Well, I’m off to the hospital this morning for surgery. At 63, there’s no guarantees that I won’t flatline on the table, but I’m in pretty good shape, so I think I’ll be fine.
I told my kids that if I did croak, I would consider myself lucky to exit so easily. We don’t all get out of here without suffering, but we all have to go. I thought I’d drop this pic of my granddaughter Milliana and I in the back yard with another friend. I’ll be bock, lol.
conifer sentries
watch over the coming of
dawn in the forest
–photo by me
highly polished lakes
cradled among verdant hills
reflect a great yen
the dreamer seeks clarity
hidden among obstacles
–photo by me
Snow falls silently outside
And the still of the morning
Is pleasantly preserved.
I stare into the endless
Swirling eddies of steam
Wafting up from the hot
Mahogany, life-giving
Ambrosia before me.
A sip, and I am lost in the
burnished, heady brew.
The starter spins — nothing.
I take another glorious sip.
More spinning–nothing.
There’s enough light now
To see the deer feeder
Out the back window;
I’m glad it’s empty again.
One more sip now, and —
Vrooooom!
Now where did I put that
Bag of feed for the deer?
as ozzy sang out years ago
the children start to march
what kind of world are we giving them
they can see we have no heart
we make them go to school
with guns and drugs and knives
and our leaders will not change the rules
to save our children’s lives
they all bow to money now
and democracy unwinds
but when their own child is gunned down
I think they’ll change their minds
i’m walking to work
and now i don’t have to drive
to the gym either
when we simplify our lives
we may find that less is more
–computer art by me
The waters are warm
And supercells form
You took all the calm
And left me the storm
For all you were worth
I was heir to the earth
How could you not care
You were there at my birth
You knew all along
That it was all wrong
Polluting the air as
You sang me a song
You’re not here to blame
So I’ll live with the shame
In this world you left
I still carry your name
–Photo by me
in the shadow
of olympus mons
there spins
an old romance
the wind and sand
become as one
when arm-in-arm
they dance
under the pale
light of earth
their silent vows
are sworn
and every time
they bump and grind
another devil’s
borne
(orig. posted 3/17)
We were only two ‘ludes
Or so out of Minneapolis,
When we came upon the
Old St. Croix River bridge
Bringing us to Wisconsin.
We were really pumped
For our first Spring Break
And just couldn’t wait to
Arrive at Daytona Beach.
Well, just then we had a
Spring break on my old
’53 Chevy pick-up truck,
So we sat there a while,
smoking a couple joints
While we contemplated
The fate of the universe
And our latest situation.
Then, the acid came on.
I do vaguely remember
The six of us wandering
Around amongst some
Very freaked-out cattle,
With Dan blowing cows
massive shot-guns until
They were quite baked.
Meanwhile, the rest of
us were singing, I think.
I laughed so hard, my gut
Hurt for a couple weeks.
None of us can recollect
How we’d made it home.
We never did make it to
Spring Break back in ’74,
But my only true regret
Is that I lost my custom
Hippie ’53 Chevy truck!
With our words
On the page,
We outpour
Who we are:
Some are birds
In a cage
While the door
Stands ajar;
Other’s words
Burn with rage
Like the core
Of a star.
We’re songbirds
On stage —
We outpour
Who we are.
michaeljordahl 