Tag Archives: Poem

This Old House

I remember the first room,
It was small,
But I made it with my own hands,
and it wasn’t strong,
but it was the best I could do.

Then I made a second room for family,
it was two rooms,
with one door between.

And then there was a porch,
a sidewalk and a door.
An entrance for me to see the world.
A door for the world to come see me.

So then I made a room for friends,
A place to bond with others.
A kitchen to feed myself,
And a bathroom.

I built a lot of rooms for living in,
and rooms to work in,
rooms for playing and rooms for sleep.
A living room, a game room, a den, a closet.
And more rooms for more family,
more rooms for more friends.

And then there was a room for a wife,
and rooms for children.
It didn’t seem long before I needed rooms
for grandchildren.

There were so many rooms,
I couldn’t clean them all.
So I got some help.
Overtime many rooms were never used.
There was dusty rooms,
at the end of long hallways.
Some rooms I’d like to forget.

But there was a light in each room,
and the lights were always on in the house.
I thought this heart would last forever,
the lights go on shining.
I would go on building,
and the music would go on playing.
Beat beat beat beat.

But one day someone turned off the lights,
and just like that,
It was just another empty shell.

You think…

You think you know him,
but you don’t.

For years he has learned to not be the person he is,
and to be to person you know.

Beneath the mask, is another mask
and under the act is just another act.

Like the man who hides a jewel for safe keeping,
but forgets where he stored it away.
He sometimes wonders who he is,
and when became the person everyone knows.

I want to write a poem

Just a few words,
A moment about myself.
The sun comes up and down.
And my cat sleeps still.
But these aren’t the words I want.
Inside I feel…
I don’t know.

Work went well.
It was a long productive day.
I helped the store
and customers
also myself.
I feel accomplished today.
And I am happy?
I don’t know.

I chatted with a friend.
Longtime friends are great.
And I am glad we are friends.
Can I say friend again.
Because I know what she wants.
But when it comes to me.
I don’t know.

So this is my poem.
My cat isn’t impressed.
The sun comes up and down.
Each day of work has more tasks,
more accomplishment.
And what is the value of my words.
I don’t know.

So this is 40

And look what I’ve done.
Nine states behind me
and I may have just begun.

And this is 40
for better or worse
can’t stop the time
but it doesn’t have to be a curse.

And yes I’m 40
I know I’ve had fun
there have been near and dear ones
both old and some young
And some are still with me
others are not
while people I haven’t met yet
will become dear to me too.

Life is begining
new each day,
a fresh sun, a fresh you
a chance to be love.
Aging is over, if you want it.
Just live in the moment
and never be old.
Aging is over
because we are alive
until we are not
this is all that we got.

Don’t look for a hero,
or hope for the future.
The hero is you
and the hope is now.

Thank you to all my friends who have made the last 20 years of my life an amazing adventure.

People I Love

There are people I love so much,
I wish they had never gone away.
But moments pass
like a sweeping tide.
There I people I miss so much,
I wish I could be with them again.
But our lives push us forward
like a rolling wave.
There are people I want to be with today.
People I want to hold.
I want to talk to them. Laugh with them. Be with them.
And today I miss them the most.
Because I feel like I am pushing on alone,
into a world new and full.
There are dangers and joys.
And though I feel more comfortable alone
as I get older.
There is a sadness about the moments of joy,
and the moments of danger,
which will be unshared.

A Word

Just a word,
another tired night,
And all I want is just a word.
Outside the night gets later,
Baby Girl pushes me towards sleep,
but I still don’t have my word.
The word for today,
for tomorrow
and the next day.
What is the word.
I went to Powell’s today,
and got a book about Leonard Cohen.
I can’t imagine him ever looking for a word.
Can I keep on writing until I find it?

I think about the river differently

When I view the river from up here,
I think about the river differently.
It isn’t the tame servant I see in town.
There is a wild heart in its depths.
Man tries to tame its flow.
But there is a secret only the river knows.
The river has been around a long time.
From a time before the red man came,
and before the white man came.
Longer than the mountains it has pushed aside.
And longer than the valleys where men live.
The very valleys the river shaped.
Those valley’s are full soil, on which men live.
And this soil was brought by the river.
Today men place their damns across the river.
But nature tried to damn the river thousands of years ago.
And the river pushed aside all.
Just like in time the river will push aside man.
The mountains were defeated.
A wild voice is waiting in the heart of the river.
Because it knows when the red men are gone,
and when the white men are gone.
One day all men will be gone.
And the river will remain.
Wild and free as the day it was born.