Wednesday, April 5, 2017
How does one memorialize a friend,
Who has shared 5 decades of your days?
One who never criticized you, still
Adopting a few of your ways?
I’d love to erect a statue,
The world should remember her name,
Her optimistic world view,
Elan and kindness deserve the fame.
Those Lazy Boy recliner days,
The Dick Van Dyke hours spent…
Camping at Lake Winnemucca;
Memories that never will relent.
I realized this tremendous loss,
All boils down to this…
You were a vital cog in my existence,
That I will forever miss.
Sometimes life is the coffee cup,
Left forgotten on the car roof.
In minutes, you are miles away,
The missing cup, the only truth.
Our lives erode unnoticed,
Like river banks that wash away.
The currents are unrelenting,
Sand bags and faith, keep naught at bay.
On Christmas day, in ’95,
A seagull, lifeless in the snow,
Was laid before my fireplace,
In a box to thaw and grow.
I dreamed in error that morning,
Alive, flying about the room…
Was the rehabilitated seagull,
I had saved from winter’s doom.
Every day we harbor hope,
Life pencils draw an erasable line…
Like dances at the rest home’
Celebrating one last time.
Somedays we exhaust ourselves
Wondering just how we will die,
The truth is all that energy,
Needs to give tomorrow, one more try.
Often now, I compare myself,
To the dying seagull once again.
I’ve discovered in the game of life,
There is no mulligan.
I ran down stairs and alley ways,
Between the Berkeley streets,
On my way home to dinner;
The Parent’s “Intellectual meet and greets”.
We played in the Solano tunnel,
The trains forever now gone.
Smoked my first lit cigarette,
In Sproul Hall with my new friend Juan.
Juke boxes played Martha and the Vandalia’s
“Dancing in the Streets” …
The rhetoric was Free Speech,
Scripts plotted between the sheets.
I watched the Fairmont elevator
From the window in my bedroom…
Go up and down till two AM,
I always fell asleep too soon.
Years later, there was People’s Park
Riots exploding with peoples’ wrath…
I took shelter in Moe’s Book store
Discovering more Kerouac.
There was Ludwig in the fountain,
Another Campanile suicide…
I globbed on to free thought and music,
Celebrating that decade’s hell of a ride.
My open-minded point of view
Is my family’s gift to me…
My nonjudgmental parents,
Gave me permission to live free.