A photo by Thomas Curryer. unsplash.com/photos/Zss1s9df5AQ

A song came on the other day
Making me think of you.
The music was slow
And I could feel you close,
Your curves, your hair,
How warm you are.
The rhythm swayed
As we did so long ago
In the darkness of uncertainty.

So many years later
Just the first few bars of this song
Brought a smile to my face and
A feeling that you were right there
Making things right
With all that you are.
The beat goes on
Today as it did then,
Only now, with a lightness of permanence.


Photo Credit: Pexels.com

Driving By…

Years ago, I looked over a scum covered pond
At a green nearly two hundred yards away.
It seemed to me that a five iron
Might be enough to get the ball there.

I drew back slowly
Firing hard into the ball.
My follow through was right
And the ball held a perfect line.

The swing left me with little more than three feet
To get a birdie on this beautiful hole.
I steadied my nerves,
But still pushed the ball right of the cup. Par.

A gallery was standing on the balcony
Of the old dinner theater.
They smoked cigarettes and
Jeered me all the way to the next tee.

I thought the old place was a hotel or apartments.
My instincts were kind of right.
The place for acting and gluttony
Had become a temple for honesty and detox.

Twenty-five years ago the old building was tired.
In many rounds of golf, I wondered what went on there.
There were plenty of people shuffling about with despair
And there was a ropes course that was falling into disrepair.

The parking lot was open, although cracked and weedy,
But through the years there were always people.
Sometimes they yelled at me, sometimes they complimented me,
Always they had a look of desperation.

Two nights ago I drove by the old place.
It had been a couple of years.
The weeds were gone, the tired old building covered in youthful siding
The ropes course replaced by a new dormitory.

Still, though, there were people
Lined up at the guard gate.
They stood with clear plastic bags
Holding all of their possessions.

I thought it looked like camp
Or move in day for college
Except for the inspection of items
And the haste with which people checked in.

One family worked to empty their SUV.
Their faces sent me back a quarter of a century
When I saw their look of desperation
Like those on the day I missed my putt…

Each time I go past
The old dinner theater,
I hope all is going well for those there,
No one deserves those demons.


Fickle weather,
Fair weather friends,
Birds of a feather,
It all gets so confusing.

Shorts one day, snow the next,
Top of the world to bottom of the barrel,
Yep, defensiveness escapes from us all.
It makes no sense.

Brutal temperatures coming.
Slowly getting back up again.
Biting lips, tongues, whatever.
Simple, I suppose.

Sick Day

Sixty-three degrees today,
Five to eight inches of snow tomorrow,
My dog and I are sitting on the deck
In full denial of the weather,
Very presidential, huh?

I napped today
Under the inspiration of something viral
And totally ignoring the doctor’s plea
To get a flu shot.
Heck, I’m already sick. Why risk it?

The nap was crazy.
Soundscapes provided the soundtrack
To dreams that went Seinfeld
Giving me a line that I’m not sure of,
Something about labor past fifty and a massage.

Maybe the nap drew from Rectify,
Which I had watched prior to shutting down.
In it, a character was pregnant,
The older characters were dealing with moving on,
And the sister was about to make a relationship play.

The show was good fodder for sleep
With my sinuses full
And a cough that is thick and heavy,
But it’s good to know my spirits are still alive
These few months past fifty.

As the hours near for non-stop weather coverage,
There will be great anticipation in the house for a snow day,
But right now I’m sitting in a cool breeze
Listing to a far off hammer pounding away
Wishing this was year round weather.

It feels very Williamsburg.
Virginia, not New York.
Birds are chirping and feather thin clouds lace the sky.
Too bad it’s going to snow.
Too bad there’s no massage.

Not Sure


Not sure how much longer
I can take it…

Facebook, all the Trump stuff
I’m out on it.
I didn’t vote for him.
I don’t like his policies.
The next four years are shaping up
To be one legal battle after the next.

Not sure how much longer
I can take it…

What am I left with?
It seems like everywhere I go
It’s one Trump something
Or something else.
Bad. Gonna be great. Fabulous. Fake.
Supporters, haters,
I’m tired of them all.

It’s on my Twitter, too.
I don’t follow the President,
But an awful lot of the writer types I do follow
Have strong opinions
About the new guy.
I don’t disagree, but
I sure am tired.

Maybe this is a sign from above
That I should scale back my social media outlets.
Is this the time to cut the cord?
Who needs all this fact checking, fake news making,
Fear mongering, and bold faced government lying?
The government is the ultimate reality show,
Replacing sports.

Which I’m not sure I can take anymore either
Since politics is seeping in there too.

Oh well, logging out is becoming more likely.


Photo Credit: socialnsport.com via Google Images


Back in the day
The blue and gold
Meant winter time
On the hardwood
Dribbling, shooting, monkey drills,
And bronchitis.

It was a yearly affair
The burning cough,
The phlegmy expressions,
A denial of sickness
In the face
Of missing playing time.

The years passed
And so did the yearly hack
Until this year
When coaching reentered my life
Bringing with it
A little of the respiratory fun time.

Perhaps hoops
Just wouldn’t be the same
Without the lung lurching cough
And gallons of whatever
Drips from my nose.
I could do without it, though.

Taboo, Hmmm…

The FX stories of corruption

Infecting business and politics

Present an opportunity

To appreciate the casting couch

Ways of national governance today.

We’ll pay more for everything

And savings in government costs

Will come at the expense of fewer government jobs,

But won’t unemployment go up?

Genius resides somewhere else, not

Within my simple way,

But my belief in the television ghosts

Battling colonial powers

Is easier to believe than the last

Lucky, seven days.

The Ugly Unreality


A friend of mine
Talks of the current changes
In the context of 1984.

I agree, although,
I would take The Great Communicator
Over this current bunch any day.

My literary take
Centers on chaos, fear, and deception
Chronicled in The Shock Doctrine.

The premise being
If everything spins out of control
The government can wield all power.

This current storm sweeping America
Is a powerful wind blowing
Hot air, denial, and zephyrs of discontent.

Who is watching the back door?
Education, climate, and health care
Are all on the “You’re fired,” line.

These discussions of crowd sizes and MLK, Jr’s bust
Are nothing but distractions.
They are hiding the ugly, unreal substance of this new clan.

Don’t look away America.
Make them answer the questions.
This is not a book.


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