ACCIDENTAL RENDEVIUS

My breakfast mate has no need to heed
the sun which begins to strike our eyes
as bacon and eggs are set before us.

I, on the other hand, am deeply moved
by the solar intervention into our meal.

He ignores the earth’s awakening
seen through windows that begin to suggest
that the night is gone —
that another day has arrived.

I cannot resist, but must mention
that another miracle is shining into our eyes.

Two men so different in so many ways
yet drawn by fate to share old age
in a place their children thought was right for them.

This accidental rendezvous occurred some time ago
and has grown into a morning habit
that is remarkably sustained.

Though they often wonder why.

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AN OLD MAN AND ASTRONOMY

I don’t recall when I first learned
that the world wasn’t flat.

I don’t recall if what I learned disturbed me some
for I also leaned that we went around the sun
and to me it sounded fun
to be traveling so fast yet to feel so still.

I learned all that stuff “way back when”.

It was enough to begin my studies in astronomy.
which in first grade, maybe, I learned about such things.

And that’s about as far as I ever got
unless I forget some other things
like about the Saturn rings —
and maybe a bit about the moon

And while I’ve concentrated on surviving
in this whirling world
some folks have come along with amazing “takes’
on the vastness of the sky.

I believe them just as I believed those folks
who told me long ago
about the shape of our planet
though I must confess I
don’t much understand it.

 

 

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DAY OF THE GIRL

I saw on the TV that today is:
THE INTERNATIONAL DAY OF THE GIRL.
Don’t know who decided that, but that’s OK.

It sounds impressive.
In my early school days
girls had long hair
and wore dresses and jump-roped.

Their ropes had handles and were long enough
to do what jump-ropers did.

They were likely very cute
but to me they were just girls who had their rope “thing”
while us boys played ball and sometimes watched the girls
jump and count and make up rhymes to fit their paces.

I don’t know why boys didn’t do that
but girls did and were sometimes impressive.

Maybe jump-roping is part of
this twenty-first century’s phenomena.

I’d like to suggest that to those who make DAYS

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A COUPLE OF WIRES

The other day when I saw some wires strung between polls

my mind, quite suddenly turned the wires into ropes

and continued the turning until before me was a clothesline

which stood at eve level and I was wrestling a large wet sheet over it

trying to secure it with clothespins which I sought in my pants’ pocket.

 

I suppose things like this happen to you.

At least I hope so. Otherwise life might be boring.

The adventures of the mind could led us to places we don’t wish to travel.

But for the most part, I expect most of us know how to deal with them

and travel back to a world that was and still is very ok and often pleasant.

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FINDING A POEM

Sometimes he must stretch –
must stand on tiptoes
as he seeks to find what he has found
so many times before: a poem —
because he knows that somewhere up there
there’s a residue of words
that he must get a hold of
and move them everywhere
until the sense he hoped to harness
yields to his many manipulations.

He’s been known to fail the find he seeks
and days and even weeks might pass
before his stretch might fetch some satisfaction.

He finds it difficult to wait
but wait he must and wait he will until –
until the gifts he seeks are found
and eventually are shared with some folks
who seem to care.

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THE ROCK

There is a rock in CT
on the edge of the Long Island Sound
that gets covered when the tide is up
and yields its water whenever the tide goes out.

It Is a great place from which kids jump and dive –
or at least it was back when I was one of them.

Memory allows me to claim
the feel of the rock beneath my feet
and the splash as I jumped into the water
and the gasp when at last the deed was done –
only to be done again.

Maybe what I did still happens.
I hope so

Russ Peery Oct. 2018

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ABOUT SALLY

The ten year old little Sally
one night in the early nineteen thirties
walked one mile at around nine pm
from a friends house back to her own –
did that in a small town darkened by sunset.

Sally’s brother, Bubby,’“the world’s greatest pest”
had been bad-mouthed by a classmate
who had invited her for a sleep-over.

“No one has the right to say such things.”

Only Sally was “allowed” to castigate
that little boy who lived
in the same house as she did.

Their love-hate ties eventually
grew to be a pleasurable sibling love
but way back then their Mom sometimes
despaired about the animosity between her two children.

On that particular dark night
the unexpected daughter sounds were welcomed
by parents quite surprised and wondering.

Explanations later shared were such
that even now that night occasionally stirs memories
too vivid to discard.

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I CAN’T IMAGINE

There are those days when I spend a lot of time
trying to imagine what my imagination can’t handle.

I can’t imagine how all of our galaxies were formed.

I can’t imagine how the world was formed.

I can’t imagine any life beyond death.

People much smarter than I
likely have better equipment for imagining.

I don’t imagine that – I know it to be so

I cannot imagine how the stand-off between
Judge Kavanaugh and Doctor Ford will turn out.

Opportunities to use our imaginations
come to us mortals from time to time.

Some folks handle them better than others.

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CONCERNING DYING

Most of mankind has died
but some of it remains alive
and a small portion thrives.

I, myself, have yet to die
and even though I’m still alive

I often wonder why
I do such wondering concerning dying.
There will come a time when I will cease
and though I do not wish to be deceased
there’s sure to be a welcomed peace
and surely I will find relief.

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THOUGHTS

I think about thoughts sometimes:
how we get them and how they leave us.

Mostly dependent upon our emotions and surroundings
our thoughts move in and out of our minds –
sometimes controllable and sometimes not.
I thought I’d write to you briefly about my
thoughts about thoughts
and thought how you might receive my thinking
without blinking.

I think you’ll think less of me
and you’ll forget me soon enough
if I continue writing stuff about
stuff I know so little about.

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