Good Old Days

The good old days
Simpler times
Things, safer
People, more polite
When neighbors were friends
And everyone
Had a hand to lend

A myth
An illusion
There are no “good old days”
Nothing changes
We bemoan the loss
The theft
Of something remembered
Through the rose colored glasses
Of vanished childhood
As our parents did
And their parents before them
Every generation
Mourning a past
Simple and innocent

Those days were not
Simple and innocent
We were
As days and times do not change
We do
And mourn the loss
Of innocent selves

And children still play-
Though not the same as we
Once did-
Blissfully unaware
Of their own innocence
Until the day comes
When they, too, will look backwards
Through the blurry haze of growing up
And rue the loss
Of these
Good old days

Kisses Missed

There were many kisses
So many kisses I missed
While walking blind
Down dead end paths
Following mirages of futures
That never arrived
Passing doors of possibility
Heedless of the sweet lights
Glowing inside
Which hindsight revealed
Far, far too late
Looking backwards with a pang
Of lost opportunity

How many unseen doors
How many pathways lie hidden
Blurred by the present
And the chase of foggy futures
How many more kisses am I adding
Every year
To that list
Of kisses missed?

dVerse Open Link Night Week 109

Shiny New Memories

He came home from his trip
Eyes full of shiny new memories
My son
With a week’s worth of stories
Days at the beach
And historic sights
In Washingtion D.C.
Laughing as he told me
How he and his cousin found
They could reach their arms
Through the tall black fence
To pluck blades of the greenest grass
From the White House lawn
“You should have brought some home!”  I laughed
What a memento that would be!
Carefully saved
Within a scrapbook
To forever remember
The look of those
Shiny new memories
In his eyes

NaPoWriMo 2013 post #7


Try to see beyond sight

Listen beyond hearing

Think beyond thought

Live beyond existence

Love beyond desire

Within us all there is something

Known without knowing

Maybe there

Under yesterday’s paper

Next to the memory of last week

Tucked away

Where we thought we’d remember it

There is something

A face

A place

A sight, sound or taste

Folded neatly

Waiting inside us to be found

To remind each of us

All we ever need to do is





And love



Down in the Hollow

A little something for Halloween- my favorite holiday 😉


Down in the hollow

In the whispering breeze

Dark branches grip and grasp

Their knobby hands naked of leaves

Reaching and scratching

At the white stones below

The silent stones standing

Down in the hollow


Their cold, weathered faces

Peer out through the weeds

The brambles grown wild

Where paths no longer lead

Once names where there graven

But wind and rain leave few traces

Of the identities carved on

Their cold, weathered faces


No one now knows

Who beneath those stones lie

No flowery tokens are left

No tear in a remembering eye

Down in the hollow

Where the whispering breeze blows

Lie bones that once walked, who

No one now knows


This is for Mary’s prompt over at dVerse about time.  Fittingly for the topic, I’ve taken an old poem about time I wrote when I was younger and re-written it from my current perspective. 

Every day must end

Every day will end

Taking with it more

Than you are willing to let go


The destroyer

The absolute

Pauses for nothing in its path

Stops for nothing

Turns for no one

Constantly sweeping away

The collected dust of our experience


Every day will end

Events will be gone




Yet even memories fade

The facts of history become altered

And time destroys truth


Evil comes, and the day ends

Good is done, and the day ends

The battles of love and war are fought

And the day ends

This day and this day and this day

Faster than you can think

“I should have remembered more”

A month becomes as a day

A year becomes as a month

Another day ends

And time

Is not on your side

Poetry Challenge Week 6- A Thing of Beauty

This is my entry for Clown Ponders Poetry Challenge for the week of 4/20/2012.  (By the way, if you haven’t visited Clown Ponders blog before, go check it out. It’s excellent!)

A Thing of Beauty

Memories are jewels

Set in the foggy fabric of time

I keep them polished and gleaming

So that every thought of you

Is a thing of beauty

That will never fade


The snakes have hit me again

Turning me around

To look in a new direction

That is an old direction

I’ve seen everything there is to see there

But chance throws me once again

Into a situation

A conversation

A passing mention


Love is strange

Pastel on one side

Black on the other

But when memory dances

Like distant lightning across my mind

I see only the bright colors

The blackness is miniscule

The blackness belongs to the real world

When I open my eyes

And look disdainfully at the drudgery of tomorrow

That is black

My memories are bright

And if one comes back

I will take it

And prepare for the harvest

That has been so long in coming


-June 1996