Perspective

June 4, 2024

“How old is old?”, she asked the little child,

And he looked up at her with his toothless smile.

“My brother’s pretty old”, he said with a grin,

“Next week he is going to turn ten!”

“How old is old?”, she asked the girl of fifteen

As she posed for a selfie, made up like a beauty queen.

“Oh, thirty!” she exclaimed without much of a care,

 “It's a long time away, I’m only halfway there.”

“How old is old?”, she asked the young man

Who was working on the engine of his VW van.

“I’d say around forty, that would be my guess.

Maybe a little more, maybe a little less.”

“How old is old?”, she asked the busy mom,

Who responded, “Fifty, maybe? Once the kids are gone.

I look forward to wrinkles and gray hair

If it means I can sit on the porch in my chair.”

“How old is old?”, she asked the retired gent,

As over the tomatoes in his garden he bent.

“Old?  Well I’m hoping for a few more good years

Before I have to lay down my garden shears.”

She thought of those responses and she gave a little sigh

For she knew the real answer was, “Ten years older than I.”

Inspiration from Marla West, additional line from Art Jones 

The Last Trip - May 24, 2024

We knew this would be our last trip,

But we were excited to go.

We planned in advance for months

And saved up plenty of dough.

We knew this would be our last trip.

Should it be to the gorgeous sea

Or to the majestic mountaintops,

Where the eagles fly, lonely and free?

We knew this would be our last trip,

We hoped for fantastic weather,

But it really didn’t matter

As long as we were together.

We knew this would be our last trip,

For our bodies were getting old

And our spirits now were cautious,

Where once they had been bold.

We knew this would be our last trip

So we packed our bags and flew

Away for our last trip together,

Just me, just love, just you.

 Not Forgotten   - May 18, 2024

I never knew her, this aunt of mine.

She lived long, long years before my time.

Born premature, she never got the chance

To learn to read, to walk, to dance.

Not quite six weeks old when she passed.

Those weeks, for her parents, must have gone fast.

No chance for her to sing, to go to school,

But Grandma gave her the precious name of Jewel.

She was buried in the graveyard, a child unknown,

With no money at all for a true headstone

But a friend carved a rock in a primitive way

With “Jewel 1926”;  it survives to this day.

She was never forgotten, though never truly known,

And she’s buried in that graveyard, forever all alone.

Baby Jewel’s short story has been passed down through the years,

And like a jewel, she’s treasured,  and remains near and dear.

 Humboldt County - May 14, 2024

I moved here for the weather

I moved here for the trees

I moved here for the beauty

And the cool sea breeze.

I got all that and extra:

Poison Oak, Banana slugs,

Blackberry vines forever,

And ubiquitous pillbugs,

The dense fog hanging over

That dulls the winter days,

And colors my emotions

A dark and dreary gray,

The shaking ground that scares me,

The heavy pouring rains,

But at least there is no traffic

And no need for tire chains.

So Humboldt, here is to you -

The bad and all the good,

You’ll be my home forever,

My beloved neighborhood.

 Aches and Pains   

May 14, 2024

The knees may be feeble,

The back may be weak,

The body may tremble

When the voice wants to speak.

The feet may be tender,

The ears may not hear,

The eyes may be blurry

And filled with wet tears.

The face may be wrinkled,

The hair may be gray,

But fondest reflections 

Will forever stay

And the words to describe them

Are clamb’ring to be sung,

And the heart and the mem’ries

Will always be young.

Yes, the years have piled up,

They may almost be done,

But the heart and the mem’ries

Will always be young.

I was given the challenge of writing a non-rhyming poem, using a template based on the poem "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyon.  Here it is.

Where I’m From  - April 12, 2024

I am from upright Kirby vacuum cleaners,

From Nestle Quik (chocolate) and hula hoops.

I am from mostly junky little houses

Filled with hand-me-down furniture.

I am from the perfumed lilac bush and

The blackberry bush hideout.

I’m from sitting in the backseat on long trips to see relatives,

Or because we were moving once again.

I’m from J. D. and Rhea,

From salted watermelons and salted apples

And from angel-hair Christmas trees with blue lights.

I’m from “don’t tell me no” and “you make a better door than a window”

And “Little Scrawny Teacher”.

I’m from moving without getting to say goodbye.

I’m from Idaho and every European country,

Homemade fudge and lemon meringue pie,

From Rhea’s leprechaun who chopped wood in the forest,

Her crocheted doilies and tablecloths, Valeda’s poems and songs,

Stored in cabinets or boxes in the shop.

I’m from Corene’s quilts made from scraps,

From J.D.’s work ethic and his

M I crooked letter crooked letter I crooked letter crooked letter I humpback humpback I.

 A Lesson From Nature - March 2012

Heads bowed low beneath the rain, 

But strong enough to rise again,

The yellow daffodils arise

And face the wind, the stormy skies, 

And you and I can learn from them, 

These hardy blossoms on their stems, 

To face our trials, big and small, 

And rise triumphant over all.