Bite The Drink

   In a simple glass of watery wine.
I cannot find a true reflection.
The glass is never still,
without ripples,without splashily slipping,
down smooth green sides.
Lips, perhaps parched,
maybe chapped, pained peeling.
Ahhh, but to moisten a moment.
     I cannot find myself,
in the rippling distortion.
A shining ball, a dull book.
Pray,give pause, for do they define,
in some possible mirror of momentary grasp.
A second stopped to be gazed upon.
The wonders that maybe.
In a hopeful wish.
In a shaky hand.
In an empty glass.                                                                

                                                       (10-20-10)injured hand writing(6-23-10)

My Daughter's Driving License

   She got her license first try. Awesome!! I'm so proud of her. She worked hard and got it. I will always worry about her. Even though she is a really responsible teen. I'm going to the o.b.  with my wife for a check up on the newest, soon to be member of the family.

Mahalo.

Simple Candles

                                                          A candles flame flickers,
                                            in one way or another twisting, licking heat.
                                                     The winds choice to breathe.
                                                        To snuff the orange light,
                                                  Give the candles flicker a name.
                                                   Save it, another day, perhaps.
                                                            What is in a name?
                                                     The candle burns either way.
                                                           Through to the core.
                                                             I would explore.
                                                                  Breathing.
                                                                     dying.
                                                                       fin.                                                                
                                                                                                                              (10-19-10) P.s. off day

Palindrome O Wrong Is Right O Palindrome

  Bruised and flawed.                    
Imperfection in only perfection.
Sadness and truth.                              
Belief in it's question.                          
Dawn before dark.                              
Sweet and tart.                                    
Finding in it's mark.                            
 Heart beating tunes from behind.  
Sounds then inundate,                      
permeate that bones so rattle.        
Clicking and clicking,
tapping and wheeling around.
Chairs facing northern stars.
Decks stained brown.
Shades in light coffee filtered.
Wilted sun and brooding so high up.
Angels touched by blindness.
Fields vibrant in summer walking.
Cent and sense common place.
Again running inside carousel's.
Candy cotton in youth.
Simply so life travels.
Him or her each born one.                                    

  One born each her or him.
Travels life so simply.
Youth in cotton candy.
Carousel's inside running again.
Place common sense and cent.
Walking in vibrant fields.
Blindness touched by angels.
Up high so brooding and wilted sun.
Filtered coffee light in shades.
Brown stained decks.
Stars northern facing chairs.
Around wheeling and tapping,
clicking and clicking.
Rattle so bones that permeate,
Inundate then sounds.
Behind from tunes beating heart.
Mark it's in Finding.
Tart and sweet.
Dark before dawn.
Question it's in belief.
Truth and sadness.
Perfection only in imperfection.
Flawed and bruised.
                                                                                    (6-4-10)

Batty Hat's Are Keeping Me Sane, And Feels Like Home

 A time of quiet tranquility. Every step taken is a step closer to peace, and to home. While the saying goes "Home is where you hang your hat.". I have many hats. I like collecting them and have a great many. I even have a mustard colored derby, that my wife hates. I really do like the way an old hat feels. I will say my wife and kids keep me sane by driving me batty. I would be lost without them.
      It makes a travelling soul wonder, where has it been? What has it seen? There is a sudden chill, and hand attempting to hold my hand, and caressing my arm. It's kinda creepy at first then more reassuring than anything. Well not completely sane. Today is a kinda day to leave my hat right where it is. It a deep breath into a foray I never quite get right, but still worth the effort. So if you see me. I look like anybody else, and we all do everyday. In camouflage and with great strength to try to get it right in every way.

Mahalo.

Grandfathers Time Is Light

   Firelight to walk by,
moonlight to be shy by.
Burn, burn in the daylight.
Wind at twilight,
is barbed, and biting.
    Skin is cracking,
at grandfather's clocks ticking.
Creeping shadows are bending,
with aged back.
    Stiff cane are sturdy like
the mountain trees, they come from.
    Starling eyes gaze into
the grandfather's bronze arms.
Into the twelve held close.
The grandfathers time is light.                                 (10-10-09)

Real

   Blow away, blow away.
Birds that bother me.
Finding a new face.
In my mirror, very strange,
very much, the stranger.
I see what is, and
in the reflection's eyes.
A backwards, what could be.
Breath deep,
in the what coulds.
Brisk in talk, and
in stuttering walk.
Find me, find me.
    I have yet to see,
the real me,
reflected
back at me.