Not right to stay away so long. No poems

Words escape me. Lost in wonder I can’t believe
No measure, just Pleasure. Sight.
Rapture. Speech redundant.

Contrast and Compare
Underline. BOLD. Italic.
Nine months since I have been
Reborn. Visual.

There just aren’t words. Yet.
Massive. Too amazing to describe.
So many words, thoughts
No real clarity. I ponder

Petty tyrants – who cares? They can’t compete.
LOGIC – Old friend, keeps telling me.
While I grope for understanding in the dark
Stumble over barricades and search my soul.

Unafraid, like a flower. Open to the future.
Accepting of the past. Of the moment.
NOW. Time to see Essence.
Let go. Breathe in and out. Visualize.


Its funny how
Strings of letters
Holding thoughts
Are so strong

They can tear
And they can heal
They can turn your soul
Around and hold
A mirror for your mind

Show you what you missed
In the others
Then like Narcissus you’ll want
To sit all day
Gazing with your ears

Just to hear
Softly uttered
Close your eyes
And listen up.

The real mirror resides
Within the heart
The reflection you hear
Is the only one
That counts.

And words are strong
Embrace them
Use them as a shield
Protection against
Word villains

The hardest kind
To fight
Attack in the dark
Find the chink in your armor
And let fly

Those arrows find their mark
So let these words
Soothe those wounds
Mend the breaks
Make you whole

I give these words
Letters on strings
Holding thoughts
Wear them


My cat shows his love
in ways I’d rather not
Feathers clinging to his chin
The latest grounded specimen
waits for me
a token of affection
I could live without
Feline offering
the hunter returns
He has earned his keep
Reassures me with his countenance
Rubs cheek against me
body follows, as if to say
Do not be afraid
I will watch over you
Winks one round green eye
and smiles.


You always made it hard
To show my heart.
Normal ways did not suffice
Too obvious, perhaps.
Subtleties you sought, finesse
Requiring thought.
These you cherished.

You always pierced the soul of me
Divined the truth.
with well-chosen words
Could rock my foundations.
Change my course, redirect
the emphasis.
Leave me awed.

You always set examples
For those with feet of clay
or human frailties.
I always thought you
Ten feet tall.

You always let me know
Your hopes and expectations.
Nothing less from me.
Apples and trees
Trees and apples.
Never far

You always let me know
That you believed in me
No matter what
And I so small
So Proud to be
Your Apple.

April 1992

Its a funny thing about towns
Manicured lawns, tasteful homes
Family Life — the whole picture
Seems, well, Perfect;

Funny thing about perfect pictures,
Breugel knew, and left in
The things others covered,
with shrubs, or such;

From a distance, you’d never see
The ones in the corners —
On public days;
They set examples, moralize…

On Manners, Style and, of course, The Arts;
Especially the Gentle.
Kindness, Compassion, Mothering, and…don’t forget – Friendship.

Fascinating, to be sure.
Understanding from whence the motivation,
That’s the delectable part.
Tattlers, Fit-throwers, Goody two-shoes, Bullies..

Can you tell?
Looking closely, its clear.
They haven’t REALLY changed –
Aging doesn’t count;

Like Peter, they didn’t want to;
They couldn’t help growing OLDER,
But, closing their eyes,
Repeat, trance-like, “Never-Never”.

The Land of their Dreams.
And their mornings rise –
Golden; Picture-Perfect;
Filled with shrubbery.


Though many folks I’ve known, a few
Had things to say I’ve listened to
That struck a chord deep in my heart
That wasn’t flat and wasn’t sharp
But mellow, rising, joyful, rang…
Until in spite of ME I sang

I’ve learned the song, its called BELIEF
and helps when feeling doubt, or grief
Or sadness for what cannot be
the inner pictures none can see
It aids Hope’s growth to find a form…
Reality enters to perform

The secret play you’ve written down
On cobwebbed scraps the brain has found
From time to time to store the scene
The Master’s changes have not been
Included here – he plans to throw…
An Unexpected Curve, you know?

To test the skill and strength of those
Whose heads were blessed with gifts bestowed
The Favored Few – a sorry lot
For no one understands they’ve got
Strong legs their steeper hill to climb…
The view, on top, must be sublime

The sight, reserved for just a few
is doubted by the others who
Will never reach the summit there
And don’t believe, or do not care
Look not where beauty might be found…
Their ears are filled with other sounds

They shake their heads, they mill and throng
And never hear the pipers song
In their unseeing, find they bliss
A feeling that I must have missed
When standing in the hand-out line…
I’ve no regrets, it suits me fine

There will be roads that I must take
To understand what’s real – what’s fake
To seek the truth, the cost is dear
The way is far, I mustn’t fear
The pay is low, the hours long…
I thank the Teacher for the Song.


The salad days of my career
As your Baby reappear
When pumpkin patches dot the land
In your bathroom, small, I stand

There is a box I firmly hold
All the colors, wrapped in gold
you pick them out and put them on
More and more till I am gone

And in my place, the mirror tells
A painted little kitty dwells
The wildest one that’s e’er been seen
A psychedelic kitty queen

Another time I dreamed I’d be
Something different, new, like me
A mailbox? Help me! How’s it done?
Matter’s not, she wants the sun

A saner father would have said
That’s very nice, but what instead?
A fairy princess?, Glamour Queen?
But no, not you, you dug my scene

Took cardboard, staples and a knife
Imagination – gave it life
Had it painted, stenciled, too.
And on that note, the mail went through

It’s all your fault, but how can I
Go to the store, take the easy route, buy
Something that’s made for anyone’s Tommy
My kids are different, ‘cuz I’m their Mommy

And I know for a fact that some things are worth
The time and the trouble of moving the earth
To share a dream, to make it real
To show them what it is I feel.


Remember my childhood, the day before last?
How very quickly time has passed
And I’ve grown up, have kids of my own
Our lives have changed, we mail by phone

But even so, I don’t forget
the lovely times together spent
In treks and jaunts to unknown places
You, forever drawing faces

Trying to capture, on paper, their spirit
Speaking in whispers so no one would hear it
Of how their noses turned out wrong
Or why their faces were so long

To look at things with an artists eye
Is seeing what’s wrong and then to try
And fix the objects impeding the way
To perfection itself – the worlds full of clay

The clay is full of rocks and slag
Finding clean pieces an arduous drag
But you’ve taught me persistence, it serves me well
Now everyone says “You’re a chip off of Mel!”

Happy Fathers Day

With love from your little chip