Foothills

My thoughts sometimes, revisit the past,

A major hazard of living alone.

I live on the cusp of beauty,

Yet my mind finds its way back home. 

So many head for the mountains
Just to share the foothill view…

Not knowing they were looking upon

Rich histories they never knew.

Green winters and brown summers,

It was always a beautiful land;

To those escaping the city,

And finding gold with an old tin pan.

Do bullfrogs still serenade at night

Along with crickets under the stars?

I wonder if tarantulas cross the road,

Intimidating the passing cars?

Do children still walk the riverbanks

To try out their fishing poles?

Do camera buffs  on carved rocks know,

They stand on Miwok grinding holes?

I wonder if you still chase trucks,

Wildflowers in your hand to give;

Confessing your love forever,

To the drivers, wherever they live?

The End of Summer

Summer flees on the feathers

Of Geese escaping approaching cold…

Followed closely by campers and boats,

Along with their owners, young and old.

Each year as they are leaving,

I know they’ll miss the annual birth…

As winter frosts and sun create,

The most beautiful isle on earth.

I leave tomorrow on a float plane;

Shorts and wine in my knapsack.

When dawn repaints Mercurochrome skies,

I‘ll be on the first flight back.

Maybe Tomorrow/Global Warning

 

Aren’t we all at the edge of the cliff,

Husbands, wives, sons and daughters…

Tanning by an empty pool,

On the table, a pitcher, no water.

 

Resting before the tornado,

A rare calm before the storm…

We reminisce about iced tea

When good weather was the norm.

 

Now we mark a pleasant day

As “Safe” in our modern compound

Hungry and drinking still warm piss

In our shelter underground.

 

Reflections

I sometimes spend entire nights

Writing poems about my youth

Trying to discover who I am;

Sorting big lies from little truth.

I split me into chapters,

My locations into miles;

My positive experiences...

The painful, in separate files.

I focus on the failures,

Leaving my legacy diminished…

I remind myself to go to bed,

Every life ends quite unfinished.

Eons

A lifespan is a millisecond,

Compared to the universe…

There is no eternity in a head stone,

Or being named in poetic verse.

Men will build skyscrapers,

Tame and subdivide the land…

Falling prey to time and orbits,

When no songs play…

or buildings stand.