Good Mirrors

Good Mirrors

Good mirrors are not cheap.
Framed by strong oak of aged
trees imbedded with pearls of
experience, they reflect the rubies
of hopes, sparkle with diamonds
of dreams. They reveal emeralds
of experiences, sapphires of
accomplishments, but conceal
flaws, cracks, wrong turns, pain.
In good mirrors everyone shines.

Who Do You Remember?

Who Do You Remember?

Who do you really remember
as they were, or how do you know
you really remember them as they
were or are? There are many
slants to any person and so
many ways of looking at someone.
Who knows what is true? We each
have our own truths and reasons for
embracing those truths. There
are some people I don't like, but
someone likes them. I don't know
why or how. There are people I like
who seem to have trouble connecting,
and I don't understand this either.
Often I wonder what accounts
for these discrepancies and what
about any situation or person
remembered is really true.
It seems there are many truths
and that truth is often fluid, not
as many believe, black and white.

Yes

Yes

A good meal
an ocean breeze
a beautiful sunset
I gaze into your eyes
You look into mine
We stand, float, dance
on the lanai, hearts beat
in unison. We touch
ever so subtle, gentle
passionate, then kiss
ah yes, the kiss. Yes.

Ways to Enjoy a Day

Ways to Enjoy A Day

Wake at dawn
Brew fresh coffee
drink it on the deck

savor the breeze
linger with cardinals
long as possible

list things you
need to do. Put
it in a safe place

List things you
want to do. Begin
with Number One.

and enjoy it as
long as you wish.
Then Number Two.

When dusk arrives
return to your deck
with a cool drink.

savor the breeze
linger with cardinals
long as possible

Breathe deeply
smile broadly. You
will sleep well.

A Poem for Mya

A Poem For Mya

I hope you have wonderful dreams
as you sleep upstairs in the room
you call 'my room' every time you
pass by its door. At home you
share a room with your brother,
but here you have 'my room' and
you say it with such zest.

Today we had a good day, just
you and me, going to the zoo.
You delighted in the swimming
penguin, enjoyed the baby camel,
marvelled at the large gorilla,
didn't want to ride in your stroller,
wanted to walk, push it YOURSELF.

We ate the lunch I brought for us,
a sandwich (you ate only the meat
as usual), strawberries (how you
love them), and half a banana. I
shared my soda with you (something
I don't usually do) in plastic cup.

You played in the playground, went
up and down the slide, walked across
a scary net (you held my hand) into
the little house and out again, over
and over, around and about until I said
we had to go home. You fell asleep
in the car, and I carried you into
the house, to YOUR room, and you
slept deeply until I woke you and
carried you downstairs once more.

You played a while until it was time
ito eat dinner, and we had barbecue
(you without the bun), broccoli (you
had second helping), and your beloved
strawberries. Then it was time for
me to go to a meeting, and you came
with me. I said there would be snacks.
You wore your pink shoes from Vietnam!

You were very good at the meeting.
You knew a few people, were friendly
with all. You liked the chocolate chip
cookie and cheese most of all, and you
had fun chasing around the back of the
couch, playing tickle with a woman
you had not met before (she didn't
mind), but after a while it got long
for you with all the people and when
you began to touch things in the house
you shouldn't, it was time to go.

You weren't yet tired when we were home,
and I wondered if you would cry for
your mother, but you did not cry at all.
I think it was because you were busy,
and we took the dogs outside (you
always like to take Tulip), and watched
some of Toy Story until it was time
for you to go to bed in YOUR room.
You climbed the stairs without complaint
because you were simply tired.

And now, little angel, you are sleeping
with no cares in your little world,
comfortable and safe, warm, and loved.
May God bless you always and keep
you in his care throughout your life.
I will help Him as long as I can.

Walking Places

Walking Places

Waikiki, international area
all races live in harmony
enjoy colorful orange sunsets
weather unsurpassed, beach,
surf and surfboards, Mahi
mahi caught that day, fragrant
flower laden paths to beach
Diamond Head ever visible
kayakers on AlaWai Canal.
I walk and walk, surrrounded
by beauty, life at its best,
pure heaven served with mango,
papaya, pineapple delivered
with a Mai Tai. Cheers.

Sunsets I hardly notice at home'
all the same to me as the
weather varies. I put up with it,
cold or hot, wax philosophical,
walk woodsy trails when I can,
inside when I must, papayas
always too expensive, flowers
seasonal though beautiful,
Lake Michigan ten miles away,
not walkable. Sailboats but no
kayaks.Friday night fish fries,
cod or perch, our trademark,
coleslaw and potato pancakes,
delivered with cold beer. Cheers.

Letters to Mother

Letters to Mother

I still have the letters I wrote to you
when I was in college. I told you
many things but not everything.
I didn't tell you about Jim who really

liked me, who tried to kiss me
passionately but had bad breath.
I was a novice at kissing, but knew
I didn't like it. I knew he would

have married me if I'd wanted to.
I didn't tell you about Terry who
took me out when he was a senior
and I was a freshman. He scared

me as he pushed me against the
tree, and his tongue confused me
as he kissed in a way I had never
been kissed before. I didn't tell

you about the time I stayed out late,
not on purpose but it happened,
and we tried to get home on time
by walking over railroad tracks,

but then I fell in the cinders and
my leg began to bleed with
imbedded cinders, but we kept
going to try to get home before

curfew. We didn't make it. No
one cared about my bleeding leg.
I was written up and 'campused.'
My letters never talked about that

Futile

I wrote this poem using the word "futile." I wish I did not believe it were so.....)


Futile

Futile efforts abound
no one has found the solution
meanwhile the oil spurts
spews, spreads rusty venom
killing life as it exists today.

I cry for the sea life, the birds,
the endangered turtles, for
fishermen, for all supported
by the Gulf. Never again will
it be the same for animals,

plants, or humankind. I wish
I believed there was an imminent
solution. I wish I weren't fatalistic
about cunning, suited talking
heads devising unworkable plans,

trying to cover their tails to
make it look like they are doing
something. What has man wrought?
Is this Armageddon? God help us all.

Realization (Mya)

this poem was written about a 'lightbulb moment.'

Realization

I finish my workout at the YMCA
return to kid care to pick you up.
You always see me as I approach,
run toward me with beaming smile

and call Hi Grandma. You are so excited
to see me, and I feel like the most special
person in the world. I realize as I greet you
with big smile that simple moments

touch my heart the most: Walks with you and
the dogs, watching you ride your new Dora
bike, play with your baby at the park, splash
and kick as you drift in your floater in the pool.

Thinking of Leonard Cohen

Thinking of Leonard Cohen

I listen to Leonard Cohen and I am
twenty-five years younger
lying in front of my record player
records spread out across the floor
music playing loudly, unaware
of the passage of time, caught in
feelings of loneliness, love found,
love lost, hotel rooms in big cities,
dreams, yearnings, places and people,
years lived and years passing by.

I think about my life and wonder what
my future will be and about the past
and how it is Leonard Cohen with his voice
of gravel can still capture so much with his
words and his music to transport me
twenty-five years later as I listen
to the same music on an I pod to that
place deep within my mind where
music still has the ability to transform
inspire poetry and give birth to dreams.

Heaven

Heaven

In Heaven I will know
my great grandparents,
my grandparents, be with
my parents once again, be
surrounded by my children,
grandchildren, great grandchildren,
more beyond that. Aunts, uncles,
loves, cousins, friends, and all
beloved dogs. In Heaven I will
be reunited with the best in
everyone I knew and get to know
the best in those who lived before
or after my time. In Heaven all
questions will be answered, truth
will be told. In Heaven will be
perfect love, all will be revealed.

KIMO

These were written from a 'micro poetry' prompt - the form is a KIMO - 10 syllables, 7 syllables, 6 syllables. Fun to play with!


Taking a walk with dogs in the evening
brings pleasure to each of us
before rise of the moon.

Cardinal and robin drink from the pool
not noticed by either dog
blessings abound today.

The taste of large juicy red strawberries
cannot be surpassed in nature
by any other fruit.

All My News

All My News

All my news most days
would be quite ordinary,
nothing that would make
me seem fascinating.

I get up most days,
do the same thing
that I did the day before,
and that's my reality.

Do I wish that my life
would be more newsworthy,
interesting? No, I am just
glad to be happy, which I am!

This is It

This is It

This is IT, my new reality
people see me, see old
or don't see me at all.
Invisible, ignored, I am no
longer a force to reckon with.

Someone took the torch
from me, left me behind,
when I wasn't looking.
I am now offered a seat
on a bus, get senior

discounts without question,
social security, now medicare
card. My god, I cry to the
universe, how did I get to
this place where I feel I should

preplan my funeral rather than
my next trip? Someone please
rewind the film. Tell me it isn't
so that I really have arrived here,
that this is not IT, that I'm not old.

Eagle

Here is my poem written for Big Tent Poetry using prompt of choosing interesting words from something I listened to.


Eagle

Eagle soars spectacular
into sunset orange sky,
aims for the horizon.
I wonder if it contemplates
destination or merely enjoys
its journey riding the wind,
traveling higher ever higher,
its wings spread fully, its
eyes sharp in search of prey,
before it plummets earthwords
once more, pounces prey.
Graceful eagle fulfills destiny.
Life coexists with death,
joy with sadness. Life's circle.
Eagle soars.

Saturday Night Horror Shows

Saturday Night Horror Shows

When I was a child I stayed up late
Saturday night because that was when old
black and white horror movies were shown
on television. I could not miss these movies,
welcomed the fear, heart pounding, shivers
running up and down my spine, the intensity
that made me want to scream in terror. The
Werewolf, Frankenstein, and Dracula invaded
my living room, but I could not pull myself
away. Fear sucked me in like a vampire,
and I believed meeting a Werewolf would be
the worst that could ever happen. I curled on
the couch beneath a blanket for protection,
covered my eyes to make my fear fade away.

As an adult I yearn now for these simple monsters,
wish that Dracula and the Werewolf were the
worst evils to exist in the world. What appeared
fearsome to me as a child is nothing compared
to what one has to fear today after spending
Saturday evening watching a modern horror show,
also known as the nightly news where evil exists
in high definition color rather than black and white.
If only I could curl on my couch in my blanket
today and make my fears, everyone's, fade away.

Denim and Purple Pizzaz

Our online writing group is writing poems based on crayola colors this week. These two poems are based on the colors 'denim' and 'purple pizzaz.'


Denim


Denim
color of the masses
ordinary yet distinctive
never out of style for
rich or poor, young or
old, denim a color
that stands the test
of time, never wears
out its welcome,
strong fabric to dress
up or dress down.
Denim.


Purple Pizzaz

Purple pizzaz tickles my fancy
makes me want to wear frilly clothes,
dance in the moonlight, be impractical,
go to a carnival and play games I
cannot possibly win, make blueberry
smoothies at midnight, and dream all
night of royal purple velvet , ah yes!

Boxes

Boxes

When I was a child, I loved to play in
a refrigerator box. Some days it became
a tent, some days a fort, and other
times I'd roll in it all around the yard.

I learned that a box could be anything
I wanted it to be. It could transform in
my imagination, was not limited by
its shape, was as flexible as my mind.

I still feel that way about boxes, refuse
to be confined in a box of fixed shape.
Give me a container with expandable sides
and always ample room to roll free.

Violet, Cerulean, and Gray

This week our small writers' group is writing poems about colors in the Crayola box. These are my first three short poems.


Vivid Violet

Vivid Violet, a color I never thought I'd like
but now a favorite because of a little
dog who shares the name. Because of
her, I see violet everywhere in nature;
and now consider violets among the most
beautiful flowers. Rich, regal, filled with
personality, varied in magnificence,
but beautiful and beloved all the same
because of a little dog, my special Violet.


Cerulean

Cerulean, a word that rolls off my lips,
a beautful word for a stunning color
but where can I find cerulean? Perhaps
the ocean of Waikiki on a bright sunny
day or in the feathers of birds such as
cerulean kingfisher or cerulean warbler;
but most often we don't use the word
cerulean at all, think of it as just another
shade of blue. Cerulean, cerulean, now
I will coninue to look for you.

Gray

Gray, the color is as it sounds. Flat and
dull, like gray hair of someone who is
aging, gray skin of one who is ill, gray
the color of everything if you are walking
outside on a moonless night, a tornado
bringing destruction, a rain cloud about
to burst, the color of a white shirt gone bad.
Gray, the color is as it sounds. Nothing
beautiful is gray.

My Mother

My Mother

My mother showed me the joy of
sitting in a dark living room to
watch lights dance on
the walls as cars passed by.

My mother taught me even
when life's challenges caused
her to reach bottom she could
find a way to climb back out.

My mother showed me that
spending time with plants,
putting hands in earth was an
unsurpassable summer joy.

My mother showed me that
one is never too old to play
as she rode the flying saucer
down the snow-covered hill.

My mother taught me
the importance of freshly
baked cookies right from
the oven after school.

My mother taught me to
speak my mind if I believed
something even if it was not
a popular opinion.

My mother exemplified
someone who did the
best she could, preferred
to do it her way.

I Write

I Write

I write because I want to,
I write because I have to.
Sometimes words flow,
sometimes I coax them.
But the effort is worth

whatever it takes it, as
mostly I write for me,
to preserve my thoughts
and experiences so that
someday by reading my

words I will know who
I was at another moment
in time and be able to
shake hands with a former
self through my written word.

Circus Dog Trainer

Circus Dog Trainer

Circus dog trainer
that's what I'd be
in the circus of my mind.

Give me purebreds or
mixed breeds, old
or very young, and

time to work with them,
treats in hand, to teach
them to jump through

hoops, climb stairs, walk
ropes, do back and front
flips, walk on only two feet.

I'll have them jump rope
ride little bikes or trucks,
climb a ladder too.

Dog trainer par excellence
my circus persona, time
to run away with dogs!

Delight

Delight


Delight is thinking about a chocolate chip cookie I am saving for sometime later,
the smile and the hugs of a two-year-old, her words "I can do it myself," her
telling me "let's run" and we do. Delight is a dog so excited about taking a walk,
a dog sniffing all the smells she wants to sniff, but more than that delight is
cuddling with a dog when I want to be warmed. Delight is pizza, an ice cream
cone, sitting in the hot tub, a free afternoon, a long walk. Delight is when I
can choose to do what I want to do, a good meal in a restaurant with friends,
a meaningful sermon in church. Delight is watching a six-year-old do so well
at Wii that I hesitate to play against him now, to hear him tell me that he
is the best reader in his class, in fact the smartest in his class. Delight is
seeing how much he likes school. Delight is a good conversation, a new
idea coming to mind, an unexpected email from someone, a comment in one
of my blogs. Delight is caring deeply about someone and knowing I am
deeply cared about in return, working for a good life, discussing the events
of the day. Delight is sitting in the same room with someone and not
having to talk and knowing that is perfectly okay. Delight is a special way
of feeling on an ordinary or extraordinary day!

Enough Said

Enough Said


Enough said --
I know how it is,
cannot change it,
cannot continue to worry,
have to accept as is.

Enough said --
what will be will be.
Things that are
out of my control
I have to let go.

Enough said --
my fears may come
true or may not.
I can only trust, then
pray. Enough said.