“Pray for me,” she said
Tracks of tears in her makeup
Scabbed tracks on her arms
We prayed together
While shoppers bustled about
Her hands grasping mine
Out of my depth there
Unbalanced by her need
One of us could drown
Tag: poetry
Afternoon on the Lake
The squirrels showed up first,
Chittering and bushy tailed
Scrambling for acorns they’d hide
But never find again.
A flash of red announced a cardinal
Who watched warily as one
Determined squirrel chose to dig
Too close for his comfort.
Another cardinal followed,
Then a blue jay asserted himself
Into the mix, loudly searching for tidbits
Among the oak leaves littering the yard.
Even a lizard crept along the red bricks
Hoping to go unnoticed,
But I spied him, as did the cat.
All while gentle ripples stirred the lake
Dry leaves rustled in the wind, and
An unseen songbird trilled an apology.
He must’ve been late to the party.
Reflection
A glimpse of a smile
That same old familiar face
Fine lines, deep wrinkles
Spare the excuses
Hours of sunbathing glory
Long nights of excess
This map of the world
And all of her adventures
Plainly written here
Open. Closed. Open.
Who am I to question the way a door is opened?
Push. Pull. Lift latch. Turn knob. “Abracadabra”
So what if I choose incorrectly at least half of the time?
Enter. Exit. Round and round.
When last we talked I caught a glimmer of remorse. Maybe you would choose a different door this time, or maybe find a new way to open it.
We were friends once. Invisible doors were slammed. I lost a figurative finger.
All I’m saying, is I’ll help you open that door again. We can lean against it together.
A Splice of Life
I spliced the scenes together
The early days of flickering frames in shades of black and white,
Three channels and Walter Cronkite’s signature sign-off, “And that’s the way it is.”
We begged for a color tv, if only for the Rose Bowl parade broadcast, but
I’d outgrown the delight of floats bedecked with hundreds of thousands of flowers by the time
The old RCA was replaced by a bigger, shinier new Zenith. Bonanza in color and Little Joe in
My dreams. Yeehaw.
(I owe the idea for this one, in part, to my friend LA at Waking Up on the Wrong Side of 50.:
https://wakinguponthewrongsideof50.wordpress.com/2019/10/08/and-thats-the-way-it-is/)
A Nice Wine Makes it Right
I want to be happier than I was yesterday, but not quite as happy as I’ll be tomorrow
Like that old saying I heard somewhere when I was much younger and had better retention
Only, it had more to do with love than happiness, and while the two are closely related
They can be mutually exclusive. I’ve been happy without being in love and in love without being happy
Damn. Is that as deep as I think it is, or is that just the Cabernet Sauvignon talking?
My October
Orange leaves collude
With brown, and russet, and red
In my October
Bonfires blaze brightly
Crackling logs, shooting embers
In my October
Hoodies and sweaters
Tall boots with warm woolen socks
That’s my October
Okay, I live in Florida. Our autumns here are fairly subdued, but I have fond memories of autumns in Illinois where the leaves turned impossibly beautiful colors and the sound of leaves crunching under foot was music to my ears.
Peace, people.
Behind the Green Door
Someone referenced old wooden doors yesterday and brought this old post to mind. It’s not great poetry, but I love the photo I took of this door in La Antigua de Guatemala.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2015/04/27/door/
Patterns
The beholder’s eye
Finds beauty in symmetry
Strength in the pattern
Humble beginnings
Yearn for immortality
Seeking atonement
What secret patterns
Affect the caterpillar
Who sprouts wings and flies?
In a Certain Light
Morning sun reveals
All the wrinkles that appear
In a certain light
Arms, crepe-laced, seem frail
Strong enough, though, for lifting
Grandchildren and cats
In a certain light
Fine lines crisscross her tired brow
Turn out that damned light
Praying for Eyebrowz 