JFK found poem

We are not here to curse the darkness,
but to light a candle that can guide us
through that darkness to a safe and sane future.
For the world is changing.
The old era is ending.
The old ways will not do.

~JFK 1960

Lost sight

I fairly lost sight 

of what matters

as pressure increased 

to do a job that most 

don't want 

Pitied, praised, or despised

not even sure if I 

would approve 

if not for time

in trenches

More rigor 

more depth

keep up with Nederland!

I spent three hours

in early morning

digging to see if rounding

to tens

could hold deeper meaning

 I fairly lost sight 

of what matters

rounding it seems

to tens 

is at best a simple thing

Reticent

gregarious you
the world your stage

me channeling observation
as if it were food

i wince
you don't

Beaches exist

New day, Beautiful

pianos are waiting

and I know that beaches exist

That could be loved

is out there - possibility 

and life is the gift

Dark pictures put away

freedom in thinking

not feeling the ache of mistake

New day, Beautiful

pianos are waiting

you know - beaches exist

Return

I have survived
shouldered your days
by minutes added
I sense 
the shadows telling
I have survived

The morning,
hearing the sounds
the reuniting
and promises kept
to a me
changed by degrees

You awakened
my struggle
from younger days
replaced the earnest
and unrelenting murmur

On Leave

Happiness - you're back

like a soldier on leave

please

stay

Your old friend calm
along with you too
don't
go

The both of you
together
again

It seems like
only yesterday

I miss your faces
when you're
away

Piece

Malcolm
You sat there with your picture
Crude drawing

Young boy
I thought I could save you

with words

We were worlds apart 

when you showed me what you prized
You with your lone illustration

All shared vacation dreams

Some wanted to take music
others, only family

An ice breaker

A classroom assignment

Just share your things

What would you take on vacation

What would you pack

if you might never come back

I asked if it was a gun

You said No

that ain't no gun

It's my Glock

We locked eyes - in my confusion

I remember


You would just take your gun
I asked 

My Glock - you corrected

No laughter from others
They knew you
I nodded and let it be

Malcolm 

You were the hardest of them all
I thought I could save you with my words

I heard from a friend
It went badly for you

Malcolm, I thought I could save you with words

Trigger

Sometimes
near the end of summer
light takes on a certain slant
If the moment is right
I'm taken by an old memory

I sense the air is golden-blue
The old house
on top of a slight hill
Paint fading
on the clapboard and filigree
An enormous tree spreading
shading the beautiful
time-worn place

I believe 
I've never been here
this place inside my mind
Although this peaceful scene
brings me quiet joy
I'm never quite certain why

Sometimes I think it might be heaven
A place to transition though
A waiting place of sorts perhaps
Others might call it
false-nostalgia
for lack of any better term

To best describe the feeling
I amalgamate two separate words
It might do to explain it as
nostalgic-deja vu
A longing to return
Where
I'm not quite sure

The story you wrote

I read it aloud
as the boys looked on
back where our roses used to grow

You wrote it, you said
as Disintegration played,
the candles for light, deadline looming

I spoke your words
from the depths of you
wondering if I was the guy with the calling

Twenty years gone by
I would read them all again
to the boys who may have grown into men

Warm road

Caught up in a sea of memory's fondness
Giving in to the pull of its sheltering calm
Those stars did look like ours for the taking
Our backs on that warm Carolina road

Dreamed wild thoughts as vertigo set in
Stood to walk on in those southern nights

Tempted by addiction to give us identity

These hallowed grounds, now sacred place

We stayed to see those hazy mornings

Settling our nerves for our chattering days

Paced out the empty mindedness - as happens

Captives and keepers upon our returning

Distance now measured by cesium's
 decay
Charmed implications of our own actions 

Balanced it all in our tenuous youth

Under dark of nights, heat of days

Lines

Beauty for motion

wind and wave longing

born of a French curve

and thoughtful eye
 

A dearth of right angles

the arcs made for pulling

in the border

between sea and sky
 

The sloop is a siren

and her song - the details

luring  

stow the anchor - untie

J.F.K's beloved 25' Wianno Senior VICTURA trapped in concrete

Known light

A long-ago day
sunlight through tree leaves
awake and aware
 
The feeling of a lifting
of oneness with something
my knowing
 
What needed to be known
in a moment of green light
through tree leaves
 
Closer to that something
many years ago