Autumn Thoughts

Fall is the too sweet smell
of overripe fruit littering the ground
And the muskiness of fallen leaves

Fall is the vibrant color rainbow
Of overcast days and fall hues
Splashed red and yellow

Fall is the crisp air promise
Of nature’s indecision
Wind and sun caressing rosy cheeks

Fall is the child’s anticipation
Of candy and pumpkin pie
And Christmas around the corner

Fall is a collection
Of sweet, vibrant memories
Drifting in the crisp wind

Sleeping In

At night while laying in my bed
I think about the day ahead,
And plan each thing I have to do
Before the coming day is through.
I set my clock to sound at eight
Sleep comes quickly and it feels great.
And in the night I often dream
Then sleep right through the first sun-beam.
And then my alarm clock will sing;
I hate to hear that sudden ring
And so it seems, I turn it off
Without a blink, or pause, or cough.
And when I finally awake
I catch my breath with sharp intake.
I’ve stayed in bed till half past ten,
It seems I’ve done it once again.
I think of last night’s to-do list
And items that I’ll have to miss,
A schedule can be hard to keep
When you spend all your time asleep.

In Flight

Independence comes with age
Children leave the nest as birds
no longer under parent’s words
freed from prison, and iron cage
With wings finally unfurled
Each turn of their new flight
Takes them to unreached height
In exploration of the world.

Yet youthful birds grow weak
Against strong winds they fight
Then they seek shelter in the nest
And when the world looks bleak
Children too will leave their heights
And in their parent’s shelter rest

Reflection

Placid, smooth at the surface
For a second before exploding
Into waves, crashing in the wind
Raindrops fall, at times soft
Or pounding, ripping tree leaves
Turning to hail that stings the skin
Or gentle snowflakes children
Catch on tongues and eyelashes

Something about water draws me
Holds my attention motionless
Watch, smell, listen. My senses
Constantly tuned-in to water’s station
Dancing rain thrills my soul
Joy wraps around me like
Water I immerse myself in
Substantial as life-saving air

Mirror like, it holds an image
Of emotions, of my soul
At times calm, lapping at the shores
Before the winds come turning
With an upheaval of waves
Moving quickly like the rainstorm
At times frightening, yet after,
The world is calm again, and clean

Fishing

Below the surface it comes closer
To turn away and flee
Or take the bait and bite.
Watch, waiting for the decision
Hopeful, fingers crossed
This could be the first bite.
Hours of waiting pay off
Finally it follows closer and bites.
Reel in quickly, it struggles
To free itself, and wins
Slips away, another lost
The next will struggle too
Plucked from the water
Finally escaping from hands
Struggling to keep hold
Few and far between
Those that don’t slip away
Become more precious
A meal worth the waiting

A poet understands the patience
Of the fisherman on a lake
Thoughts and ideas
Swim closer to the surface
Or disappear forever
Too often like the fish
Thoughts turn away from
Poems offered as bait
Before words can grasp them
Or slip away just as the poet
Puts pen to the paper
Then, after waiting long
Instead of tantalizing minds
Before wondering away,
One brilliant idea
Stays to become precious
In the hands of the poet
As the fish becomes a meal
The thought becomes a poem.

Turning the Tide

On a beach
The tide comes and goes
Cannot be stopped
The cause is known
No questions, no attempts
To stop the turning tide

Relationships
Are not like that
Unpredictable at times
The tide keeps coming in
Love simply grows
Stronger, creating tides
That will never turn

Other times
Without a warning
Love slips away
Perhaps to return
Or gone forever
A force you cannot fight
No chance to stop
The turning tide

Or maybe
Emotion comes back
Too much to handle
Not as love, as hate
Ripping at the shores
A hurricane, a tsunami
Impossible to fight
The overwhelming tide

Once before
Our tide turned
I tried with all my strength
To stop the turning, yet
Accomplished nothing
Now I fear the hurricane
And turn my back to run
From our turning tide

Garden Shed

Paint peels, reveals old layers
Inside, dark and dank
Smells of dead leaves,
Dust, dirt, and gasoline
Cobwebs hang over
Worn wooden handles
Rakes and garden spades
Holes in glove fingers

Past the dirty decay
Flowers bloom beautifully
In a garden that gives
Corn, tomatoes, squash
Watermelon, Cantaloupe
Meaning to life for
The old, tired gardener