Wednesday, May 26, 2010
When I walked my black and yellow dogs,
After moving to the Island forest,
We were surrounded by new species,
Never seen , new life before us.
The most haunting and remembered,
Was the Winter Robin’s song;
Now heard while walking Oregon,
Alone, the Labradors, long gone.
My entire past is missing,
The changes show up everywhere…
My life is no longer familiar,
I read Willy Nelson’s cut his hair.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Retirement often opens doors,
Each discovery a newer chance…
To find unique successful interests,
Where we speak no more “I cant’s”.
Mornings, I park at the ocean,
Life swells in my focused glance…
Afternoons, much more pedestrian,
Enjoying Otis’ table-top tap dance.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Fogerty Creek flows iron red,
On its way to the ocean’s breeze,
Below the nests, past the rabbit’s bed;
Threading ribbons through eyes of trees.
Rose tints are cast on all one sees
Underwater and the clouds overhead…
Swells in a rainstorm, stops in a freeze,
Fogerty Creek flows iron red.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
I may have cut my life short,
By ten years, maybe twenty…
All those Smokey, booze filled years,
Filled my memory vaults, aplenty.
Vodka Tonics on the roof tops,
Dancing high above the city…
I mingled with the anonymous
The famous and the pretty.
Dj’s spinning lights and vinyl,
Beats per minute our quality…
Donna Summer filled our sails,
Dancing sailors, adrift at sea.
Valets parked our inhibitions,
Strobes led souls to the disco,
The days began at midnight;
We were alive in San Francisco.
We always made it home by dawn,
Chirping birds, hangover factors,
Two cups of Joe by six A.M.
Then back on horses and our tractors.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
A law degree, or heroin,
One soldier AWOL, or a vet…
The future’s often scripted,
By the best pal, last girlfriend met.
Some losers rise above their fate,
Success, the best revenge…
Some winners fail with success,
Snap under pressure, just unhinge
Dropping through the funnel,
Life screams the question why?
Some losers rise to rule the world?
Some saints doomed, first to die.
Charles, Woody, Paul (my father)
Three boys in Arizona
Waited to board the plane,
One was sheltered, one stole horses,
The orphan used our family name.
Little did they realize,
Flying over the Arizona plain,
One would die of whisky,
In self-inflicted pain.
One would be a gambler,
Beneath Las Vegas stars,
Dying broke supporting women,
Impressed with sporty cars.
One became a physicist,
Flying in planes around the world.
Leaving behind the other two boys,
Whose wings seldom were unfurled.