family


Ok, so it’s been over two years. Life is so mysterious. It swallows time whole with great gulps and never looks around. And thus my life has been. At 52, I’m wondering about 62. Anyone else at this point? I’m watching others and wonder how they’ll be at my age. Others are probably wondering the same thing about me no doubt.

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

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.

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

Here is a free Chapbook!

24 hours Chapbook

24 hours Chapbook

 

 

 

24-hours

Here is my book “Painting with Fingers” Free for everyone!  Please check it out!

 

 

painting-with-fingers

At this time,

my daughter hung by a thread

ready to be set free by knife.

 

I held her close

and her eyes said love.

 

Now,

Nineteen years later,

her eyes still say love

and only time distanced us.

 

Dave

Snow is falling

crisscrossing, circling

flying pieces.
We cheer them

while they fall

and we’re glass contained,

ah, yes, the ingrediants are great-

 

cup of rest

dash of fun

a project,

 

But those out

have far different views

each flake

a frosting preventing

profit.

 

 

Dave

26 Dec 08

Your scribbled notes

illegible numbers.

 

My notes,

penned in cursive

cursive love,

on glass.

 

Mine,

retained in place

Yours?

Scattered around

 

Somehow,

they spell marriage

 

Dave

On the last day,

sun heat, spring fragrance

will hit our faces,

I’m  safe in my studio

(Maybe)

and absently,

you’re watching

police shows,

a settlement of 30 years

maybe.

 

Friends will phone

and you’re talk of gold,

I’ll dispense life 

in small doses

since I’ve had mine

since I’ve used mine.

 

Thank  you for the reddish autumn

those blackbirds perching

and singing,

voices as they were,

my daughter bewildered by them

(at her age not now)

Now she has her own.

 

Last night

a coyote

left prints in tranquil curves,

looked for a moment,

went his way.

 

Dave

I’m so proud of my daughter!  Up to now,  her writing interests were in one area.  But last night, we read over her writing journal since she finished the school year.  She wrote poetry – Good poetry!  Wow,  it contained alliteration, metaphor, similie – all.  When I think back to my writing at 18, it was crap!  It was nothing but trope, predictable line, cliche, etc.  So, I’m very happy with her poems.  I’m hoping to encourage her even more.  Last night she tried writing Haiku.  She did pretty well.  They are more of a challenage!

What more could a Father want than to see his kids grow up and at least copy (and be better!) than he did.  That is part of what parenting is about – encouragement! My daughter wants to be an elementary school teacher (6th generation!) and she could write on the side.  I’ve read about many teachers, professors, educators that publish works in the evenings.  So, I’m excited and encouraged.  

Dave

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