Senior Community

I wonder the line

these towed forever,

now gather together

in club house halls.

Clamoring in slow mo

to calendar events

with intense interest

they form a line

dancing’s the hit

four times a month.

Poker two,

and crafts only one.

School yard thrills

in blue/grey curls,

skin worn

like oversized clothes.

Smiles denture bright.

Boney hands clasp.

Fragile is the word

they carry in hip

pockets with fear

of the final scene.

Alone and gasping

is the way it comes.

Old and Wise

If I live ten more years it will be a surprise.

If I live twenty more I just don’t know.

If I live another thirty I’d have to surmise

we live the majority of life old and wise

but if that’s true please tell me why

we still fall victim to so many lies.

The Slow Death

A slow death

we fear the most.

The drawn-out ordeal

where pain is the host.

Sucking up memories

unto itself,

clearing every corridor

and every last shelf.

Ending it ourselves

is considered a sin.

Confirming who rules

we’re reminded again.

these poems inspired by Dylan's  "Not Dark Yet"

I Think We Think 

One way to solve the stupid problem

is to make everyone stupid

so we’re all too stupid to realize

we have a problem

and if I was as broke as the government 

because I spent too much

I guess I could stop buying food and starve

or I could just get more money

and oh by the way,

who’s giving Rafa Nadal wedgies

before each serve?

More Stupid Questions

When did it become fiscal irresponsible

to care for the elderly and less fortunate

and where are all these jobs

the Bush tax breaks have been creating

these past eight years

and is a wiener the same as a frank?

Drought

A baby is born.

A tear comes to eye.

When this one’s my age

the world will be dry

yet swollen seas

pound mountain shores.

Great cities will lie

on ocean floors.

The greedy refined

will run rampant then.

For a glass of water

they’ll kill a friend.

Corpses in the surf.

Decay everywhere.

At the foot of an angel

I grimace and stare.

Roses 

Roses and memories

of smooth inner thighs

parting with promises

misunderstood.

Velvety petals

wind caught and gone.

Leaving a fragrance 

of something lost.

Thorny spines 

grabbed in haste. 

Pain and flowing

rose bloody red.

The Traveler

It’s always best

to shed the weight

of doubts induced

accumulate

and inflate

the laden pack,

bending the straight

and rigid back,

brittle with age,

hardened by fire,

miles to go

must not tire

blistered feet

on a dusty road

where time is worth

more than gold.

Freedom

I held freedom

in my hand,

like a glowing orb

it shone,

in the middle 

of nowhere

I stood alone.

Now what? I wondered 

and the orb vanished

when I took a step

then reappeared

when I stepped back.

I was finally free

but hungry, cold,

forgotten and alone

and all that time

the orb brightly shone.

by Dave

A Road Poem

I think god thinks

in verse and rhyme

and we draw close

in psalm and poem

and together walk

in prophetic stride

and leave behind

the ones who lied

and said they loved

but loved not.

Claimed they’d help

but soon forgot.

Preached forgiveness

but never forgave

and promised freedom

but then enslaved

a whole world.

Soon a distant sight.

On the road again

and into the light.

by Dave

The Front Line

In a muddy trench

my enemy breathes

the hurried breath.

Hearts pounding,

awareness too quick,

no time to fear

or even get sick.

What he feels about me

I feel about him

but right’s on my side

I think to myself

as he thinks the same

to his righteous self.

Four eyes revere 

a neutral sky.

The dice are thrown.

A life will die.

Every bit as full

and valid you see

and I’m just thankful

it wasn’t me.

by Dave

Cultural Decline

Narcissistic is all

that comes to mind.

A virtue most high

in this day in time.

Artsy and equal

with greed and lust.

The acceptable way

we grind to dust

the definitive walls

of cultural stone.

Set by the ancients

on powdered bone.

by Dave

The Old Fool

He has so little

and what little he has

disappears fast

or just slips away.

His method’s outdated,

he calls it old school

and there’s really no fool

like a old fool

sitting patiently

for the end of a thing

that never quite arrives

but he’ll still sing

of another glorious

date to behold

and say what he knows

he was only told

by powers greater,

beyond the sky

who’s only real power

is the power to lie

but that’s okay,

just listen to him sing

for in a world of idiots

the fool is king.

written by Dave