Last night I had a sundae for dessert.
As I lifted off the bright red cherry from the whip cream
which was layered over chocolate sauce
which was layered over ice cream
I thought of the wood of a cherry tree
–wood that I worked with for a number of years
to make things that folks would buy:
especially boxes of different sizes and shapes.

I worked it along with walnut and oak and maple.

I also made spreaders that were made to be used with spreadable stuff like butter and peanut butter.
Oh yes, how I love to spread peanut butter!

That is one thing I can do even now  and I still have some spreaders made of cherry.

Though I cannot make those spreaders anymore
I can still  make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches which I really like better then eating cherries.     

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The bug bugged me at breakfast.
Though it left me
it did not leave my memory
and so at lunch time
my mind allowed for its return.

It flew back and though it wasn’t there it was.

At least it seemed to be although it could have been a bee that came near meat lunch time.

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Most mornings
my mind is working by 5 am
and most mornings I arise from bed
and twist a lot until my feet are on the floor.

If I stand and begin my day on my right foot
I am apt to be grateful — for the day, the past —
and everything my mind displays
so early in the day.

If I begin my day on my left foot
I’m apt to be a bit grouchy
and thankfulness eludes me for a time.

I think this rather strange
but I assume we all are strange
in one way or the other.

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In the dining hall there are three Janes.
Yes, three of them have the same name.
They bless where we eat
and mostly they’re sweet.
If I love them am I to blame?

Do you know that I like rhyming words?
Perhaps that is something you’ve heard.
It’s how I best play
as time passes away
although you may think it’s absurd.

I’m glad I co-habit with Merlie
though she never likes to get up early.
When the sun comes up shining
she may do some whining
but that’s only part of her story.

Later she’s ready to start living
and then she discards her beginning.
Her bad mood starts leaving
she starts in believing
that life is much more than its grieving

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Astronomers can tell us how fast light goes.

How they do this beats me.

I’ve checked into it and just  don’t understand it.

But I accept it as fact and go about my dailyness paying only heed that light travels 186,000 feet per second –faster than the speed of sound and faster than I used to jog.

I am more impressed when astronnomers tell usthat there are many whirling things out there in spacethat are ten and twenty and even more light-years away.

How in the world are they able to figure that out?

And that means that if there is any human intelligenceon some of those far away starsour earth light takes light-years to reach them.

Thus, what happens here today could be seenbut only years after it actually occurs.

So if I die today and there are fantastic telescopes on distant satallitesmy death will not register until light-years later.

I spend time pondering matters like those I’ve just mentioned even though television attempts to lure me awaywith the news in Washington. DC.

Posted in Poems | Comments Off on THE SPEED OF LIGHT


They started looking at me:
first one — then two, then three.
I began to feel self-conscious.
Was my hair all messed up?
Was the small scab on my forehead bleeding?
What had I done to get all this attention?
Self conscious, I looked back at the staring
and all I saw were intense faces.
I felt strange and uncomfortable.

Then suddenly I became aware.
They were not quite looking at me
but at something beyond the window
I was sitting in front of.
Relieved, I stood up and turned around
and saw this beautiful bird.
I had been but a blurr in their eyes.
They didn’t care a wit about me
and soon went back to deal
with the food before them.

And so did I.
Yes I did, but not without feeling different
than I had felt just moments before.
That bird had changed my heart beat
and the way I had held my fork.

Posted in Poems | Comments Off on A BLUR IN THEIR EYES


I saw the sun come up today —
a momentary piece of pleasure —
a treasure for my eyes.
But soon its early glowing
began to be displaced
by just an ordinary sky.
All my awe commenced to disappear
and I began to think about my day
and all the things that I must do
before the sun goes down.

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Those of us who are two
and have been so for many years
cannot help but think of being one —
though we wish to be denied
such bleak considerations
Those of us who are two
are frequently in touch
with those no longer such
and see them dealing fairly well —
or so it seems.
Why dwell with thoughts
that trigger fear
and smother happiness?
I do not know.
Perhaps you do.

Posted in Poems | Comments Off on THOSE OF US WHO ARE TWO


It is rumored that some honchos at Brookdale

would like its patrons to make Thanksgiving lists.

Perhaps we can create a few –

perhaps delineate a blessing or two.

Shall we turn to our I-Pads to accomplish this?

But some would ask: “What’s an I-Pad?”

They are those flat devices that hands can grasp

and they grasp the attention and devotion of their users.

How about a laptop?

That’s not what many seniors use these days

but here and there a few do.

Typwriters worked once upon a time –

at best are memories now.

How about a pencil or a pen and paper?

We can demonstrate our declining cursive

which we all learned to do years and years ago.

We may think a little now without using any ink.

We’ll recline in our recliners and seek a mode of gratefulness

or strive to do the same in wheelchairs.

Maybe the Brookdale barons will understand our gratefulness

no matter how displayed.

We only hope that our lists will be finished

before we are.

Posted in Poems | Comments Off on CREATING THANKSGIVING LISTS


I took on wearing the Navy blue
before the end of World War Two.

Not long after I became a seaman
the war ceased
and there was peace.

I was soon released from duty.

But my reaction to it all
was supreme satisfaction in my nation.

I did so little that I tend to belittle
my service to our great country.

But I did what was asked for
so I’ll not ignore being honored —
though I do not deserve the praise.

Posted in Poems | Comments Off on I AM A VETERAN