Perspectives: 201/365

Jack Dean (Finance, Eight Bars Parent)

As you know,
I’d rather be golfing,
But my son
Has me caught up in defending him
While making sure
I am true to my friends, too.

This sucks,
Being pulled in two different directions,
The father-son bond unbreakable,
The tribal connections to other parents,
Showing my weakness for “show.”
I wish I could just tee one up, right now.

Perspectives: 200/365

Jeffrey Holmes (Anesthesiologist, Music Friends of Sports)

Take a deep breath,
Start counting.

That’s it.

Perspectives: 199/365

Mark Dawson (Mushroom Grower, Eight Bars Parent)

Some of us
What to grow weed.

Too controversial for me…

Truth is,
I don’t really care about this sports thing.

Too ridiculous for me…

Maybe we should,
Grow vegetable inside.

I’ll make that suggestion.

At Least It Felt Good?

It was about an hour in before
I started hearing the voices,
Goggins, Hritz, Ferriss, Hubba, Reggio,
Each talking their motivational s#*t,
Each getting pushed aside as the laps accumulated.

It was the first run after a winter of pneumonia,
After the disarray of basketball,
After the excitement of baseball, and
The welcome of pre-retirement practice,
AKA, summer vaca…

The track was the same,
Sixteen laps to a mile,
The old guy with short shorts was still
Teaching old ladies and sounding as if he
Was of the Wink Martindale of kickboxing.

The shoes were new,
Fresh, right out the box,
New Balance, probably about 70% made in the USA,
Which didn’t figure into my purchase,
They just felt good.

So, an hour in,
And the ache of inactivity was upon me,
But the goal was all Clubber, “Pain,”
Because Hritz has been pushing Goggins
And it was time that this aging guy of privelege and avoidance suffered.

The truth is that we all probably go easy
Looking for the economy, the proximity, the most convenient,
I watched a guy wait for a parking spot at Wal-Mart,
The second in its row,
While the third spot was empty as #2 pushed the cart out of the store.

So, an hour in,
The suffering began,
Keep in mind that I was slow, like never had run this slow,
Managing only two laps at a time, then taking a walk break,
Ferriss began suggesting meditation, but I was too far gone for that.

Perhaps though, self-talk is a kind of meditation,
I barked at me for being so lazy,
I encouraged me to keep on going,
I started thinking about the old people down below
And said, I should be more like them for they seemed to not be suffering.

So, an hour in,
Hubba and Reggio, friends, the same
But different, began their ranting about being weak,
Getting old, having lost it,
For awhile I listened, thinking of some comebacks. Nothing worked.

Then, the class below changed,
Two tanned teachers and a slightly younger clientele began their jumping around
Their energy was different, but their schtick was the same as December
When the bug first knocked me down.
I was really suffering, then… and, now…

A buzz on my wrist
Broke my thoughts of new-goal-survival-mode
I looked down to see six-miles down
At an hour and forty-five minutes gone.
Maybe the slowest ever, but back for more challenges.

Perspectives: 198/365

Horace Taylor (Florist, Music Friends of Sports)

Wilting,
My resolve to keep quiet,
Wilting,
My patience with the stupidity,
Wilting,
My understanding of my daughter,
Wilting.

Perspectives: 197/365

Scott Thomson (General Practitioner, Eight Bars Parent)

I’ve checked out,
My new office is great.
The patients have adjusted and
It’s been good for my wife’s yoga studio.
Some of my patients
Have joined her classes, so we are getting
Paid twice.

The business of medicine…

Mothers Forever

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The following poem is included in the book Mothers Forever, a verse novel telling the life stories of three women brought together by duty, service, and the roles mothers play in helping each other cope with difficult situations.

The book is available online through Amazon: Mothers ForeverBarnes and Noble: Mothers ForeverBookBaby: Mothers Forever, and iBooks.

I hope that you enjoy the book.

Thank you,

Chris

1887 Martha

Persistence

The little village of Hamorton
Was ready when Martha Harrison was born,

Ready to share its lessons of the past
To this granddaughter of a former slave.

Her sense of action would be strong.
She would never stray from that value.

People were waiting for Martha to be born
So what history started could be continued.

A life of action would be her legacy
Just as her family had taught her.

Martha’s birth started something
Worthy of this little village, Hamorton.

Perspectives: 196/365

Sam Brown (Sales, Music Friends of Sports)

It looks like everyone is getting nothing.
The kids are doing what kids do,
Rebelling.
They don’t know what they are doing,
They have no idea the ripples that will form
Because they have taken a stand.
This is not how things are supposed to work.

SIC: The Return

Obstructed views, trees
Parsed sunlight trickling
Suburban living