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Posts Tagged ‘experience’

An Argument With Me

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , on July 11, 2025| Leave a Comment »

An Argument with Me At 2AM

Overactive Subconscious mind, stop.

This is not a suggestion.

Me, I am talking to you.

Eyes close. Now.

Memory and imagination,

you can have the computer tomorrow.

Lay off the coffee and fears,

and I will do what you say.

It is time to sleep.

Know-it-all voice,

it is too late for abstinence.

Ask a storm to disassemble.

I cannot hear you.

You hear me fine.

Think about moments of joy.

Live them again.

Then breathe in and out,

out and in.

Smile. We’ll play again tomorrow.

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Fog, Sun, and Hope

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , on July 1, 2025| Leave a Comment »

“The worst form of injustice is pretended justice.” (Plato)

Fog, Sun, and Hope

Bare, black trees stand out inside a low cloud of fog.

Headlights hide the vehicles they lead

until they arrive close enough to be

seen by other drivers.

In political fogs, fact and factoid blur. Alternative facts,

lies that wear well-constructed masks. Fear wins.

Each lie repeats often enough to be used as a light beam for

followers. The mask asks folk to scoff at non-believers.

And the non-believers respond with taunts labeled as vague

stupidity, inconsistent logic. A no-win war.

In the natural world, sun, blue sky, and clouds reappear.

Sun hides behind the fog. As headlights point out need

can we carry hope and respond with an ear instead of censure?

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Asthma Story

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , on June 11, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Take a deep breath and let it all go. Oprah Winfrey

ASTHMA STORY

The word b-r-e-a-t-h needs
more than one syllable when an attack begins,
air struggling to flow in and out, a sudden drying, shallow water.

I think about free ocean waves
as a passage opens through my nose, out my mouth.
A new power. Whispers could move mountains.
The smallest birds embrace the sky. And I am grateful,

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Haibun for a Father

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , on May 14, 2025| Leave a Comment »

“Most people don’t grow up. Most people age. They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children, and call that maturity. What that is, is aging.”
― Maya Angelou

Haibun for a father

One quick kiss for your daughter and you and your new red walker head for the dining room where Sunday’s fried chicken and sweet potatoes wait. No cauliflower. You will watch to see how many residents leave their boiled vegetables on their plates, gifts for the garbage, your hatred for vegetables universalized. “No room at the table to chat,” you tell your daughter and son-in-law. “It’s okay to leave now.”

She wonders what thoughts you drag with each slow step. Your doctor doesn’t take long-term nursing home patients; his associate does, and he is on staff. Your daughter told you this less than an hour ago. You want to think of home as the place where you raised your kids, where you did your woodworking, and where you loved your wife.

But you knew, you’ve always known it is different now. You said you could sleep for 24 hours and never get enough rest.


Your daughter replays your words as if she could change them. She enters the key code to exit and pretends they are only lights and buttons.

One leaf falls on water
It will float across or break
into new parts like seeds.

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Birth, an Imagined Memory

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 5, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.

Mark Twain

BIRTH

Swollen, toxic, ignorant of motherhood,
you lie in your post-World War hospital bed,
and wonder if you’ve heard lies.
How can a newborn, untouched
by her life source, be fine?

You see, hear, touch, smell nothing but
bleached sheets and ward antiseptics.
The baby develops away from you
in a nursery. You return home. Without her,
cord leaked into your severed womb.

At home, baby grows fed on evaporated milk
and rules made of rules. Should-be’s without question.
The child reaches for you, to break the barrier,
but not until long after she delivers your grandson.

Does the touch feel real?
By then your weakness has led to the inevitable.

Your great-granddaughter finds your photo in an old album.
“That’s my mother,” your daughter says.
“You would have loved her.”
The chasm finally closes.
For no good reason at all.

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Dear Me

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 28, 2025| Leave a Comment »

“Once you choose hope, anything’s possible.” Christopher Reeve

Dear Me

Hey, let’s stop for a moment.

No need to hurry.
The wind isn’t blowing anywhere.
Except inside you.
Disorder magnifies chaos
when your memory revisits trauma.

One thought, one step at a time.
Savor the inside of your being.


Your coffee says it is perked and ready.
It wants to open your spirit.

Memories awaken whether you want
them to reappear or not.


No. You cannot roadblock fresh thoughts
because the subconscious can’t control itself
on the immediate level.
That comes with choice.

The next step.
We will get there.
It may take two Tylenol and
a few moments of rest.

Then again, it may take a moment away
with nature, art, or a close friend.
The next moment exists.

Look forward to it.

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Computer Argument

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , on April 21, 2025| Leave a Comment »

“A computer lets you make more mistakes faster than any other invention with the possible exceptions of handguns and Tequila.”
― Mitch Ratcliffe

Computer argument

Is it me or is it you, HP laptop?
Because we are not syncing this 5:49 AM.


We need to find a solution before
our disagreements lead to disaster.


My neighbor’s system must stop before
it touches our brick wall, thank you.
That name, labeling our working territory, isn’t mine.


At what age does a computer system reach senility?
Is your mechanical memory failing, like mine?


Can I help you in any way that technical
parts understand? Ah! You are responding.


I never knew you had pride like my fellow humans do.
Good job. Now, find a word that rhymes with orange.


See, I can be stubborn, too.

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Picking Clothes to Wear

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision. Helen Keller

Choosing Clothes to Wear to Help a Blind Woman

Why do I linger
in my familiar closet
as I match shirt and pants
for a visit to help a woman
who won’t see me?

A delay? Or
a wish to be more
than I am able to give.

One sigh and an answer
arrives. Be who you are.
Let the sense of fabric
on skin lose importance,

because my friend needs a ballot,
to fill in the blanks,
and sign with an X.

I witness her mark.
She smiles.
“I see the sun all the time,”
she answers, “On the inside.”

From her window I look, and observe
windblown branches swept into
a patch of darkness.

Next question.
Who is ministering
to whom?

written March, 2020

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Goosely Translated

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , on March 23, 2025| Leave a Comment »

People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves. Albert Camus

GOOSELY TRANSLATED

Two Canada geese
settle into an angled parking space
in a Wal-Mart lot.
They take turns
sharing shreds of bun
left in a torn red McDonald’s box.
One goose eats.
The other stands watch
for danger.

A car honks,
its sound louder than any
a goose could create.
The noise interrupts their feast.
Harsh and threatening
human voices follow.
The geese flee.

From their aerial perspective
the birds agree—
Excellent volume.
Lacks style.

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Peace: more than a 150 word Acrostic

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , on March 15, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Peace is its own reward. Mahatma Gandhi

Please, this is a request not to be limited by a form or definition. Let these words fit more than structure. Let someone, somewhere, speak and another listen. And the word pass along from…


ear to heart. If peace happens in the middle of a sentence, let there be no criticism that the form was imperfect. At night, if a dream…

appears, after too many hours of news, and your presence results in families fed because you offered them food even though you didn’t know their names, backgrounds, or addresses. You know nothing about them.

Come, waken. See the poor and the hungry in places five or six miles away. Open your pantry. Find what is excess for you, yet another tomorrow for a neighbor. We can become hope for tomorrow for them,


essential for change, a better world. Inside more than an acrostic of exactly 150 words.

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