Tag Archives: Age

Measuring in Decades

 

The older I get

The more time me stretches out behind me

Once I measured my life in weeks

Now I measure in decades.

That milestone, ten years ago

This one fifteen.

I once lived a whole lifetime in fifteen years.

Now I’ve lived two.

Time is a funny thing

It starts out slow

And if you’re not careful

It picks up speed

Like a freight train

Before you know it

You run out of track

So put on the brakes.

Breathe

Savor

And measure

This living moment

In seconds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Bur Oak

 

Sorry I haven’t been too responsive lately. Things have gotten busy!

 


 

Today two friends and I cycled out to the Bur Oak

Locally celebrated as the oldest tree around.

We rested in its shade

Picnicked

Painted.

A frail old man with a cane arrived

Guided by a woman and a little boy.

It was evident his family adored him.

They spoke eagerly about what to show him next.

The old man saw my friend painting and was pleased.

He had gone to art school.

He was very honorable, soft spoken, knowledgeable and kind.

After they left,

Three carfuls of Chinese students showed up.

Amidst the clamor one of them said, without irony,

“It’s so peaceful!”

We got to talking.

Before we knew it

A beautiful slight thirty something woman

Was leading us all in a Tai Chi exercise.

She taught us Chinese words as we followed her movements.

Four motorcyclists arrived

In matching Harley Davidson jackets.

They found a spot amongst the roots

And made brash, cheerful gossip.

 

Of these very different people

Every one was here to see the tree.

Some casually leaned against it.

Some circled it.

Some squealed for a picture with it.

Some hugged it.

Some climbed among its roots.

Some solemnly sat and revered it.

 

How many people

Has this tree seen come and go?

What does time even mean

To something so ancient?

For most of its life

It had little significance

Growing up among peers.

Time passed

And all the trees around it fell.

Why did it remain standing?

A farmer’s passing fancy?

A fluke?

Or did it have value even then to someone

Beyond all other trees?

 

Now it takes our human adoration

Our traffic

Our abuse

All our attentions, for better or worse

And still it stands

Breathes

Drinks

Takes sun

Makes acorns

Towers.

 

Trees know something we don’t know.

We play at their ankles like children

Drawn to what they have

But never understanding why.

 

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Bison Woman

I don’t usually post on Saturday but I don’t want to leave that mopey shit up all weekend.

Here is something I wrote long before the blog was born. It’s the weirdest thing, I still love it.

 


 

 

No Martha

Don’t you tell me what to do

I have enough problems already.

Go to bed

And give me your dentures

‘Cause last night you bit me

And it’s bad to sleep with them in.

 

Take me to another world

A dream

Where everything smells better

And I can jump

Like a gazelle

Do gazelles jump?

They bound

I could bound like one

I could bound through a grassy savanna

Away from the tigers

Away from the bison

Away from you

You disgusting bison woman

Give me your teeth goddamnit

Why are you fighting me on this

It’s like you want to bite me.

 

I don’t know.

This isn’t how I’d imagined marriage

Maybe next life

I’ll come back

As something asexual

A self pollinator or cloner would be nice

Reproduction

Is not worth

This battle.

 

Bison woman

I think I love you

But I wanna know for sure

Come on and hold me tight…

 

…YES I got the teeth!

Sweet victory!

Sweet, sweet victory

Sweet dreams

I don’t know

Her teeth

Even when in my hand

Are so strong and square and darkly toned

They intimidate me

Ruminant teeth

Why would the dentist

Choose such a color

I guess he knew what matched her best

It’s more an art than a science

Like much of life

Like marriage

Sometimes brown is as close to white

As you can accept

And that’s not very close to white at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Frogs and Wrinkles

I spent some time at the Ozarks this weekend. Two poems happened. 



The warm evening air
Gently carries the song
Of a hundred happy frogs
Over the water.

The people are out too,
Talking to each other on their porches.
Their voices different
But they sing the same tune.

 

And this little haiku:

 

Time presses wrinkles

Earned remnants of smiles or frowns

Thumbprint of a soul