Dying in the Digital Age?

How does one die in the digital age?
Does their game card start to fail,
Daily decreasing operating speeds,
As the color screen starts to pale?

A few quit before the guarantee,
Some I am sure died of “User error”
Or died because they never defragged,
Over worked with improper care.

Or is it the memory reaching max,
Incapable of one more bit?
I bet it’s quite often the hard drive,
Deciding simply to quit!

A Bottle Cap on the Straight

This afternoon from my bedroom window,
I gazed out upon the now still
Blue water of Penn Cove.

The view constantly changes; often in minutes,
Turning from black mirror to silver whitecaps
Obeying the strict cruel wind of the Straight,,,

The Straight of Juan De Fuca. I greet each morning
With thrown back covers, anticipating and predicting
My day by this house and myself still standing,

In defiance of time and weather. .. and time.

One third of my life has involved this view,
Though my beloved window is becoming a mirror.
It reflects all my life so far on the cove, in realities

Both harsh and as calm as the unpredictable water,
Sometimes reflecting and laying bare, my memories,
Like the bottle cap forgotten by the pavers,

Melting now for fifty years into the asphalt,
And granted fifty more by the county
Declaring the street private and no longer theirs.

The Straight of Juan De Fuca, I greet each morning
In defiance of time and weather. .. and time.
I am a bottle cap…

And becoming a part of the road.

Hatched

I woke up one day in grammar school,

Shot like a rocket, into the sky,

Fourth grade was polio and Indians;

Sixth, I learned how airplanes fly.

I sadly learned in 7^th grade,

Some presidents unfairly die,

Eighth grade introduced the Beatles,

My ninth grade friends were getting high.

Martin Luther died my sophomore year,

Bobby Kennedy , was shot too…

My musical heroes started dying,

The carnage seemed far from through.

Farm workers united in my Junior year,

Integration laws brought forced bussing,

I couldn’t fathom one more injustice

Without anger and heartfelt cussing.

My senior year,  the Vietnam War,

 We burnt our bras and draft cards,

The hippie movement was coming on,

Status quos broke away as chards.

My college began with a man on the moon,

A student at Kent State was shot…

The draft was now a lottery draw,

Hell is what the low numbers got.

We questioned all our parent’s thoughts,

We even doubted god and heaven…

One by one more heroes fell,

At the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

Shell-shocked and on the safe side,

I dropped out for fifteen years,

Living the dream on a ramshackle farm

Hunting  incubator parts at Sears.

Forty years later this old man,

Finally gave the incubator away…

Now witnessing a bright young man,

Hatching pheasants and quail today.

Night Dreams

I heard the banjo in the breeze

Wafting gently on the Tennessee wind…

Crickets played the rye grass harps,

I dreamed of moving south again.

Sometimes I hear a Chinese gong,

Keeping rhythm in Kowloon…

Last night a skate blade cutting ice,

Split a frozen lake in Saskatoon.

These dreams occur more often now,

As the expiration dates draw near…

How would my life be different,

Had I settled anywhere but here?

The farmhouse in the San Joaquin,

Still the dream I miss the most…

The one reality I gave up,

While migrating towards the coast.

I miss those glorious yesterdays,

My incredible golden past…

Yet my life on the cliff on Penn Cove,

Is a true glory that also won’t last.

Past the 70's Into the 70's

The 60’s were rebellious years,

Questioning how I was raised…

Driving drunk, through mail boxes,

Awaking lost, but still unphased.

The 70’s were enlightened years,

I was incredibly young and hip…

We crowded around the piano,

My ashtray, the Guacamole dip.

The 80’s were the “first class” years,

Art galleries with a full wine glass…

High bidder I won the center piece,

Sliding home on my drunken  ass.

The 90’s were productive years,

Good jobs, and a paid off home…

Best dogs, bad relationships,

I found myself happy and alone.

Looking back in this new century,

I am amazed I lived this long;

How everything turned out so right,

In spite of everything done wrong.  

Estate in Time

I bought this house, a youthful dream,

Remodeling with care, room by room…

One board at a time, well over my head,

I could barely afford a broom.

I never thought a ten room house,

Let alone on a private beach,

Would be a part of my future,

A project well beyond my reach.

I gambled and won.

After twenty years of sailboat races,

Ducking and waving at float planes

Walking three generations of dogs,

I sit on the precipice of change.

The rooms all need repainting,

The Iron filigree’s turned to rust…

The furnishings now have value,

Although covered with memories and dust.  

When does one liquidate an estate?

Or try surviving another charmed ten?

I have decided to get out the vacuum,

And perhaps paint each room once again.

The Crow Knows

The shortest distance between two points,

Is a straight, unwavering line…

A theory related to travel,

Can now be applied to time.

I frequently moved in my early years,

Avoiding commitments and family ties…

Finding the one time I settled down,

Trapped and aging; now time flies.

The crows leave this place in the winter,

Zigzagging south again, to warm weather…

Reminding me of my dismal straight line, 
Dropping one mocking black wing feather.