Retirement’s a someday goal
residing in our dreams
But doing nothing, as a whole
Is not all that it seems.
The wealthy live to travel ’round
the world, in stately manner
For them the oysters are abound
while the world is our banana!
Containers are meant to hold
The milk, until it’s gone
Once empty (and without regret)
We toss it and move on.
And so it is I wish to leave
Not wrapped in stately silk
Why preserve and forever grieve
A container without the milk?
Snowflakes drifting sideways
Skies a gloomy grey
Becomes the norm
Please winter, go away!
The warmth is at a minimum
as shade demands its way
Stiff branches drip
from stem to tip
devouring each ray.
A bud will form
the branch will swell
to fill with sap and seethe
bursting forth until the tree
Has found its time to leave.
The strength it takes to be a man
admired by the masses
Is absent in his trembling hand
in search of reading glasses
His tired eyes still hold that light
that never seems to dim
A love of life for which he fights
still flows from deep within
He longs to be a hundred years
upon this Mother Earth
At eighty-nine he’s faced his fears
God must have seen his worth
The road ahead will challenge him
to gain back what he had
I have no doubt he’ll fight and win
this man of men, MY DAD!
I hear a tiny footstep from the past
A whimper from the room just down the hall
I try to capture them and make them last
But soon they fade away and high hopes fall
The walls are filled with moments etched in time
Sweet memories of little ones abound
I labor to preserve such things sublime
Until reality comes back around
And so it is, they’ve grown, and left the nest
That once provided them with all their needs
And found their place out there among the rest
Of all I’ve ever done, they’re my best deeds
My heart will keep the little ones inside
While marveling at the seeds I’ve sown, with pride.
Soon, my daughter, you’ll walk down the aisle
I’m filled with pride to see that smile
Your faith renewed, your life on track
I love you, to the moon and back.
The butterfly may lose her wings
(they don’t last very long)
But in the process, other things
have surely come along.
The worm emerged
(despite the birds)
and inched along his way
Towards all the things
the sunlight brings, and
she watches still, each day.
The urge to walk that lonesome shore
Where beach and I are one
To make a bed of ocean floor
And melt beneath the sun
Will stay with me
My love of thee
Has only just begun.
I hear the silent screaming
Of the lonely, angry sea
And all the while I’m dreaming
Of warm waves caressing me
A burning flame
I cannot tame
Until I’m one with thee.
A constant urge I cannot purge
My longing for the sea.