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.

Can we become great

again by hate filled hook or

self aggrandizing  crook?

~

Regaining greatness

begins by remembering

that greatness is borne of love.

Trauma and drama

crowd out creativity-

what’s a poor poet to do?

~

When the heat dies down,

the poet reignites his

fire and begins to write.

Not a day goes by,

 it seems, without May weeping.

Why all these histrionics?

~

Perhaps, like me, she’s

been holding, subjected to

lachrymatory Muzak!

June is knocking on

May’s door, telling her to stop

her torrent of tears and leave.

~

Let us all just hope

May refrains from telling June

her tales of woe as she leaves.

Being short of breath

and, shorter still, of temper,

conversation is unwise.

~

So we take up our

pens and mondo converse. Take

heart; it could be worse.

We got another

to be continued notice

from the rain filled clouds on high.

~

Again, the Monsoon

moves from the tropics, northward,

into this, once temperate, land.

A joy filled morning

on this Graduation day!

Now to unwind and relax.

~

Let’s take a moment

and soak in happiness shared,

 achievement celebrated.

Your son is about

to graduate. Can the same

thing be said for you?

~

This graduation

is, yet another, etching

upon this life’s meter stick.

One abducts grandma,

one sits naked in the road;

just another day at work.

~

And your presence there

brings reason and compassion

to those who need so much.

These days if you leave

home without an umbrella,

you must be an optimist.

~

Perhaps. Or perchance

you are less the optimist;

rather, more the masochist.

That pointless prattle!

Do these kids believe this is

really meaningful discourse?

~

Maybe there’s no point

beyond connecting and who

can argue with that?

That tiny sunny

moment, so satisfying, 

left me yearning for much more.

~

Like a shaft of gold

when everything seems darkest,

illumination breeds hope.

Rain shall not delay

his birthday celebration!

Four year olds are undeterred!

~

Like that four year old,

may we celebrate birth in

the midst of life’s heavy rain.

Huh? Alabama

Congressman says rising sea

levels caused by falling rocks?

~

Does he believe it,

bless his l’il heart, or is he

just trying to make a splash?

Tropical monsoon;

not the norm in Virginia,

yet; the shape of things to come?

~

Whatever is now

has been and will be the norm 

say climate change deniers.

If you have an ace

somewhere up your sleeve, now is

the time to play it.

~

Or you could astound

your whole global audience;

snatch a rabbit from your… hat?

These fathers and sons,

Always at each others throats,

overlooking bonds of love.

~

I’ve marveled at how

sometimes men, sure of their love

for one another, play fight.

So much to do, so

little time to write. This will

have to do tonight

~

Once upon a time,

 maybe in tomorrow land,

compassion will reign

~

It may be raining…

or this dampness we’re feeling

could be exsanguination.

Obstreperousness

and obfuscation remain

my kids endless stock in trade.

~

I would say apples

don’t fall far from the tree, but

what would that say about me?

 How can we stay cool

if temperatures and tempers

soar this Mother’s Day?

~

Seems like every time

generational mothers

gather, temper soon follows.

When both options suck,

how is one supposed to choose

which bitter pill to swallow?

~

Before you swallow

either one, pause, look around –

sweet medicine might be found.

Beneath these blue skies

the wonder and the terror

of existence lies.

~

That which lies beneath

the surface of existence

remains the greatest wonder.