Whenever I write a little bit “down”
there are pleanty of people around
who want me to zip
and not to admit it.
“There is plenty of sadness around”.

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Welcome to June

He wanted to live a long time.

For some years that seemed to be fine.
But after awhile
his problems they piled
then he thought about changing his mind.

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When silence comes into my heart
and whatever sound intrudes
is faced with muting
I ponder my commencement —
(at least as far back as I can go)
wandering through various chapters
dealing with my THEN and NOW.

I face my failures some
but end with assurances
that I’ve been fortunate indeed.

Only seldom do I dwell long on darkness.
Rather I am prone to cope with hope
though I admit
I’ve flirted with self-pity.

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Hair Monitor

I have within me a hair monitor’
and you do, too.
They do not obey our wishes
but are obedient to our DNAs.
They deal with many places on our body:
the top pf our heads, our legs, our face, our groin,
and sometimes on our chests.

They determine our hairs quality
and its longevity.
Isn’t it amazing that each one of us
has sprouted hair in many places
and even though we’d prefer to control it
we can still marvel.

And….I’ve been told
that our hair still grows some
after we die.

In this busy and chaotic world
I sometimes count
the strangest blessings.

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When they asked me:
I was pleased to respond on a positive note.
I heard little spoken from the podium
but the children(grades one through five)
entertained me with their energy
that kept them wiggling and making funny faces.
I was not disappointed in doing grand father duties
and was glad I attended.
And after the ceremony we had a good lunch.

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In Praise of PT

I have lost the ability to ambulate
twice –
twice as my body has taken on the years.

Both times I came back
with help –
help from those who practice PT.

Their requirements
did not always please me–
but in the end
they knew what they were doing.

And I reaped rewards from their knowledge –
sometimes from folks
who could have been my grand children –
quite possibly my GREATS.

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I Sit Alone

I sit alone at breakfast
and watch the antique diners being served —
aware that I am one of them.
Our disabilities are flanked by walkers
and by wheel chairs
and here and there an aide.
Our task is to survive,
though if we have the mindset
we wonder why.

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May we not be sissies
when the contingencies
of old age strike us in our nineties
or eighties or seventies.

May we be tough old nuts
with a lot of guts
who arise off our butts
if we’ve had sufficient luck
to duck ambulating disabilities.

May 2018 offer us the possibility
to be touched by some poetry.

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Across the Bay would seem too far away
for me to travel were I to row its waters.
But my eyes can cross its waves quite swiftly
though my imagination is required for me
to see the many details denied by distance.
I’d like to think that someday I will go
and set my feet upon the place I often see.
But being more cautious than I used to be
I shrink from even easy explorations.
Far simpler is to tell my fingertips
to travel where there are possibilities.
Or I might go as far as taking elevators
to claim a distance that I might enjoy.

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I do not remember most of the Decembers
that traversed my mind with but a brief touch of time.

I yearn for those memories that have joined my lost histories.

I’ll never discover what I wish to recover
though I’m dazzled by this year’s celebrations
that I see everywhere.

Is this anyway to say MERRY CHRISTMAS, my friends?

But it’s what’s on my mind as I ponder some rhyme
and and am bedazzled by time.

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