A look of violence, a feel of violence

Dinner with Daughter

we changed seats.
the chair was too tall and the
bench seat too low.
I'd rather be taller than her for
a change so I gave up the cushy bench
for the chair, uneven as it was on
the old floors of the Boulderado.
she is not old enough to recognize
the value of the perfect mix, the unique mix
that can makes an individual a standout.
maybe not the smartest, the one with the most drive,
maybe not the perfect communicator or the single
one with the most charisma, the most insightful,
the hardest worker, but that perfect mix
makes the top performer, the life best lived,
the most talented teacher or the most
innovative, the most adored.
she may not recognize this in herself
or that of her brother,
but I do.

away from it all

only the clouds and me

the verdant hillsides,

the aspen and pines, the clouds

billow overhead,

only the sound of bike tires

on a gravel road, and me,

the sound of birds, the distant

hum of cars on the highway,

people in metal boxes, I breathe

in the fresh air and on this dirt

road there is only me, the clouds,

the sun, the birds, the air, 

the precious air we all 

breathe.

One Match Fire

the wandering of the untrained mind

the late summer garden
wheat straw grasses.
the dog has disappeared into the trees
and is not responding to calls,
what else is new besides the endless
railing that we can't trust Hillary and we
don't know her, except for her last 25 years
in the public eye.
and knowing that such disingenuity would
never be launched at a man,
it's hot out.
am I slouching again,
and perhaps I should cut back on cookies
but they taste so good
I'm tired after the trip,
and work takes too much time.
it's hard work to train the mind.

my eyelids won't stay open

my eyelids are drooping.
the eyelashes brushing against
glasses pushed hard against my face
in an attempt to see better
understand a confusing world with
would-be assassins and hacked emails,
the new California boss pulling the lifeline
from the workers,
I'm seeing and hearing it all
as well as the thunderstorms in the distance,
rays of light shining through gaps in the clouds
a distant rainbow.
how can I see clearly when there is black next to white
oranges, lightning, the sound of sirens and the
hum of the tires on the road, turning
to take me home,
my eyelids are drooping,
my brain too tired to understand
that which will never be
understood.

don't trust and verify

he's smart but oh so pushy,
interrupting your thoughts with his own
substituting your words for his own,
the rosy picture.
it's not my own, darkened with reality.
I don't trust him
and I need my own verification,
not his silky words and slick justifications,
California style.