Childhood Nostalgia

There used to be cobblers in every town

back when people polished their shoes

and darned their socks.

My mother saved buttons

from shirts that could no longer be repaired

to be used on shirts that still could be.

On Saturdays a man in a truck

would park on the street

and sharpen knives and scissors

for those who wanted to keep their edge.

Another man in another truck

came around and collected old rags,

newspapers and returnable bottles.

Televisions, radios and washing machines

could be repaired instead of discarded.

Doctors would come to people’s houses

so sick children didn’t have to go out in the cold. 

A Deadly Dance

 

the owl listens for its prey

perched on a branch above the ground 

as daylight starts to fade away

a mole begins to move around

while borrowing without a sound

beneath the freshly fallen snow

and suddenly the bird swoops down

its talons strike a deadly blow

a mighty grip that won’t let go

with nothing ever left to chance

the owl isn’t lying low

and soon returns back to the branch

the winner of this deadly dance

but as the dawn replaces night

the bird now takes a different stance

and quickly chooses to take flight

in seconds it is out of sight

leaving feathered imprints far below

reminders of the deadly fight

delicate impressions in the snow

Fully Invested

all of his authority

all of his power

came from a yellow/green vest

without it he became a middle aged,

slightly overweight, adult male

who barely finished high school

but by simply putting on the vest

he had the power to hold

up multiple lines of traffic with just one hand

he could control the direction of cars and trucks

with just a pointing of his finger

by wearing the vest he became visible

the vest made him feel respected

the vest gave him confidence

if only he could have worn the vest at home

if only he could have worn the vest to bed

maybe his wife wouldn’t have filed for divorce 

Appreciation

I have a coffee can

from back when coffee came in cans.

It is full of old coins that are of little value.

Buffalo nickels with unreadable dates,

Standing Liberty quarters that are badly worn,

low grade Mercury dimes of common dates and mint marks,

and Indian Head pennies that show signs of damage and wear.

Most of these coins are only worth face value

or the scrap value of the particular metal they are made from.

However, I found a way to turn them into valuable treasures

simply by burying them in the sandbox for the grandchildren to discover. 

Not Quite Ready

 

a small, black notebook

on a stand by the bed

filled with poems

that are not quite ready

like pieces of seaglass

with sharp, pointed edges

thrown back to the sea

to be tumbled till smooth

like hard, green tomatoes

saved from the frost

sitting on the window sills

to be warmed by the sun

maybe a rough cut diamond

waiting to be shaped

and highly polished

until it reflects the light perfectly

Ghosts

 

I don’t believe in ghosts

but sometimes they haunt me anyway

I explain to them that they are just manifestations

of my sub conscientious mind

but at times they insist in trying to terrorize me.

So, having no choice

I tell them to fuck off.

Like I said, I don’t believe in ghosts

and I am trying to get them not to believe in me.

Ancestral Home

 

I journey to the ocean several times each year

and look out to my ancestral home

although I can no longer go back there.

It’s been years since my ancestors lived there…

over three and a half billion years.

They came out of the water and developed lungs and limbs

and other complicated biological systems

which no longer allow us to return to the sea.

On some level I guess I miss swimming around in the primordial soup.

It was a simpler time.