Time marches onward,
relentlessly toward post time
and I remain unprepared.
~
Nevertheless you
and I persist. We show up
and sometimes poetry comes.
Time marches onward,
relentlessly toward post time
and I remain unprepared.
~
Nevertheless you
and I persist. We show up
and sometimes poetry comes.
When our leaders put
both reason and compassion
aside, what is left?
~
Demagoguery,
knee-jerk ideology,
and “fairly unbalanced” news.
On returning home
I find, much to my chagrin,
reason’s still on holiday.
~
It’s been quite a trip
here at home since reason has
fled for parts unknown.
With stories to tell
you head for home and to
our eager, listening ears
~
Until tomorrow,
all stories will have to wait;
after a restful night’s sleep.
As the time draws near
for your return, what do you
hope to bring with you?
~
Broadened perspectives,
a deeper understanding,
and so many memories!
As we wing from one
adventure to another,
can we find time to reflect?
~
Time for reflection
will come soon enough; for now
just enjoy your adventures.
We really do care,
and we hope our leaders find
a way back to caring too.
~
And if they do not,
do we care sufficiently
to replace our leadership?
Change trains in Brussels:
an hour hardly seems time
for great poetry to sprout.
~
May small brussel sprouts
of poetry nourish you
as you journey on.
When did outright lies
come to be preferred over
basic human rights?
~
Trump’s America:
Where the only human right
is to lie despite the cost.
In old Amsterdam
there’s a quality of light
that defies explanation
~
Appreciation
without explanation can
result in a deep delight.
Defending what is
indefensible won’t make
America great again.
~
Restoring greatness:
exercise for foolish men
who perceive some fall from grace.
Still Paris morning
punctuated by pigeon,
Parisians still slumber.
~
Taking time to eat,
taking time to rest? Foreign
ideas abound.
Whispers of wonder
accompany my driving.
Bet you’re not surprised.
~
Unlikely whispers
were what you heard while driving.
Could you use a hearing test?
Wandering the Louvre
wondering where people are;
Ahh! Queued for Mona Lisa!
~
That enigmatic
smile draws folks in, enchants
across centuries.
Wandering the Louvre,
wondering where people are;
Ahh! Queued for Mona Lisa!
~
What has traveling
to other lands given you
that you couldn’t get at home?
~
Broader horizons
and a heightened sense of place
come much easier abroad.
“Are you a daft prick?”,
he exclaimed in clear disdain,
“Man, It’s just a bloody wall!”
~
What is it about
pricks, disdain, and walls? Could they
be a package deal?
I’m grateful for small
things like getting the grass mowed
right before it rains again.
~
And remaining calm
when travel plans go awry
due to poor choices.
My phone reports storms
Four thousand miles away;
“Seek shelter at once!”
~
You’ll have lots of time
to reminisce over this
extraordinary near miss!
Though separated
by an ocean, we connect
by technology.
~
And mostly that works
despite glitches and delay;
there is no perfect system.
Unrestrained passions
thwarted by circumstances
yield uncontained strife.
~
There’s no vacation
from the drama of humans
no matter how far you go.
You’re up in the air,
flying over deep waters
as I sit grounded at home.
~
Even great poets
struggle with rhythm and rhyme
at thirty-nine thousand feet.
May your travels bring
a hearty restoration
of body and soul.
~
And May those who stay
keep the home fires burning;
the hearth, warm and welcoming.
It’s a marathon
I guess, since I’ve been sprinting
for days sans a finish line.
~
The light slowly dawns –
when we cross the finish line
life’s marathon is over.
Like everyone else,
poets sometimes drop the ball
when juggling so many.
~
At least falling balls,
dropped by these errant poets,
do less damage than chainsaws.
Who could really care
at which end their candle’s lit
when it’s in a blast furnace?
~
We prove our mettle
and afterwards our light is
revealed to the world.
On a perfect day
such as this, sunny but not
too hot, we beam too.
~
These rough-hewn sunbeams
drag a reluctant smile
even from craggy faces.
Some won’t understand;
often labor must be done
to prepare a place for play.
~
Love’s labor is not
lost when preparing a place
for self or others to play.
They say what’s past is
past, but those who keep dragging
it into now disagree.
~
Is it irony
or folly that this undead past
somehow teaches them nothing?
A ceremony
can be a thing of beauty…
or a purgatory stay.
~
Whether we’re lifted
up or buried under makes
all the difference.