The clock has stopped but time moves on.
A life fulfilled and full of life has run its course.
The Sandman has come.
No more pain, no more tears, only the fullness of existence and memories
She leaves behind to comfort our nights when we feel our loss.
Published as part of her obituary in The Ojai Valley News, 19 April 1999.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Monday, November 28, 2016
untitled (in Ireland)
Oh, what to do, what to do,
Should I, could I
Move cross the sea,
Cross continent to that,
Would I be welcome,
Or shall I be shunned,
Told to go elsewhere,
Could I find home?
So at the Cliffs of Moher I started to hike along the dangerous path, taking it slow, but when I was hit one way then the opposite by strong gusts of wind, I decided better of it, and went back, writing a limerick of what could have happened:
There once was a man from Seattle,
Against the winds of Moher he did battle,
From a sudden strong gust
Over the edge was he thrust,
On the rocks below his bones did shatter.
There once was a man from Seattle,
Against the winds of Moher he did battle,
From a sudden strong gust
Over the edge was he thrust,
On the rocks below his bones did shatter.
Friday, January 29, 2016
untitled (2016)
Why do I still love her
After all this time
With even a love and loss
Since that brief time with
Her
Knowing full well that
Being together
Could never work
Even casually
Failed in the end
For she could never understand
Me
As she paid no mind
Or ear
Only wanting her needs
Attended to
And I did listen
And I do understand
Which is all the more
Reason
But my stupid Heart
Will not listen to that
So on I go
Anguishing over the
Impossible
After all this time
With even a love and loss
Since that brief time with
Her
Knowing full well that
Being together
Could never work
Even casually
Failed in the end
For she could never understand
Me
As she paid no mind
Or ear
Only wanting her needs
Attended to
And I did listen
And I do understand
Which is all the more
Reason
But my stupid Heart
Will not listen to that
So on I go
Anguishing over the
Impossible
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
untitled (from last month)
Oh, pretty girl on the bus
Why do I make such
A fatuous fuss
Over a girl I don't know
I'm just an old poet
Watching a pretty girl
But you could not know it
As I look like any dirty old man
Why do I make such
A fatuous fuss
Over a girl I don't know
I'm just an old poet
Watching a pretty girl
But you could not know it
As I look like any dirty old man
Thursday, November 21, 2013
First stanza of a song that came to mind, but nothing more with it
Listen boy, you must understand
That you are not a man
And prob'ly never will be
Unless you learn to see
What truly makes a man
That you are not a man
And prob'ly never will be
Unless you learn to see
What truly makes a man
Friday, November 1, 2013
Mother, Mother
Mother, Mother
Bring me home
Is it not time?
Is
It
Not
Time?
I am so weary
I so want to sleep
And dream no more
Please release me
From all this confusion
I just want to rest
In your warm embrace
Mother, Mother
Please bring me home.
Bring me home
Is it not time?
Is
It
Not
Time?
I am so weary
I so want to sleep
And dream no more
Please release me
From all this confusion
I just want to rest
In your warm embrace
Mother, Mother
Please bring me home.
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