My Day

I tumble about every day
You’d think that at my age
there should be more clarity
Days would be unscathed by forlorn
yet as the days experience unfolds
reality sets in with human angst
Ennui is my personal battle
and I try so hard
sometimes with unappreciated pretense
to make someone, during the day, smile or laugh
Amidst this tedium, I welcome the happy wagging
of tails from my two mini-poodles
as they peer up at me with their soulful eyes
awaiting the reciprocity
of my required incessant petting
and sincere love
This makes my day
and now we await
to enter into this moment of joy
my wife, my lover, my friend, their mother

My Theme

It is hard to let go of the things from youth
and when one does due to aging restrictions
the unappreciated moments of the time
the fond memories, linger

My dreams and reveries flow unrestricted of those things
The memories of when I ran faster than I really did
Had Herculean strength beyond my capabilities
Climbed with youthful ease escarpments above my reach

With much pleasure I do remember
when my voice could ring like morning birds who sing
with vocals of angelic themes
inspired from a domicile of surrounding music
sung by Mother’s early morning waking songs

This exercise of vocals has not waned
In her passing the morning’s waking still remain
I can hear her languish in that Spanish refrain
with the passion of a Latina Mother’s heart
that also taught me how to Love

Ah, ‘si‘, and of that thing called ’love’
She taught me how to share
with my mind, my spirit, my heart
not just with my eyes or hands
those things restricted, she’d say,
the ways and limitations of Man’s

I leave behind those youthful fares
the sometimes unappreciated wares
a history that has made me who I am
retaining the things that do not age
of which I can perpetuate,
the loving and the care

Words; no Apologies

Sometimes I write without editing my words
I gather them unsolicited and spontaneously,
they come together with the whimsy of a child’s
format and expression, simple and not rhyming
neither in meter or timing
but I have found that sometimes the innocence
of this method is purer and truer
My thoughts are expressed
like a daisy or dandelion that has interrupted
one’s manicured and pristine yard
Like a neighbor’s dog that barks late at night
or a tiny twig that finds a home between
the naked toes when wearing sandals in a trail
or a pebble finds its way
as cool sand sifts on naked feet
while strolling in a warm day
on an ocean beach

I wish these words to express with pureness
like when the patter or beat of my heart
first felt an indulging desire for another,
a lust of a young boy becoming a man
when first noticing a woman’s curves
The wondrous flow of her hair
her eyes, her nose upon an effeminate face,
the titillating flair of her luscious lips and smile
down to her soft exposed shoulders that compose
the setting for her lovely bosoms or breasts,
a daunting yet quietus desire of every man

I wish these words to express a spontaneity
without apologies for not abiding
or encumbered by imposing editing
to a set of rules and ‘bylaws’ on writ
an innocent surprise like the expressed widened eyes
of a child’s first vision
to the miracle of a ’Mariposa’

Smell don't Pluck

I walk amidst the dandelions
the lavender the roses and the mint
smelling their wondrous fragrance
observing the pureness of their
purples, reds, whites and yellows
without separating them from their stems

Must one pluck the flower from it’s root
and selfishly not allow others
to also observe its beauty from where it stands
amidst and from Mother Nature’s hands
to be free to grow and play in the breeze
and show of it’s colorful display
upon the back ground of a verdant dress
where upon the bumble bee can nest
and pollinates another batch
for others to walk amidst
and also share its beauty
its arrayed caress

Is not Love much like this botanical display
it can be appreciated as a soulful heart
that pervades through dusks and dawns
enraptured by the gleeful eyes
and also shared through tears forlorn
it cannot be plucked and horded
never depleted or stolen from its nest
it is shared amidst the hearts
there is love enough for all