To the Good Ole Boys and Girls in the World

In one sense
Entitlement is a matter of degree
Some expect a take far greater than others
In another sense
Entitlement is entitlement
Even those with nothing expect more
While doing little or nothing to earn it

Commonsense should prevail in these matters—
Frankly we should know better
That a day of reckoning exists for everyone
Regardless of their money, influence, other self-endowments
The world can only support so much taking
Without a commensurate or greater gift in return

I’ve come to resent entitled people
No matter their position, color, age, or persuasion
And I am so inclined to believe
That everyone potentially abuses
Their self-defined advantage
Because they’re not strong enough to make it
Without all the titles and entitlement

gone before we know it

often i wonder where life has gone
what happened to the years–
both good and bad

all the time wondering–
trying to figure out
if we’re here for a reason
even a momentary celebration
of something larger
more profound
awkwardly present
in all the ways we imagine
what life is about

thoughts on the slumbering sailboats

summer has been swallowed
first by the playful autumn
and now by the brutal winter

the sailboats have disappeared
their colorful sails neatly folded
like large forehead wrinkles
frowning at the blowing snow
and the ice sheets gliding now
where the boats once sailed

just the other day
we watched a lone bald eagle dip and soar
over the boats along the lakeshore
before vanishing into the nearby woods
we marveled at his curiosity
and wondered whether he missed the boats
and the summer
as much as we did

the winter wolves

alpha wolf’s soulful call rides the bitter northeasterly wind
drifting between the driven snowflakes
through the tall dark timbers
into the stream valley, half-frozen and lonely
picked up, then finally returned by its mate
poised on the distant hilltop

only the ravens are brave enough
to allow the shrill howls pass over them directly
for them it is music for their teasing dance
to distract the wolves
breaking their concentration long enough
to grab leftovers from the wolves’ evening hunt

finally the hard white moonlight
ignites the pack’s glaring gold eyes
twelve unflinching beacons in all
eventually all voices are heard
and the haunting amber eyes disappear
having reclaimed the conifer forest for another night