Quiet Garden

Within this quiet garden
I wait to hear a sound;
But there is no one coming,
There’s no one else around

The flowers are so lovely,
The trees are lush and downy,
There is no finer garden
Anywhere in this whole county

And although days like this are rare,
The rarest thing of any,
Is why we keep things to ourselves
When we are blessed
With plenty

The Viewer

The moments that he has to rest
Are growing ever fewer –
The sunset wasn’t made for him,
He merely is the viewer

His life is made of circumstance
And happiness, and fears;
He’s gifted with no crystal ball,
He’s not among the seers –

He walks to wear his body out
So it can join his mind;
He stands and views the sunset
Leaving all of that behind

But soon he’ll plod his way back home,
To carry out the trash;
The viewer knows that present bliss
Is over in
A flash

Spotted Driving #4

I’ve never seen the Coosa River
Not that I recall;
I stand here on this boardwalk
And I’m taking in it all

It’s Gadsden, Alabama,
What it said back on the sign;
And my, this is a lovely place,
So peaceful and benign

But I suppose, like everywhere,
This river’s seen some woe;
For death and trouble follow humans
They go

A Brief Perspective

I’ve never seen the Taj Mahal,
Or spied the Eiffel Tower;
I’ve never seen the Great (big) Wall
Or a Kensington flower.

I’ve missed so many a famous sight
In strange exotic foreign climes;
And yet I’ve seen this stupid nightlight
Twenty million billion times

What Do You Know?

“Hello. What do you know my friend?”
She asked me, walking in the room.
I’ve thought it about long, since then,
For I said little.
So she might assume

That little is all that I know.
Which might be right, I cannot say:
My learning, seems to come and go.
I did say that I liked
Her new perfume…

The Last Chapter

The sun climbs slowly over the mountains

Inexorably marching onward to conquer the day —

Just as last night, ten thousand stars danced overhead

In a clear desert sky in the patterns of a thousand lifetimes


A life has its days and it’s years

Some come in storms or end in storms

Some arrive unknown or leave unseen

But all have their time, and no more


My mother knows this of her own life

She has enjoyed our visit and so have we

We don’t know that the next time we come to this place

It won’t just be to bury her


This valley in the desert

The joy of my parents’ old age

My tenth trip in sixteen years

A place I too have grown to love


A community where 75% of the people

Are retirement age

Yet vibrant, full of life

Many affluent, many not


And it’s something like reading a wonderful book

Knowing the last chapter is coming

But that you wish would never end

But it must


So as the sun at last escapes the mountain’s shadows

I return to my days and my years

And bid my spirit and all spirits

Be at peace