Years ahead to come
Ought give a choice,
More so than some
Rushed thru past life,
Without it lend a voice
To moderate the pace,
Blind so to fleeting time
Was forever on the run,
In its sad habitual chase
Of accepted rush to wait,
Living in a moribund way
As tho life be but sorry gift,
Akin to an indifferent kiss!
You’d expect legs,
Knowing they be
More than we see
Do what one begs,
From beyond when
You knew not then,
Legs meant to carry
Shortly thereafter
We had been born,
Till body falters
Without we’d known
Legs made of bone,
Rust in wearing flesh
Yet hold their own,
Destined to walk
Or stand alone,
In just such stead,
Save loosing legs
Least not till we be dead,
Thus find no reason
To lament or beg,
Save fate chose compose
You won’t last the load,
Tho you want them back
Means to find one’s legs,
Be now cane, stick or peg
For the walking you have left!
ode to the pleasures of aging,
and the friends who’ve arrived.
If perchance
Time offers say,
A laudable way
To find amity,
One may discern
That special place,
Where so decides
Life’s real worth
Be best described
As friendship…
Of rare occasion
Be this a present
Of euphoria,
And far beyond
One of fortuity
Be the substance,
Of an august gift…
Thus bestowed
Upon my life,
Be kismet,
Two score or more
Of years ago,
The wondrous joy
Of lasting friendship
I’ve cherished so,
What serendipity alas
Would have me know!
ode to my friend Pierre Ste.M
In my attempt
To reach beyond,
A stride the length
Of friendships bond,
Want but to take
Unwavering step,
To thus find place
Allegiance kept,
Composed of men
Who lost and wept,
Yet create space
They mean abide,
Blind now and then
To critical misguide,
For steps that echo
A language of regard!
Convinced I remain,
To do without
Crutch or cane,
Held to steady
Wobbles inane,
Of insecurity
Ever menacing,
Can but impede
One being free,
Chose live outside
That google spree,
In a world aside
As content absentee,
From time crippling
State of computerized,
At nerdish pace degree
Will charade thus to flee,
To their googleland addiction!
The image alters
To blur the scene
I effort reminisce,
Yet barely feel
Its familiar kiss,
Brush the mind
That finds to hear,
A voice given life
To what appears
Be now unclear,
Yet distinct enough
To witness thus,
Time’s cruel crags
Sculpt its regress,
Sufficient to recall
Days no longer near,
I’d so held dear,
While time alas chose
I’m to witness its decay,
Turn shades of foggy grey,
Where archives yesteryears!
Poetry on a Canapé 