To My Grandchildren who start another School Year

To my Grandchildren who start another school year.

Each of you are embarking on a new path,

one you have never trod before.

You will learn, be challenged and grow.

There will be hard days,

there will be easy days,

but each day is an opportunity.

Be aware, look at your fellow classmates,

look at the ones who shrink away,

who are quiet and shy, they need you.

Listen to what they say,

not just listen but hear them.

Allow your own hearts to grow,

not just in compassion but also in love for those who struggle.

Your own road will be tough enough,

the storms you encounter will be real

you will need others to help pull you through.

I am an old man,

I have walked my own path and weathered my own storms,

I am not here to tell you what to do,

for that will not dissuade you,

but I am here to listen.

Each of you is a gift,

a unique,

one of a kind,

full of life and love,

filled with light and joy.

Let that light shine even in the darkest days,

let not those who have no joy pull you down,

but rather allow your light to guide them

lifting up their broken hearts.

The world needs you,

I need you,

you are my lights,

my dearest grandchildren,

whose gift of laughter and joy lifts up my heart.

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Porcelain Thoughts

I sit here

on the toilet

the porcelain throne

wondering,

how many seconds

minutes

hours

days

have I spent

doing just this,

sitting

contemplating

wondering

what to write

having brilliant

and I do mean,

brilliant ideas

only to watch them

flush down the drain,

some folks get anal

(you see what I did there)

others get concerned

the color

shape

even smell,

becomes important

like ideas

that I have

their color

shape and yes, smell

and I think of time wasted

just sitting here

not doing

not writing

just defecating

pushing out the toxins

and then it hits me,

writing poetry

my brains way

of pushing out the toxins

that pollute my thoughts

and so here I sit

writing this poem.

Poem on Love (lust)

I want to write

the perfect poem

about love,

that kind of love

full of lust

the kind

we don’t talk about

as lovers lay naked

in the midday

tongues meeting

the soft flesh,

slight flicker

that arouses

breath quickens

with each thrust

hips arching

seeking to satisfy

releasing

pent up desires,

that kind of love

where two are one

and everything else

doesn’t matter

except to feel

one another

intimately

and then die

in each other’s arms

in the madness

called love.

Reflection in Torchlight

The sunlit morn
dawns bright
over the haze
of the night before
torches held
as voices chanted
age old words
the long lost prophets
of war and woe
fingers pointing
to the sun
upraised hands
to strike us down
voices of peace
that break the bread
offering to all
a Sacrament given
from the wooden beam
of God’s great love
a grace that overflows.

Observations on a Spider

Watching the spider
slowly crawl down
his or her, I can’t tell which
then again, does it matter
as I watch the creature
crawl along the wall
it, see now I call it, it
so much simpler
than discerning its sex
that is if they have sex
well, sex that we would know
then again
what is sex for us
that is not for the spider
who seems to be all legs
and no body
because when were together
we seem to be all legs
flaying away
then I digress
into wondering why
does this spider
make me think
of the webs we weave
to catch our prey
and devour their love