In the tale of boy meets girl,
comes the chase, the pursuit, the dance,
the rollercoaster ride,
of does she, will she, maybe.
Then the coy
Needing to go,
and wanting to stay.
Somehow, hoping dreaming wishing,
and the looking into
for the un-spoken
to be heard.
The deep delightful banter,
the smiles that ensue.
of not so wondrous words
hoping for a meaning to come thru.
It’s fun to watch.
So much harder when it’s you.
Toward the end
ever get the girl?
Even though he likes her,
does he get her?
Bell ringers, well-wishers.
bright lights, red green and white.
Time to reflect,
on our level of giving,
our level of a sharing.
Time to count the flakes of goodwill.
Are they flurries or snow showers?
Time to see if the weather of our generosity and kindness
are small wisps of dry snow,
that swirl like tiny cyclones hurriedly by
along the cold callous concrete.
Or are they generous deeds,
laden with kind words
that stretch out like thick blankets of snow
that protect the seeds in need that lie below.
There to protect the tender things that lie beneath,
the things not always seen.
The things that need to flower,
if spring is kind,
if we are kind,
and both arrive in time,
to help the blossoms bloom.
I trapped a cocoon in a jar.
I pretended not to know
that what would hatch
would one day roam.
With wings extended it raced
with the rhythm of an anxious heart,
It flew in search of something new.
It found a garden flower,
and danced on every petal.
Faithless creature of infidelity
It sought the nectar of another.
The thirst was not content,
It moved on and sought another.
Once the thirst for new was done—
Its home to nestle in my arms.
Remorseless little creature,
How long will I succumb to charms?
When I am laid to rest—
Where I go doesn’t matter.
It’s where I’ve been—that kept me up.
Will I be remembered at my passing?
Did I give meaning to life?
Did I create laughter?
Did the fragrance of flowers fill my senses—
and not just the room of mourning?
Did the hurts I caused—
Did I hear the answers to these questions—
Or was it late.
Will someone ask—why?
will they know—
what my answer might have been?
Were my eyes—
filled with wonderment?
Will they know life’s quota—
was less than I desired?
That life was insufficient—
to quench my thirst.
If not—the fault was mine.
In the end—
it needs to be known,
I did not wish to go!
I only longed to stay!
Do not be saddened—
It’s a testament to you—
that I wished to stay.
Like A River
The river of life flows my way.
I am filled with its waters as I pay the rent,
give the kids their allowance,
maybe next month a log jam will come my way
and I won’t feel so lucky or grateful.
Life’s that way.
But today I breathe,
I laugh the laughter of a child’s glee as I play tug of war with my dog
and I sing the Robin’s song of spring when the rays of sun remind me of better days ahead.
Then, like a stopped river, my neighbor Bruce gets a death sentence from his doctor,
Who would think
such a small organ,
cloistered deep within the body
would have the power to summon death so quickly.
Hospice on the way.
He counts the days of his life,
treasures what remains.
And I remember, I should look at life that way. Sing its praises
that-away, every day, come what may.
Still, I pause and feel the guilt of my gratitude that it isn’t me.
So grateful God that it isn’t me who must say goodbye so soon
with so many moments left to treasure,
to no longer feel a warm embrace or have a sweet kiss rest upon my lips.
I am not ready, to have the joys of my life ended, ended, ended, so soon.