TO WRITE ABOUT PEOPLE
IS TO WRITE ABOUT US,
OR AT LEAST ABOUT WHAT WE THINK WE ARE.
PEOPLE IS YOU,
AND ME,
AND THEM,
DESCRIBED BY WHAT EACH SAYS OR THINKS OR DOES.
EACH PERSON IS UNIQUE,
BUT HOWEVER RARE HE OR SHE IS THOUGHT TO BE,
ONE ALWAYS REMEMBERS SOMEONE SIMILAR.

Family And Friends

FAMILY, THERE, EVEN WHEN NOT THERE . . .
TRUE FRIENDS, THERE, EVEN WHEN NOT THERE . . .
THERE IN THE HEART, NOT ALWAYS IN MIND,
BUT MUCH OF THE TIME IN MIND. S
SOMETIMES WITH ANGUISH,
SOMETIMES WITH DISAPPOINTMENT,
SOMETIMES WITH FRUSTRATION,
BUT ALWAYS FROM AND WITH INEXHAUSTIBLE LOVE.

My Pop

My mind's picture of him
Is now quite dim,
But he is in me
As deep as the sea.
He was always deacr,
I now him revere.
 

Runaway Child

Do I go along and not think of you?
Say it is your life, you do as you do.

Can I suppress my feelings and deny
When I hurt so much, want to cry?

I try very hard not to let you know
I'm tied to you, can't let go.

Will there come a time when you will return?
Will the pain leave? Will I forever burn?

One Good, One Bad

What went wrong, why did he turn out this way?
"A bummer', wasting his life away.
The same parents bore and raised each,
One good, the other almost out or reach.
No explaining, it is beyond their ken,
Siblings, but such different children.



One can wonder, try to imagine why,
How and when one went awry.
They can speculate, reter to one's peers,
It was their influence, as it appears.
Whatever the cause for this sorry state,
As parents, they still love can't hate.

Death Of A Child

Much as they try in every way.
The pain continues to stay.
The tragedy will not go away,
The pain is there night and day.
Carrying on as best they may,
What else can they do, who can say?
Dear Lord "Why?" they plead and pray,
As their hair turns gray.

This newborn baby I behold,
a little human, one month old.
In my arms, close to my chest,
Miracle of miracles, I attest.


Superbly formed from head to toes.
How this happens, God only knows.
Everything there in tiniest size,
All so perfect, even as it cries.


How will it grow over the years?
What may it became from what appears?
It's as awesome as can be,
To think of its potentiality.

Struck by friendliness
I struck back in kind . . .
We thus became friends.

I'd like to talk to you
Will you listen to me?
Just listen,
Don't have to agree.

I'd like to talk to you,
May I?
Just for a while,
May I come by?

I'd like to talk to you,
Listen too,
To your thoughts,
Hear from you.

May I meet with you,
Any day,
At your convenience?
Please say.

Nothing to fear
Nothing to lose,
Just to get together
Whenever you choose.

It's to chat,
Nothing more.
We never know
What's in store.

Shooting the breeze,
Everyone at ease.
Talk about all
Subjects, big, small.
None for long,
No right, no wrong.
With friends,
So it ends.
As it begins,
Everyone wins.
 

Do you recognize me?
I do you.
We are old friends,
we two.
Each living in the ways we do.
Best we know,
in our view.

Since we last met,
years have passed,
Much has happened,
so fast.
We played the part as we were cast,
What we were,
did not last.

Our lives took many a bend.
We're now at twilight's end.
Yet we have more to spend,
Best wishes,
old friend.
 

A bosom pal . . .
Who might that be?
What is this identity?

A bosom pal,
One close to the breast . . .
What does it take to meet this test?

A bosom pal,
In this class,
Can be lad or lass.

Such a one,
Is more than a friend,
Someone on whom you can depend.

Understanding,
Nothing to say.
All times night and day.

A friend in fun,
Also in need,
Comfort, solace, there to feed.

A confidant,
Always there,
No matter the distance, always near.
 

Her heart bleeds and her eyes tear
For what is no longer there.
Times of closeness with love expressed,
Love is now suppressed.

Feelings go on as before,
Unfulfilled - not any more.

A chapter comes to an end
No lover, now only a friend.
 

Across The Spectrum

DRAWN INTO NOSTALGIA.
I AM LEERY OF THE PAIN
THAT FOLLOWS
FROM REMINISCING ABOUT FORMER YEARS
AND MY MANY TRANSGRESSIONS
AND DEFAULTS.

YET,
I CANNOT RESIST
RETURNING FROM TIME TO TIME,
TO THE SWEETNESSES
PARTICULARLY IN MY YOUTHFUL YEARS.
 

Is it a grand illusion
We our lives can share?
Is it a deception
Another can be fully there?

Is It wishful thinking
Created by the mind,
That perfect pairing
We can find?

Can we fulfill our yearning,
Or do we have to come around
And be comfortable with learning
Such one can't be found?

Isn't it man's delusion
Complete sharing can be.
For involved in one's desires,
Is one's unique individuality?

This is the human condition,
A natural deficiency.
To experience nearness,
But totality - an impossibility.

How do we lose our illusions,
What makes them disappear?
Somehow, it happens,
Like magic they vanish in air.

All start with illusions,
With time one finds out.
Many illusions
Are not what life's about.

Somehow it happens.
They depart with age.
As one gets older,
There's a different gauge.

Though one loses illusions,
Disappointing as this may be,
Some continue,
Alongside reality.

Tales Of Woe

Let's each tell our tale of woe,
OK Joe - you go.
Wow!
Holy Cow!

All right Sue,
How about you?
Oh my, oh, my,
We want to cry.

Now Fred, it's your turn.
Tell us, how did you burn?
Boy oh boy, holy grief,
What you say is beyond belief.

Had enough
Of this stuff?
It's only to show
What we all know.
Life is just that way.
Whose is worse? Who's to say?

Worrier Man

Future concerns and "not yets",
Involved with deserts one gets,
Having hopes but also frets,
Unfounded fears of regrets.

Why is mankind worrisome,
Doesn't wait for what's to come?
Not like animals that are dumb,
Live each day with aplomb.

Why can't man be that way,
Not be carried away
By what's not and only may
And live what's now, today?

WayLaid

HOW TO FURNISH AID
TO THOSE
WHO'VE BEEN WAYLAID?

WHAT ABOUT FILLING THE NEED
OF THOSE
WHO CAN NOT READ,
OR THOSE
WHO CAN NOT LEARN,
BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO EARN?

Sense Of Humor

Having a sense of humor
Is an extra special sense,
Given only to people
As part of their defense.

Senses are designed for living,
Necessary to survive.
Without a sense of humor,
One will hardly thrive.

Tasting, smelling, touching,
We easily recognize.
But there is this other,
That somewhere in us lies.

In some it is inactive
They laugh only a bit.
In others the opposite,
Overdoing it.

A healthy sense of humor
Always sees some fun.
Never gets too serious,
Leaving one undone.

Pitiful

Old before one's time -
A pitiful crime
When time's unspent,
With one's intent.

Time, one can't retrieve,
There is no reprieve.
A terrible shame
Only self to blame.
More precious than gold,
Ask someone old.

Too big for his britches,
His pants became too small.
He struts and poses,
Thinks he knows it all.

Became successful,
It went to his head.
Should be grateful,
Is pompous instead.

He may later learn
and realize,
It was his good fortune . . .
Come down to size.
A

Just Deserts

"They deserve each other".
What does this mean?
Is it praise,
Or does it demean?

"They deserve each other".
What for?
It was for something
They did before.

"They deserve each other".
This is their desert.
Did they love?
Or did they hurt?

One deserves
What one gets.

Are you easy
Or do you fret?

No Conditions

There are no conditions to being good,
Like I would, if only you would.

There are no conditions to being kind,
Like if you would be, I would, in kind.

There are no conditions to care and share,
That unless you do, I won't dare.

There are no conditions for love to show,
At times yes. at times no.

At all times, everywhere-
Goodness,
kindness,
caring,
sharing
and
love,
Should be there.