would you take me as i am
broken and shattered
would you take me as i am
beaten and battered
would you take me as i am
done and scattered

Run, old man, the winter comes
Ice and snow impede,
Run, old man, impending cold
Will spur you on to speed.
Run, you fool, on brittle ice
For shattered shins to shard,
Run, old man, in howling gale
As pelting sleet hits hard.
Collect thyself O ancient one
Thy lungs have shred to bleed
Run, old man, on memories
Thy legs have turned to seed.
Remember then, in times of yore,
When muscled limbs would stride?
Alas, old man, your day is done
For physicality, died.

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Now that the year has come to Spring,
I want to see the lakeshore,
smell the green, hear birds sing,
taste sunlight in my core,
crown every flower king,
become enraptured and adorned
in sweeping streams, in the bee's sting,
in the haste of the hummingbird's wing,
in the thrill of the rushing spring
of the blooming months, the budding moor.

Where is the side of me that faked tears but never a smile?
Where is the side of me that lied about having a fever instead of hiding it?
Where is the side of me that poured out every problem instead of carrying them alone?
Where is the side of me that blamed home food instead of craving it?
Where is the side of me that spoke without fear instead of swallowing my words?
Where is the side of me that fought instead of walking away in silence?
Where is the side of me that ran into crowds instead of seeking solitude?
Where is the side of me that answered endless questions instead of questioning my own existence?
Where is the side of me that cried over the smallest things instead of smiling through the pain?


Somewhere along the way, I lost that childhood.
Somewhere, I let its innocence slip through my fingers.
Somewhere, I turned my dreams to ashes and let the Ganga carry them away.
Somewhere, I buried my laughter beneath the weight of expectations.
Somewhere, carefree days turned into sleepless nights.
Somewhere, age and responsibility silenced the child within.
A carefree childhood faded,and a responsible adulthood took its place.
Yet, in the quiet corners of my heart ,that child still knocks, still whispers, still waits...

Hoping, one day, I will open the door again.

But how can I tell that the door will never open again?
How can I tell that the path has closed
forever?
How can I tell that it all came to an end long ago?

It's the same enjoyment
            with the lighter baggage:
             why would you choose
            the heavier---to your disadvantage?

Older but not old
Not wasting away
Far from it and enjoy yourselves
Communities are not for everyone
Having a good time means different things to different people
Not your way or the highway
Your place and doing your own thing
Written two books and one in process
People read my poetry and are still surprised
Some bought the books
Seeing people of all ages and enjoying children
Excellent Welcomes and very Sad Farewells
Photo albums and videos help us remember
They introduce the little ones to their family
A new family member is due anytime now
Make for great stories and answers to their questions
We own our home and we worked hard for it
I still can't believe those poor young teachers did it
More to come on our journey and journeys
Still, hugging banisters and in awe of our kitchen
Maybe a second house and definitely travels.
Theatre, Photography, and attending Rock concerts
We moved in 33 years ago
Love our house
For those of you who believe you should sit on a throne with your crown
You are no better or worse than others
You might have more money but there are other riches you don't possess that others do
Kindness and Respect come to mind
My time is wasted on you
We are grateful and caring always

she disappeared into the shadows of the night,
skimming through the uproarious parties
like stone across the lake
until she sunk into
the gruesome arms
of another man
behind my sleeping back.

and there he was, pounding away
like some big dumb animal
at something I held sacred
as if bonds were meant to be broken
and boundaries were made permeable

and there she was,
taking it,
loving it,
enjoying it,
doing it to spite me
and knowing it would hurt.

and there I was, the last to know
in the dark circles of whispering
secrecy

it’s the all-too-familiar cycle
of passion and appetite;

swallowed by the underbelly of lust and
tormented by the foretaste of my presence

I can’t blame them,
I can’t blame myself,
it’s only nature
taking
its course.

and I can’t say this is written
about anyone specifically,

when it happened

far too many times.