Aging

In the home where I grew up A porcelain monk lived on the kitchen counter Belly full of cookies Admonishing us not to steal Back when the house was full of sneaky fingers   I saw him enter the kitchen one day 30 years ago Something clearly wrong Part of him had vanished Struggling for the words To tell me that my grandpa was gone His father The pastor The preacher Thou Shalt Not Steal...

There was a song my father sang Not really a song at all Just a rhythm of syllables Rising and falling With every step And a pause with Every breath   There were never any words Neither for the song itself Nor for the way It brings me home   It would often be sung Out in the wilderness Surrounded by wonders Sometimes emerging From an ice cold pool Formed by a beaver dam In...

You always had a way with words Man, you could ramble a story Like Johnny Appleseed across an entire conversation Quips loaded like hippies into hatchbacks Looking for a place to crash With eyes full of wonder One thing you knew The Truth is not a “What” But a “Who”   We go back lifetimes And then some But never all that close Until we shared beers on the deck under a hot sun And...

It’s the end of the west It’s the setting sun It’s a train-wreck that’s only just begun   It’s a crowded bar It’s the law of the land It’s illicit activities obscured by hot sand   It’s a war at sea It’s the first shots fired It’s victory in sight, though not the one desired   It’s a shift in the wind It’s an outgoing tide It’s the last man standing as the captain died...

While it is day And the hope of the next ride The twists and turns The loops and whips The next unexpected plunge Or just the gentle fragrance Of deep-fried-sugar-chicken-oreo- bacon-funnel-cake Still beckons us onward To the longest of lines For the shortest of rides And the best of the worst of the very best worst foods As long as these simple hopes Remain firmly enthroned Inside the enchanted castle No child Ever wants to...

The word that I am Was first spoken fifty years ago To this very day And when I entered the kitchen this morning Groggy from all those years of stumbling through life My wife greeted me With a truthful embrace And with a loving smile And asked if I felt older today Or if anything felt different at all Just like one would ask a young child And immediately I blurted out without thinking  ...

A day like any other They all end this way A flash of brilliant light The golden hour Becomes the golden years   And we look back on the day And all that we’ve done Reading the stories of our lives Words and letters Cut from different periodicals From newspaper advertisements And waiting room magazines Like a television ransom note Sent by an anonymous psychopath In hopes of blackmailing the publisher Into printing just one...