Free and Easy

I’m at home right now with my
Grandson who
Is eighteen months old and
Alternatively ecstatic
And despondent

My wife watches him most days
But she and her sister took their mom
To the doctor

My grandson doesn’t seem surprised
That I’m here and he laughs
Every time I take a swig of my Coke Zero

He’s watching a videos while I write
I served him oatmeal, milk and a banana
We’ll go outside to play soon

I am a grandfather
A father
A husband
An employee
A professional
A writer, a blogger
A child

And he
Is the seed of an unknown tree
A beautiful plant
An entire garden

A secret, hidden garden

I get to walk beside

Before I die

But for now

Ten minutes are up

I Had To Go Shopping

.. so, off to the mall!

I had to go shopping, so off to the mall
I went, my list in tow;
And frequently stopping, I slowed to a crawl
And I’ve still far to go

The crowds they buzz ’round, in an endless flow
And batter me about;
An echoing sound ‘neath the garrish glow
Wearing my senses out

The things on my list are unfortunate ’cause
They aren’t on Amazon;
But I will persist being Santa Claus
And bravely

It Used To Be Harder

… to read a book.

It used to be harder to read a book
To find a book
To buy a book
It used to be harder to read a book
For most, in days gone by

But now you can read on a lighted screen
You can find the book
Can afford the book
Its easier now, then, to read a book –
But we don’t.
Tell me:

Quite A Castle

… that you’ve built yourself today.

Say, that’s quite a castle
That you’ve built yourself today;
But night is coming with it’s storm
To wash it all away

The sun’s first rays will fall upon
A beach white and pristine;
As all the work of human hands
To nevermore
Be seen

We Lose

Because we must.

We fight we lose but still we fight
We have to try to live (to try)
The victor is the one who can
Take losing without alibi

For what is winning in the end?
Defeat’s the fate that we’ve been cast;
The brief illusion we have power
Is always shattered

My Poetic Year

A year of trial and error.

For me, it’s been a year of trial and error;
To try to write three poems every day
On average. And so I’ve been the preparer
Of one to five of these things, come what may.

The plan had been to stop these when the years ends;
A plan that I still have, for now I find
That words chase after me, and will not leave me;
That poetry afflicts by waking mind.

One month ago I saw this as a nuisance –
To daily convert feelings into scrawl –
But I now I find, I think that I will miss it
I might just be a writer
After all


= = = = =

(The idea for this post courtesy of the Daily Post’s “Daily Prompt“)