MEMORIES OF PAST JOURNEYS
ALLOW ONE TO VISIT AGAIN
TO WHERE HE CAN NO LONGER GO . . .
FACES AND PLACES
RETURNING FROM TIME TO TIME
IN REVERIES.

A Widow On Her Own

A widow on her own,
Older and alone,
Challenged every day,
Trying in her way
To carry on with grace,
All she has to face.
Wanting never to be
A burden for family.

Marriage At Twilight

On his last legs, what should he do?
Should you tell him or he tell you?
What's good for him, he alone knows.
What you see goes as far as your nose.
Give the man credit, have his own way,
Marrying may be his last play!
  

Sympathy Pain

A long time friend complains,
One feels sympathy pains.
He is so ill,
The mind does not stay still.

His condition is grim,
Can't stop thinking of him.
Worried, will he come through?
There's nothing one can do.

As I sit and fret,
Being upset
Hearing him groan.
He is so alone.

His pain is real,
Pain I also feel.
Not the same for me,
Mine is from sympathy.

Crossing Over

There she lies helpless,
Just wasting away.
Death at her doorstep
Not going away.

Death has taken charge,
It is in command.
Suffer even more
It seems to demand.

Hollowed and haggard,
Ever more in pain,
Nothing can be done,
It would be in vain.

Husband at bedside,
Stricken with grief,
Beyond endurance,
There's no relief.

He sits there helpless
Not able to cry.
When will it happen?
There is no reply.

The Final Gift

Fading away day by day,
His body wanes, his strength drains,
Bit by bit, losing spirit . . .
A precious friend, near his end,
We converse, hearing the hearse.
Before long, to say so long,
At his side I cry inside.

Facing death, it's ever so grim,
When nothing else can be given him.
Death for him, so sure, so real.
Alone, imagine how he must feel.

Give him dignity, wouldn't you?
This is the least one can do.
To show how much we care,
When the end is near.

A THOUSAND THOUGHTS
OF TODAY AND YESTERDAY . . .
DANCING, PRANCING, MAKING HAY.
LIKE CLOWNS,
SOME WEAR SMILES
OTHERS FROWNS . . .
TO WATCH AND LAUGH
AND SOMETIMES CRY
AS THEY GO BY.

Say a few words,
Only a few.
I don't want my life's review.

say a prayer,
One or two.
I don't want what's said not true.

I lived my life
As best I could.
Those who knew me, knew where I stood.

When I pass away,
My turn will come.
I wish to go with aplomb.

Listen, my friend,
All must die.
I wish to go with a brief goodbye.

A life of serving,
a life not her own,
Over the years her aging has shown.

Born into a class,
where this was her lot,
A world of "haves"
and those who have not.

Working for one family,
faithful and true,
Doing whatever
they asked her to do.

She gave the best
of herself all the time,
After twenty-five years,
she is now past her prime.

Today as I met her,
she was thin and gray,
But her warm embrace
was as of the first day.

"I'm no beggar", he said,
and fled -
He had sold his wares, been paid,
no more said.
All of eight, little but great.
We tried to give the mints back - could not,
though it was the last of his lot.
No matter how we tried, he defied.
The mints were sold, we were told.
The return was refused, he had made a sale -
he would not be abused.
"I'm helping my mother, I'm no beggar', he said,
a
n
d

f
l
e
d
.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LULLABY
THE OLD-FASHIONED ROCK-A-BYE
THAT PUT A BABY TO SLEEP, WOULD STOP ITS CRY,
DID IT DIE?

I DON'T HEAR THEM ANY MORE,
TUNES I DID ADORE.
DO MOTHERS NOW SING ANOTHER SCORE?
IS THIS ALSO DIFFERENT FROM BEFORE?

WHAT WAS ONCE THE LOVELIEST THING,
A LULLABY A MOTHER WOULD SING,
TO WHICH THE BABY WOULD RAPTUROUSLY CLING,
A SERENITY BROUGHT, THAT NOTHING ELSE COULD BRING.

ISN'T THERE A CRADLE TO ROCK,
A BABY TO PUT TO SLEEP UNDER A TREE TOP,
WITH A GENTLE TUNE THAT MADE ALL CRYING STOP?
HAS THIS ALSO FALLEN TO THE WORLD OF POP?
  

Give me my old rocking chair,
To rock from here to nowhere.

Slow and steady is its gait,
It soon soothes my inner state.

On and on as I will rock,
Without my eye on the clock,
Back and forth and on and on,
Before too long, I will be gone.

It is much more than just a chair,
No other can compare.
 

Is it weird
To have a beard?
Not these days for sure,
Beards are more and more.
Not yet for me,
I'm still beard free.
But the time could come
When I may succumb.

My grandfather had a beard
That was nicely sheared.
I thought he was strange,
But times change.
Now only the old
Are out in the cold.

As I grow more gray on top
And that won't stop,
And my hair grows more thin
And I'd like to be "in",
I may let my beard grow,
What I'll look like, I don't know.
  

No Marriage Vow

Living together has begun.
This new freedom has been won.
This scene is all about,
It's accepted, old ways are out.


I may not speak for you,
But this I don't easily view.
I was brought up differently,
To marry was expected of me.

I can't accept this is right,
To have whatever comes in sight.
Sex may be an animal force,
But living together, is a complicated course.

People have emotions that come into play,
It's then when they must higher rules obey.
Having a fling may have always been,
This is different from moving in.

Living together, without the vow,
Is a scene my emotions don't allow.
  

Hostility has come upon the scene,
Strong words are used some even obscene.
Where before there was love, peace and quiet,
There now is hating, shouting, near riot.

The marriage is done for, at an end,
Moving out of marriage, both self defend.
The scene is terrible, a horror show,
Just how bad, each does know.

The children, finances, their future life,
Each joined together as part of the strife.
No more counseling for the marriage to last,
There is now an arena with an animal cast.

Sometimes this happens like a cancer set in,
One of the married started flirting with sin.
With time, the rift comes about,
One of them wants out.

There may be nothing the other can do.
It is over - the marriage is through.
How fortunate is the one,
Whose marriage does not get undone.

Is it race
Or is it class
That continues
The impasse?

The Ghetto life all know
Is a deadly show.
Horrible conditions down to despair,
Poverty and injustice everywhere.

What can one do
Whatever the view?
With justice the cause,
There's no place for "because".

Bingo In A Nursing Home

ThEy PIAy A gAmE oF bInGo,
ThIs Is ThEiR oNLY pLaY.
In A hOmE fOr ThE oLd AnD dEpEnDeNt
FoR tHeIr VeRy LaSt StAy.

A STAFF SELECTED
To be gentle and show care,
DO FOR THEIR CHARGES,
What families cannot bear.

In trying all ways to comfort,
New programs they design.
8ut it is through the game of Bingo,
Old eyes continue to shine.

No Moralizing

Let's steal a radio,
Let's steal a car.
Having nothing,
That's where they are.

To steal something,
They're down and out.
Why not,
They shout.

Time in prison
Stands ahead.
Terrible thought,
What's instead?

What's the answer,
What will restrain?
Nothing and no chance,
They complain.

Moralizing
Will not do.
Doesn't change
Their point of view.

Social Captivity

Looking forward to the next tennis game,
Day after day. it is more of the same.
Exercise, supposedly fun,
But couldn't one say it's overdone?

There is no relief except when it rains.
Is it social pressure? No one complains . . .
It's a way of life many prize,
As if there's nothing to do otherwise.

There are some golfers who live the same way,
Have the need to play golf, day after day.
It is their choice, I speak only for me,
Heaven spare me from such captivity!

Not  "A Mee Too"

Everyone does it, why shouldn't I?
This is what is said, as a reply.

That surely is no reason for me,
I would need one better to agree

What I do is not what others do,
I don't live my life as "a me too".

I just can't go along for the ride.
If there's a choice, I like to decide.

Broken Shovel

It had seen its day,
Now it lay
Broken with rust,
Turning to dust . . .
It once did its turn
Its keep it did earn.

Having had its day,
It lies cast away.

Two wanderers in the wilderness,
trying to reach home . . .
Now in a clearing where they rest
and relax
and reflect . . .

Having met,
they want to share,
perhaps go on for a while together,
before they have to separate.

The forest is so thick,
so much underbrush,
so much shrieking around them.
Though they are well provided
and have no concern
for food,
water and shelter,
each alone and on his own . . .

Forest In A Tree

WHERE IS THE KNOWLEDGE LOST IN DATA?
WHERE IS THE WISDOM LOST IN KNOWLEDGE?*

Words that stimulate thought,
By some wise man wrought.
Intended for one to see,
The forest through a tree.
As one wends his way,
Not to go astray,
Or fall into a hole
Losing sight of the whole.

* T.S.ELIOT