Turning 50

Fifty – it’s sounds old. It sounds middle aged – middle aged? Like knights of old? Armor?

Well, I turned 50 today.   And I wonder as I look out with dimished eyes how this will change my outlook.  Will I have a different view of life?  How do you feel about life?

Dave

 

Neighborhoods

It’s like 80 on the free-way,
watching the life blur
agglomoration of houses,
havens and yards,

Somewhere,
marriages split,
water runs
gardens wilt
and slow drip
of gas
tastes water

Somewhere,
teens taste
love’s first bite
behind
the broken tractor.

Smallness
only appears
small
at this speed.

15 July 09

 

Approaching 50, The mathematics of it all.

Yes,  I’m approaching 50 and the math overwhelms me.  Half-century sounds old – maybe by it’s nature, maybe by words.  We associate century with old things.   We speak of antigues in this manner. It’s a half-century old brings oohs and ahhs from a crowd.  But not from people.  A half-century person is just an old guy. Where’s the value in that piece of information?  Just like the mist ghosting around the river, it’s here and gone and who cares?  We might acknowledge it briefly, even walk its trails in wonder but then it passes.  Ho-hum, it’s gone. 

But as my birthday approaches (at approximately 8:48am my mother reminds me.)  I think about the last century.  The minutes clicking away and moments disappearing one thought comes to mind.  It’s the same thought I onced asked my boss.  I asked the so-what question.  What impact have I made?  Did you receive your money’s worth?   At work, it’s easy to answer (Or easier) because I can point to various documents, detachments, assessments, etc, that I’ve been privy to.  Never mind the scores of mindless minutes I’ve attended.  But here, here at the end of 50 years, what really do I have?   My daughter is grown. I’ve tried to impart the best to her.  What have I taught her?  Is she ready to be an adult?  Maybe a bigger question (Or better)  could I had really changed her.  She will have to discover her own path as I did.  I must make that way clear for her – some how.   Yes,  I have the same wish – that I had this wisdom at twenty. But what would be twenty without the will, the ability to make those mistakes.   That is what the age is all about- the exploring is what life is about – (I’m convincing myself at this point, aren’t I?)     So, there is one question left, right?

What does the next twenty or thirty years bring?  If I have that long.  There are no guarantees.  I could barely finish this missive and pass on.  Will I do better or will I continue waste time and act like an errant school boy on dirty dog summer days?   I still feel like that boy.  I really do.

 

July 4th!!!

 

Future?

Where is my world going? As I watch the traditions disappear, honorable things turn to dishonor. It scares me.   The economy is collasping,  everything is being re-defined.   Racism has increased, not decreased.    Truth is suppressed. (Reference EPA suppressing the Global warming data.)  We’re become what we were never supposed to be.  Freedom has died in a vote – cheered and rallied.   As it was said in the Star Wars Movie.  Freedom has died among thunderous applause!

 

Which Ward Please?

It’s a strange start,
a sleeping person
turned ill

then the transformation.
My name to Doctor
my time gone,
my house a ward.

I’m wanted with water,
soup,
paper,

and it goes on.
Chores still needed,
life goes on,

and the hospital
repeats.

 

Truce

It’s been 10 years.
Maybe at 50,
we can draw the line
decide oil and water
and give in.

Maybe not.

I can’t take pleasure
in shimmering water,

It’s glow,
the way the sun glints
and mirrors,
the naked masts like
winter trees.

They just remind me
of what?

Heck, I don’t remember
the argument
Do you?

Seagulls plunge at the sea,
those last scraps left.

I sure can’t find them.

I have nothing to anchor to.
No piece of earth to tie off,
nothing.

I’m the guy at 50
wondering what happened.

Why swimming is forbidden
and I have expect
to see a warning sign.

 

Thinking in Lengths

I’m not sure what to do with time
that odd fluid thing
that floats by,

that tempts and stretches
Distorts and reminds.

Is it possible?
I die,
I’ll meet my uncle there.
and he’ll say,
he just arrived!

Or is it some strange
physical ruler
a Planck’s length
I can’t divide,

Invented on purpose,
to keep our brains from bursting?

27 June 09

 

Photos

That was me,

the one they show in the video

falling at Normandy

right into the surf.

Each time you see it,

You wonder.

Whoes son was that?
Whoes father, brother?

And we go by it.

A portrait of death.

I can’t bring him back

I can make breath

fill him again.

That portrait

is the door hanger

at the death gate.

Here it here,

ring and enter

where faces end,

where humor ceases

the blest leave

And belief?

Well, we could hope

make a wager

no matter how meager

that he would have some share,

Who knows? Who knows?

But that photo war ghost

plays over and over,

the waves washing the body

the gate and the door

living among ruins.

27 June 09

 

Greeting the Morning

When I walked this morning,

you slept.

I brushed wild flower skirts

played with their hair-

greeting the morning sky,

 

You pulled the covers closer.

 

I watched the busy bees

sweep the golden tops

looking for treasure,

 

Cheering them onward

snapping photos,

 

You rolled over again.

 

I felt the soft earth,

buzz of the mosquitos

looking for a quick drink

 

Walking slowly.

When I returned

smiling,  relaxed,

You didn’t know I was gone.

 

27 June 09