I’ve said before I’m a twenty year old caught in a 52 year old body. That hasn’t changed. I still enjoy being a kid. Playing tennis with my daughter is fun. I’m not too bd for an old guy. But life is grand and fun.

I need to become motivated. My muse has sat dormant for so long. Any suggestions on getting it started would be so appreciated. I’ve love to hear from you!

Dave

http://raelenesearle.com

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

Strange.

And those wishing life?
Wish it for every thing
except newborns
(They don’t count)

What phase is this?
Will I awake on the
non-digital side?
See the slowing clock
light slowly turning red,
and wonder why
the edge of the universe
is so close
all along.

Maybe I’ll see it,
maybe that non-digital
is filtered different
and life really counts-
all life.

20 June 09

Some are eyelash soft
darting away in a hurry
others simply blink their eyes
and look at me-

coffee?
no coffee?
what’s the rush.

But regardless,
I’m waking
and tipping the coffins
of deceased plants
everywhere,
pulling their little bodies out
and dropping in my morgue bag

their last resting place
my trash.

What ever secret they knew
is gone now,
what ever whimper of sadness
their leaves might know
how water made them laugh
and wind whipped their children
loose to fly-

yes, it’s vague and strange
altogether
mixing this soil with
the sudden red blood
from my hand.

3 May 09

The ones dad yelled about
breaking,
chipping,
leaving out.

Yes, the same.

they know his hand
the way he held hammer’s head
and struck,
every curse for the blow
to tender thumb.

they heard them all.
The pliers tightened it jaws
and the level bubbled with joy.

Except it was me.

I kept them, yes,
in the garage,
next to the others.

They got to know them.
those smells and dry air.

And occasionally
I used them,

till my hands felt
the pressure,
same pain.

but they were never
relaxed,
never mine.

3 May 09