
Where is the drive,
Spirit of adventure, the sense of possibility?

Young man
You don’t see me,
Merely a distorted reflection
Of the way things were.
Your mess sits on my plate.

Old man
My mess sits on my plate.
Your rose garden is on hold.
My sympathy is conditional.
Freud died. You have choices.

Young man
I’m told there were blue skies
And people saw beyond their shadows.
Optimism abounded.
My GPS can’t locate the path.

Old man
Yes there are fewer flowers,
And the noise level precludes dialogue.
You're tasked with finding Gaia,
We lost her in Eden.

Young man
I am hungry and you speak of flowers.
You condemn me for being in the pit you dug.
My direction may be predestined,
But you’ve afforded me little understanding.

Old man
Can I teach you?
Is there something I’ve learned
That might be of value
Or does my hubris forestall insight?

Young man
Your failures, not your successes,
May inform a better outcome.
Be quiet and move aside,
So I may build my own golden city on the hill.

It's Time

A tribute to the San Diego chapter of SCORE

My first exposures to SCORE,
Over 20 years ago,
Was of people who cared
And laughed easily.

Whatever my contributions
I've received manifold rewards.
Friendships initiated under Reagan
Continue into Obama.

There is an ethos
That permeates the San Diego SCORE chapter
And leavens the egos:
Members leave yesterday's heroics at home.

Through SCORE I’ve been allowed
To participate in the dreams of many
And the efforts of some, more fortunate,
To build a bridge for those who would follow.

So many good people,
Including those with the misguided belief
That the Republican party is superior,
Have broken bread with me, and I am grateful.

Big Man

Smiling, witty, really clever.
He listened well enough
To hear the flaws,
Leaving virtues un-noted.

Would his value lessen
If his words were more supportive?
Could he not impatiently string together
A thought that might inspire?

Where, where did the ground form,
That would support self-esteem,
Give him the grace
To connect without defense, without clever?

Salvation for the nonbeliever
Is granted only by loved ones.
Your task is to cherish those
Who see you, unadorned, and care.

Calm

Moving into shadow,
Windows give the lie to the hour.
Autumn soon will surrender to winter
And the days will again lengthen.

Now the house must be made strong.
Indifference, and worse, have eroded the foundation.
Weaknesses need be addressed
With care and love.

It is not a new shelter,
Walls show signs of age,
And maintenance requirements
Will not diminish.

Windows immerse the living space
With the sun’s warmth
Suggesting a favorable weather pattern,
Adding vitality to those who live herein.