It is quiet now My father speaks: tells me
It is his good time.  I do not answer only
Remember; and think now about the end
As one who cannot know I do believe that
Though I would it not I shall say to all: "not
My will but Thy will be done. Though I die
My duty's done and the evening like morning
Like one then our will shall in eternity be and
I shall again hear your voice telling me: You are
In Heaven with me now; and now is my best time

Tells the story of the heart grown heavy
Knowing all this sweetness would not last
Soon would be memory.  The great hopes
We had would become a life long ago. Yes
We know always knew it would end but still
For that alone we threw our whole selves; all
Our youth into a sweet sad song of our time
As precious as it was mortal.  Famous long ago
Yes we knew still know it could not last..
Such a sweet refrain was our time Too beautiful
To be.  The best of times; the worst it was our
Time.  A time like all times a sweet sad song


For You My Beloved

Year after year
--at daylight savings--
he kept moving his clock backward,
but never forward,
until he wound-up in the wrong century.

He then slept in masks,
his dreams repeatedly
disbanding and reforming,
as if in someone else's show,
but it was his hallucinating set-list, for sure.

He lived at the call of the void,
feeding off peppermint sticks
and clusters of chokeberry,
to help ease the pressure.

One phantom summer,
he read The Joy of Euthanasia
from cover-to-cover, over and over,
until he could recite death.

He poured his heart
into his new work
as an artist of tacenda,
--yes, he kept a lid on it.

And when the pretty young bees
buzzed about underneath
their brazen parasols,
he'd smile up at the sun
for her complicit glow:
the warmest days
always drew them out to him,
like honey on the tongue.

Now naysayers may keep
him out of Canton,
but one day, like most serial killers,
they will name a school after him
and his hijinks.

Small talk
Symbols interpreted for dreamers,
listen long and learn,
once was nothing and nothing was
unaware
any thing might be as warez, once free
at the idea, no thing was

stage one. Ah.

Did I ever stop a bullet?
Several, none that were fired.
But I stopped a few.
And two separate times, friends
of mine stopped when their fired ones
stopped.

It stands 2 and 2, so far,
homicide and suicide,
some says I can make one side win,

causa sui, I say to me.
I just stopped a bullet.

I no longer aspire to climb
lofty mountains in summer,
or ski down snowy slopes
in winter, nor ride the back
of rank horses, or motorcycles
at over 100 miles per hour.

I still have an eye for an enchanting
woman from a safe distance,
experience has taught me that
looking is better than having,
avoiding those complications.

Mostly I choose being alone,
but I am never lonely. I have
explored the many mysteries
of life, traveled around the world
satisfying most of my curiosities.

I have fathered children, loved
and been loved, committed no
moral or legal transgressions
and possess a clear conscience
and very few regrets.

I have been successful in most of
my business endeavors, planned
well and possess security and
tranquility.

I revel now in the one day at a time
moments of living, with nature, the sky,
music, books, my fellow creatures of
wing and paw, a cool breeze on a hot
day, the sight and scent of flowers in
my garden, and most of all the joyful
times spent with my children.

Strolling the lanes in my orchard are
much more pleasant and satisfying
than revisiting and walking the streets
of the world's biggest overcrowded cities.

Happiness is finding our place in the
world, realizing its value while ignoring
all the other distractions of which there
are many. Knowing the difference between
Want vs. Need.

Written for my grandsons, who only
know me as an old man, one who
does not go off to work every day
like their dad, or seem not to have
many friends, leading them to assume
and worry that I am "lonely".

Hard to explain all this to a young man
who is just beginning life, when I am on
the tail end of mine, that our interests and
desires change and evolve over time.
No need to fret my boys, Poppy is just fine.

6:30 AM dew on the plants,
à chill in the air, feeling the
season changing, fall is upon
us. A clear Sunrise glowing
day.

Hanging my robe on a wall
hook, naked I shiver a little.
Swing my good leg over the
edge into the warm water set
at 102. The other leg follows,
I slide in.

Hot water is a kind of heaven,
it envelops and embrases us.
A return to the womb perhaps.

The pumps engage and 50 jets
commence, I recline and murmur
"Yes, yes, oh **** yes!" several
times out loud to no one in
particular, as I am completely
alone. I think I say this every
time I slide in, such is my
unbridled fervor.

The full pulsing body massage
begins to overtake my aches
and pains that permit me no
more than 6 hours sleep at night.

Joyfully soothing, rejuvenating,
à rebirth of sorts, an everyday new
beginning.