The Final Poem

Thirty years after selling the farm

I still missed where my home had been…

I ached for my horse, the fields, the view,

A chance to hold my own dirt again.

I dulled the steady trauma of change

With a thousand bottles of wine…

New jobs, new houses and friendships

So many life changes in that time.

I discovered today for the first time

Young kids have lassoed my dreams…

Their futures are open to gambles and chance,

Mine sewn shut, with permanent seams.

Today,  I also woke up to see,

Where I landed and rarely toil…

Is smack in the middle of paradise

The dirt in my hands, my soil.

I don’t care after my passing,

Becoming a life that time forgot…

But request the keeper of this blog,

Move this poem to the top.

After Nora Ephron

Life won’t be easy without Nora

Now alone with my turkey neck…

Sharing anger while also writing off

Aging with a “What the heck”!

Every wrinkle on her face,

Each mirror's reflection, a rejection…

Time shortening upon inspection;

Past regrets with introspection.

She made us laugh when younger,

Mocking our trials in early years…

Then aging with brutal honesty

Exposing ill health, death, our fears.

Life continues on this spring day,

Bird’s nests, flowers, heifers calving…

But tomorrow at the restaurant,

I won’t order what “She’s having”.

On Fire

My fingers held a cigarette;

Each phone call, drink and ride…

Floated on a cloud of smoke,

My magic carpet sucked inside.

So many years I postured,

Strutting coolness, all uptown…

In retrospect I was so lucky,

My hotness didn’t burn me down.

Tammy Had a Famous Sister

                                                              (Not Tammy but close)

Tammy Baxter had two parents,

Vivien Baxter and Mr. Comeaux.

She was a snow white German Shepherd,

An undiscovered “Best of Show”.

Tammy’s human sister,

Lived under a different name.

Her talents freshly discovered;

While nearing world-wide acclaim.

Tammy’s family lived in Stockton,

The most humble human beings,

Mr. Comeaux holding down the fort,

While mom sailed with Merchant Marines.

Tammy, famous for her tail wag,

Mr. Comeaux,  for his kind grin…

Vivien, privately proud of her daughter,

Walked so tall in her own skin. 

Tammy’s mom traveled the world,

Strange ports, fauna and flora…

Who made me see as a high school kid,

My first person cloaked within an aura.

Tammy’s mother's named in tell all books:

Was maybe neglectful at one time.

For some the beginning ain’t easy,

To me she aged like the finest wine.

Cummerbunds and Boxer Buns

I see a poem in everything,

Each vision a mark of time…

My failure pulling weeds this spring,

A moment in life, all mine.

Deferred maintenance signals aging,

Misfiled papers, red flag change…

The ranks of friends and memories,

Scramble as their values rearrange.

Otis stretches in the morning,

His butt reaching for the sky…

An important daily ritual

Dulling my own, in my own eye.

Tuxedos and red cummerbunds;

Some rites esteemed perhaps too long…

Compared to smiles, friends and spider webs

A breeze and one canary’s song. 

Every moment is a snapshot

Bee stings, sunsets, kids and birds...

The human need for acknowledgement

Struggles daily to find the words.

 

Stockton Cruisers

When cruising Pacific Avenue,

It was all about the cars…

Sedans, the flags of spoiled children;

Convertibles, the cause of social scars.

The driver’s dads were doctors,

They had in ground swimming pools…

The passengers, along for the ride,

Turned backseat, jealous fools.

Some drove Volkswagen buses,

To their own geodesic domes.

The passengers fought for a Mercedes,

Obsessed with buying our parent’s homes.

Some are rich, while a few are poor,

The pedestrians turned out well…

Those who envied our parent’s lives,

Preserved their houses and stagnate hell.

Oregon Postscript

Coasting down the mountain spines,

Through the vales of dragon’s breath,

I am under a sky of black vultures

Each eying the coast for death.

Raindrops marching on the road,

Stop often, for each ray of sun;

I have reached the town of Newport,

The reunion with Oregon… begun.

My first stop is Whole Grain Sourdough,

The next hike is to Otis’ beach.

I’ll finally stop at the trailer park,

Nirvana, is still within reach.