Category: Introspective Poetry

Why Wait?

Sometimes we get lost, waiting
for things to happen in life
While waiting
we miss the joy in our life
and replace it with worry
doubt, disappointment and confusion

Waiting causes us to wish
for a reality different
than the one showing up
While waiting for what we want
we postpone engaging the moment at hand–
the only reality available to us

Like most bad habits dying old
waiting is a vice grip on life
causing us to miss
what presents itself
and deserves our full attention
So, why wait?

Yielding to Myself

On foot I hiked across the field
To no transient pleasure did I yield
For I must find my heart’s desire
Most surely before, I retire

The sun shines bright upon my head
In quiet I walk, no word was said
A clearing comes within my view
Just then I knew, what to do

I climbed a tree to the perfect place
And toward the sun, I did face
Younger days rose up inside of me
For from my tree, I now could see
A part of me that had been lost
One I must know at any cost

Until the sun went down, I did sit
An illuminating fire within, had been lit
Sometimes we need to get away
And find ourselves in another way

When darkness fell, I headed home
The sky above, a star-filled dome
On foot I hiked, across the field
Finally, to my true self, I did yield

Parallel Universes Inside Us

Like me, do you wonder
about parallel universes?
Subtle places, inside us
not outside us
Yet, out of reach
with our hands, conscious thinking-minds
Deep pools for reflection
mirroring our thoughts, feelings, actions
in archetypal ways
Like an ocean’s bottom
is read by sonar

Some say, there is a rabbit hole
cutting through the universe
ignoring all space and time
Starting one moment before Genesis
ending one moment after Revelations
Seems more likely
this tunnel is inside us
connecting conscious and subconscious

Like you, I want to know…
whatever there is to know
about these places
how to get there
how to get out, once there
and back safe and sound

Does Continental Airlines fly there?

To Be Young Again

Thoughts race backwards…
when I was a boy

There were challenges
but mostly adventures
not necessarily problems
Growing up issues you outgrew

Life was simpler, certainly than now
Less money, more freedom
Fewer commitments, more open road
Not quite Jack Kerouac freedom, but
lots of room for imagination, and fun

Ideas came easier then
Wild ones, like
being the best baseball player ever, or
a famous world adventurer
Back then, it was ok
imagining beyond your reach
Now, I’m not quite sure

No retreating from the present
Things are great, just different
More people and things to consider
even around small decisions
That’s what adults do, I guess

It’s ok to play hooky…
at least once in a while
Let that inner child dream, play
imagine something beyond his reach
Hey, maybe I’ll be a millionaire

Life Between Trash Pickups

Tuesday, trash day
Roll the big green dumpster to the curb
Filled, with life’s residual matter
Leftover stuff: corn husks, used tissues, cereal boxes
other unmentionables, revealing how we live

Life happening between trash pickups
Not a glamorous depiction, but realistic
for all consuming and disposing
Curiosity overtakes me…
I lift the green monster’s lid, exposing myself
to dreadful smells, making me wonder
what kind of life I lead

Ancient Near Eastern civilizations had their tells:
Mounds of trash and rubble, built upon
by their future societies
We have stinking landfills; some now larger
than the cities they serve

It frustrates me, we throw away so much
but at this moment, it haunts me even more
life is what happens between trash pickups

Unleashing the Child Within

children, so inventive
always something new
new things to do
new ways of doing
new ways of looking, and seeing

the child’s mind: nimble, malleable
open to the moment’s presenting
learning…a game
bringing joy and excitement
just for the sake of playing

as we grow older
mountains of beliefs, ideas
ways of being, expactations
bury our inner child

unleash your inner child
challenge him to leap these mountains
carrying you to fresh new starting points
just on the other side

When a Man Grows Old

he wonders where his life has gone
with so little of himself left to get up in the mornings

the playful boy has a new home
and now walks the banks of the river
skipping stones with other boys

the young builder puts away his tools
to watch other young men build things

the wise gray-haired gentleman
living to counsel others
forgets more than he remembers
and concentrates on not spilling his morning coffee

the old man, living all week for a sunday walk
just sits in his chair, watching birds on the feeder
thinking of all that has been
wondering why autumn leaves surrender to the winter snow