Category: Poetry

The day after…

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No, not the day after the apocalypse.

Rather, the day after posting a couple of times here on my blog, after a long time.

I even had someone from long ago say hello, whom I knew from the days that I was posting about the Netflix show, “Sense 8” twelve years ago…which was amazing because it stirred within me something way down deep, about human nature, about what it means to be human and alive, and emotional, empathetic, even empathic.

As for me today…well, this is why I’m writing now, right? This is what blog’s and WordPress and writing is all about, I guess.

I wish…I wish I could wave a magic wand and just make peace and love all over the world. Now I’m sounding like John Lennon (of the Beatles) who wrote the most beautiful song, “Imagine“.

Peace, love, like a dove…flies round the world, not knowing where, or if, or dare, to land.

Not knowing where, to alight, without fright, and to call it “home”.

Home, where the heart is, is a start. That’s our place to start, while we’re apart, most of us fluttering here and there not knowing where….to land, to take our stand…

And yet, hope lives! That’s the one thing that no one or no thing can take from us!

Hope lives, hope gives.

We ARE all one.

Old soul’s…this Father’s Day.

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There are those soul’s, born old — like I was, according to someone who knew me when I was younger.

And there are those soul’s, born older than I.

I envy them, I suppose that I do, or should, I think.

Was it a curse, I’ve often asked myself, being “Born Old”? Most of the time, I think not, but occasionally, yes, I do…think about that.

That curse, or is it, “That Blessing”?

Will I ever know? Probably not…

But right now, I think that it was, more of a curse, to see so much at such a young age.

Ah, the enigma of life! Born old, living long enough to be old, but I don’t feel it.

So, maybe I wasn’t born old. Maybe…I was just born with my eye’s wide open.

Yes, that could be it — just as my daughter was on the day that she was born!

On this Father’s Day, I still do mourn. It’s been too many hard years apart from them, my daughter and my son.

But that’s what divorce does…to my little one’s, more than myself, by a long-shot.

Sadness….and yet, still hope.

As well it should…

TimLeave a comment

It’s been a while…should I smile or frown without my crown?

What crown you ask? I’m glad you asked, or if you didn’t, well that’s ok, because today is really a very new day, to pen my thoughts, long since absent. Why is that, did I hear you ask? No matter, this is my task.

You see, Life as we know it, is actually not quite that, not at all a thing we can hang our hat. It is, rather, something else — more “Top-shelf” as my friend would say, and yet I sigh with a bit dismay. Not at life, I cannot do that.

I dismay because, well a dear friend died today.

There you have it! While it’s been a while, I can’t deny how difficult it is for me to still here write. I’m not sure why…old age perhaps? Well, I know many for whom that’s not something to slow them down! They become more prolific! Or is it…because they fear their death grows near? Most likely, I think. Not that that’s a bad thing — their increased action as that time gets close, before they become just another ghost, to have one last fling, to share their best, I think that’s good! As well it should.

As well it should.

The Dead Have Risen…

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The dead have risen to meet the dead, bloodstain sheets upon their bed.

Revenge is sweet, they thought, for years of suffering the Nazi kill.

Time now, they think, to plant their own flag so ever proudly upon the hill.

A hill now covered in the blood of those nearest to them, the beloved Palestinians…

How deep the vein of hate to cause such mayhem, as they seize the moment to bomb and kill them.

The wailing wall of Jerusalem has new echo’s now, that few might fear to near and hear. And how, while their neighbours blood runs through the streets, so close they can hear the beat of heart’s attacked, fall screaming, dying, while loved ones weep?

Will they rest with such revenge achieved? No contrition can cleanse them now.

Too late, their fate is sealed, there is no way forward to be healed — or forgiven…by any Palestinian.

Another day in paradise…

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Another day, I say, have said for years! And some, I admit, through a veil of tears. Yes, to celebrate – at my age especially. Although that’s not such an achievement as some measure those now. Whatever, for me it is.

Today I bumped into several other souls in the same state as I, craving, I’m sure, the attention I gave, our eyes catching glimpses of care and eternity.

This poem won’t rhyme, like some of mine, but that’s ok. Today I touched the hearts and souls of just a few, as great a blessing for me and perhaps for you…my wish, my hope as I walk this day that I might reach some who cannot play on the canopy of life that we’re all in now. Blessings here then, I now do share, with great hope and wishes of God’s great care. 🙏

🙏

Just so…

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We all only go, just so. How long before that, we really don’t know.

We hope for the best, of course, till put to the test, then hope for the easiest, the softest, most gentle way to go.

Lately, I wonder though, as time marches on and age ravages and plunders, the depths of my psyche more than body, to be honest.

And yet, I’ll plod along, perhaps write a new song – not just a cheap rhyme! I do write a song now and then! Now and then. More then than now, but you know how that goes as we grow with the vestiges of time.

I don’t know exactly about all of that, and I really don’t care! Not tonight. Tonight’s for reflection. A moment to write of my pathetic plight on this night’s raft of dereliction.

One DNA strand away…

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We all like to think, we’re rather distinct, but in fact we’re not, at least not as much as we like to think.

You see, DNA is a thing that distinguishes this from that. One stand, or even less in fact, makes you as different from this or that.

It’s not that we’re not unique. That’s it, in fact, that makes it such a feat, that little strand.

And so we stand, all proudly so! But this much we all should know — that a little strand of a thing so small, can make the difference between us all.

In the meantime, perhaps, look around you now – see, we’re each unique, and in that wisdom I beg you seek…

If we see all that we’ll have no fear, you see, or future tear, because we’ll see the good within us all and live our lives, I pray, with peace, or dare I say – love? For all.

Oh, so dear…

TimLeave a comment

I once was a desperate man. A desperate man, yes, I was.

Until I realized that desperate was as desperate does and that it would only bring me more because.

Because my situation, you see, was such that — a man suddenly without a home. A man suddenly without his children. A man suddenly without most everything then, made me useless and unable to do what I wished I could have done, to do what was left so desperately left undone, but I couldn’t because of she.

She held the rope tied tight around my neck.

She wrote the narrative of my days back then.

She decided everything to my dismay.

She is not a projection of my own dark mind. Not upon which a therapist would make their dime, not on me, oh no, oh no.

Yet, she. Still she. Sadly so, and upon this wretched earth I go with barely a day’s reprieve from the worst of her!

I’m done with SHE, I call her IT! I rid her gleely with my spit!

Yet she was IT, one time — a time very long gone I scarcely know. A sliver of the memory remains yet still, remains upon this hill of memories lost and barely gained, brings back, I must admit not just a little pain…

My heart does yearn for those better years. The time I tenderly held it, she, or her — my sweet, oh so dear.

Oh, so dear….

As it is…

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Why does my heart ache, so much just now? It’s a thing, I wonder how

Often, because it’s because I see too much?

Or is it because I want a crutch — a thing to hopelessly caress and clutch?

Or is it because I do see, perhaps some, or a little, or a wee bit even…beyond…just me?

Of a land where others roam beyond my home, beyond this place, beyond just my only face?

I’d like to think it is. If not, then take me now dear Lord because I’m past this biz…

No vainglory hopes for more than this…I love all this, just as it is.

Dross…

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This day is dross, it grows like moss and yet it goes a pitter-patter.

Why should I care, why should I dare, since it really doesn’t matter.

And yet, some say, I should care before I cast it all into the air, for the wind to take it where it will, this way or that without being still, for a moments grasp in desperation until it lands upon the station, of life lived, lost and left behind. Too much thought for this frail mind.

I am what I am, or I is what I is, as Popeye said, before he died upon his bed.

There really isn’t this or that or whatever else we think is this or that.

There is only what is, accept or not, not a damn thing upon which to hang our hat

Other than who we are and know down deep. And with that fact, I’ll rest in sleep.