Poems

There is a half glass of red wine
On the table next to your red chair
I don't know where you are but you are not far.

I want to let you know
I am giving up beer
For a time, for my weight, for you.

We will outlast this cold winter
Like we outlasted the last one
We are tough that way, we are enough.

Tomorrow we will get out of bed
Like we always do, like we always will
And do those things we have to do.

Your old school has changed
The footprint is the same but
New walls, new windows, new floors
Grace the hallways and classrooms.

In Bothell new restaurants have replaced
Old drugstores. Donut shops are closed
But the Ranch Drive In, that bastion of
Burgers and tartar sauce is still open.

We had onion rings and vanilla cokes
The chemical taste made you sad.
Such are the realities we face
Year after year.

The bitter cold
And the things lost
The time dribbled through fingers that
Dream of tomorrow
Instead of clasping now
To the bone and the muscle
And the left eye
The one that sees poetry

Out in the bitter cold
To get the morning paper
The sun crouching below the horizon
Blue grey black in the air
The flashlight path
Turns magical
With a scattering of tiny lights
Diamonds of ice
Starlight fallen to earth
Wonder and redemption
In the bitter cold

This is the stuff of life, isn't it?
The sudden appearance
Of a bulge in the ceiling paint
That was not there yesterday
Before the rains began.

That collection of water waiting
For the pivotal moment
When the weight of the problem
Grows to more than the strength of
latex paint can bear and a small
Weakness becomes a tear and then the rain
That should be running off the roof
Comes down in the bedroom.

This is our lot, this is our life now
So we nail down tarps to protect the
Holes we know are not going away
And when those tarps wear thin
As tarps will do, we will get more tarps
Until something changes.

To he who would live in that cabin
At the top of the mountain
Reveling in the endless view of all things
Above the clouds
Above all pain and hatred
Who would live in the shining sun
In that humble cabin
The wood taken from the sacred grove
Polished by the ethereal touch
Of good intentions
Know this:
The sun will burn you
The vista will become pale
And the quietude a burden
This cabin
At the gasping heights of aspiration
Is meant to be only visited
Write poetry here, make love
Walk the forest of dreams
Polish the wood of this sacred house
With your glowing heart
Then go home

The air here is too rarified to sustain life
The grandeur is blinding
The ground has hidden stones
And there are snakes
Go home
Gather up the love
And the visions
And take the rugged path home
Plant your dreams
In the rich earth below
Water them with your tears