Feed Me!

They evoke in me a piquant
recollection of earlier times in
my life's progression as mother
then grandmother to impudent
and impetuous offspring
whose declarations never
strayed too far from 
oft-repeated plaints such as
"I'm hungry!", and "I'm bored!"
and the unforgettable defense
of "not my fault", all now
repeated daily albeit without
voice as two little creatures
make abundantly clear
those issues are fundamentally
of great universal import.

 

The Setting Sun

Each day that unfolds is like
none other before it or those yet
to come as each dawn breaks
the dark of the night. As this
day is now closing the portal
of the sky, where that fiery disk
of gases floats sending out its
plumes of fire, bids adieu while
the globe of the Earth turns its
cheek. There in the fall forest
where the days of autumn leaf
toward another winter, the
deciduous trees now bare host 
the golden, glaring sundown
leading to another day hence.

Young Love, True Love

They tried to tell us we're too young
too young to really be in love.
They say that love's a word
a word we've only heard
and can't begin to know
the meaning of ... And that song
accompanied us in our early youth
when we had just reached beyond
the second year of our teens
and no one believe that we loved
each other, and that a future not
shared would be no future. 
And yet we're not too young to know
this love will last as years may go.
And then some day they may recall
we were not too young at all ... But
now it is 60 years past the day
we were married still teens, and
no one is left to remember their
objections to our young love; the 
obstacles placed before us; all
gone, while we are still here, loving.

The Nursery

Above all, we are acutely aware
me and the nursery aide, that those
fragile orphans must have their
emotional needs met, to know they 
are loved, appreciated and wanted
in the alphabet nursery. To care
for them is a labour of love, a lifetime
devotion. Together, we find suitable
homes for these sensitive charges
where they secure a place for
themselves most suited to their
personalities. They return our love
and devotion by applying their
charming presence and the nuances
of meaning where they are placed
generously offering pleasure to all
who seek them out for their priceless
attributes of revelation, clarity
wisdom and humour, occasionally
lapsing into gravity when occasion
demands. Giving recognition where
it is due, the poet who has invested
endless time and passion along
with an acute admiration for those
orphan words made whole in
congenial company, offers sincere
homage to the nursemaid-muse. 

 

Weather Report

It is predictable since it is
after all December. What else
are we to expect other than
cold, wind, freezing rain or sleet
and snow? Haven't we been
through this before, one year
after another, all the years of our 
lives? It's a protracted seasonal
process, the graduation from
fall to winter, with nature
throwing in all her little tricks.
Today's surprise was setting out
in a cold, steady rain adequately
garbed for water-proofing
then suddenly a parting of 
dark clouds invited the sun
to add its pennyworth and the
wooded trek became brilliantly
illuminated. So we tramped
about the brightly sodden arras. 

 

Grey Rainfog

It is a grudging kind of quasi-
daylight that filters through a sky
crowded with dark clouds and
emits an arcane sense of foreboding.
These are the quiet environs
of a late fall forest where only
the immature ironwood and the
beech yet bear faint vestiges of foliage,
grey and papery. Freezing rain 
has painted tree trunks in shades
of black and grey. Ferns and yews
yet green the forest floor, and
the red wands of dogwood relieve
the grey and black monotone. 
Grey and opaque the mist that
hovers in the distance rising above
the clay banks of the forest creek
to the tapered tops of fir and spruce.
All is still but for a woodpecker
hunt-and-pecking the lichen-
shrouded bark of a dying ash.

 

The Delusional Ego

Amazing how people age. It's very
nice to come across those once
familiar with a stab of recognition
though much time has passed and
you might have walked right by
had it not happened they or you
made the connection, memory
triggered by an overheard voice or
the way someone carries themselves 
or some distinguishing characteristic
that forms our individuality. The
shock of surprise, the animated
conversation as you pick up the
thread of friendship reminiscing 
and catching up, chiding one another
for the inexplicable gap, while
discussing updates on family and
work, health and travel. Then the
deplorable state of world affairs.
Compliments are passed as human
affection warms to the other, for
at no time would we confess the 
shock we feel at witnessing how
our friend has succumbed to the
unfortunate hallmarks of aging.
Hard not to view them pityingly,
smug in the satisfaction that our
own genetic inheritance has
favoured us so well and unlike our
friend we have remained trim,
unbowed and unwrinkled, mentally
aware and cerebrally sharp. Sad,
so very sad they have not.