Way Too Much Work


Hi All –

Seems like I can’t get the time I need to focus on the poetry;  my responsibilities to Pat and myself are keeping me on the road, working on 3 properties; fixing things, installing things, working several veggie gardens, small construction projects, cutting back brush and trees, getting firewood, and on and on.  Not complaining… I love working.  I just don’t have the clarity of mind to write poetry when I’m dragging ass and running a quart low.  😀

I have been able to finish up a few short stories that I started over a year ago about my life in the military.  If you’re interested, you’ll find them under my Steve’s Tidbits.

Hope you are all doing well.

Steve

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I Bid You Farewell


Internal functions failing
I feel ill unable to fix the damage
it has been so long, I feel as though
my very essence is disintegrating.

Infections waging war with each other
wreaking havoc on those parts of me
left hanging on for their very survival
I know I have little time left
not being fully consumed yet,
and unable to stop the process.

All parts making up the whole
have turned on each other
each one grabbing whatever it can
taking away from the rest
unwilling to see the consequences…
nothing left for the whole
the whole is vanquished
and the individual parts
scramble to grab
whatever scraps of sustenance are left to be found
before they must reap what they have sewn.

It was a wonderful existence…
at least until the early 1900’s
when the first viruses were injected
into my blood stream;
a slow and often invisible process taking place
ravaged beyond repair
I will take my place in history…
an experiment gone awry;
a country lost
as history once again repeats itself.

Will they ever learn?

Derm-atology


Each wrinkle, a testament to a life’s lesson
some hard learned… their wrinkles reminders
as they serve notice of the value
of their owner’s life experiences.

Each physical scar has its own story
a careless moment, a brush with death
more than a conversation piece
rather a piece of history.

Wrinkles and scars telling a life’s story…
so many wanting to erase the visual signs
that tell so much, and beckon questions
of those who have paved the way.

I wear my wrinkles and scars proudly
letting nature runs its course…
like roadside signs, they advertise
a warehouse of things old and valuable.

Living For the Moment


Living for the moment…
too young to realize how choices and actions then
could or would affect my life later.
Like a magnet the outdoors pulled on me
physically and mentally I was its prisoner
my thoughts and energies its slave.

Not important what I was doing outdoors
just being there made me feel at home;
summer and winter hiking and camping
in the White Mountains of New Hampshire,
water skiing, fishing, or swimming in lakes and rivers,
walking five miles to go horseback riding…
this magnet so strong capturing my thoughts
as I sat in school classrooms… daydreaming.

Expanding on my outdoors love affair I taught
outdoor survival to Air Force pilots
attending survival schools to improve my skills,
then teaching survival for state and county agencies;
all the time the magnet pulling harder.

I have finally come full circle…
no longer sitting in classrooms daydreaming;
no longer teaching or attending classes;
I live in the country
applying those things I spent a lifetime learning.

And as our way of life slips away
giving way to the takers and elite controllers
I have all I need…
a good woman, water, shelter, food,
friends I can rely on, and who can rely on me…
my life goes on unhindered…
living for the moment.

Being a Father


Not perfect
but doing the best he can
balancing time and responsibility,
work and family…
his candle burned at both ends.

Wanting more than what he had
for his offspring
so difficult to achieve with
so many obstacles placed in his way…
he pushes on.

Misunderstood, yet loved;
strict, yet fair;
overbearing, yet a pushover;
loud, yet gentle;
he is so many things…

It is a difficult thing to be a father;
his achievements measured and relished
not only by the success of his marriage
but by the successes of his children
bringing peace as years pass by.

Time Spent Wisely


It runs, twisting, turning
on an endless course
as if trying to find something…
conjuring up an image of
youngsters frantically going through
index files in the school library;

perhaps a key punch operator
trying to decipher what was just entered
on a blank computer card; or
going through a Sears and Roebuck catalog
looking for that one particular item.

No… it is my mind’s eye
on a journey, traveling through memories
of what makes me who I am
giving meaning to why I am here…
reminding me of things done badly
and lessons learned;
things done well, and things not done at all
as I strive to be worthy
of the time given me.