The light
That slides
between the blinds
Cuts across
the page
To distort
the darkness
The bright
Is different
from the dark
The dark
being formless
The bright
with sharpness
It’s like
The existence
between two
People who could
be close
But not really
They psych
Play games
Since one
person knows
The other won’t
play
So neither of
them play
And dance
alone
But to the
same tune
Waiting for
the song to finish
2-13-1980
Revised
3-11-2016
The cold wind embraced my newly shaven face,
As I scurried
to my morning class late.
I had shaved my beard Friday night for the weekend
Or was it
just inevitable fate,
That I should
be hurrying for the warmth of class
Because I
chose to shave on that date.
For lateness
didn’t urge my steps to the lecture,
But the cold
air and the wind’s immoderate rate.
I shaved it
off for a change of pace
Which it
caused me to do so Monday morning.
2-25-1980
Revised 10-5-2020
The cool of the morning filters through my lungs
And the fog masks the river,
it’s banks and rocks.
My paddle dips silently and
smoothly, swirling
The mirrored liquid beyond my
extended reach.
Birds chatter among themselves along
the branches
Ripples on the river hum their
own unique tune
And the small streams gurgle
their way into the path
Of countless other minute
waterways, now united.
Written unknown date
Revised 3-14-16
I had a floater break loose in my eye just the other day
The kind that makes
a ghostly shadow, always in my way.
The doctors chalked
it up to age, no damage to repair
And yet I feel no
older, except for my thinning hair.
It was and is a reminder
of the tenuous nature of life.
Each blink and
freshened gaze are momentary strife.
Despite my worsening
vision and the body that house it
I will keep on pushing
on, through this visual pit.
I could choose to
focus on this interim distraction
Stay worked up about
it, make it my sole attraction.
But like so much in
life the floater comes and goes
I blink again and
think I really have such minor woes.
Unlike my colleague chair
bound, adorned with lifeless limbs
Or the plight of many
others unable to sing Your hymns.
Still even more are
dulled to hear the early spring birds’ call
And the jaded sight
of others means that don’t see things at all.
Self-pity is an
empty, wasted, and debilitating emotion
So I blink once more
again; re-focus my sight’s devotion
To the family that I
love; God’s gift to never die.
How can I grieve the
vision of just one clouded eye?
2020
“You know what I’m talking about
You seem to
close up like a bank vault
And won’t let
anyone even get close to the door
Because your
alarms go off.
You act too
superficially.”
“So now you’re
saying I’m superficial.”
“No, I feel
that there are depths within you
But you fear…….
oh, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know
what?”
The silence
wasn’t heard by the pair
As their minds exploded with the unsaid
Saying without speaking
Communicating
In that
unknown language of thought
“I just don’t
know why you won’t relate.
Perhaps you
don’t want to.
I might not
be the person you really care for
Maybe we will
never be able to understand.
I give, and
you take and give nothing in return.
I’m tired of
it!”
She stood
silent and met his glare for a moment
And then
turned away unable to stand his scrutiny.
He chuckled
for a second or two.
“What so funny?”
“Nothing.”
But it was.
It was all so
funny.
She seemed to
want to climb out of or knock down
Her wall,
Her problem
Her fear
To shed a
tear,
Or some light
Dissolve her
fright.
But,
Again, as
usual, she had climbed to the top to look down
And seeing
that the world was still around her,
She slapped
another row of stones on top,
And eased
back down into her prison.
To
contemplate….
Why?
Written 2-22-1980
Revised 10-5-2020