Category: Poetry

A Poem for Non-Runners

I don’t run.

Nowhere to go.

Why should I hurry?

I want to know.

I don’t run.

Don’t want to sweat.

And if it rains,

I might get wet.

I don’t run.

Like many do.

Who says running is good for you?

Tendonitus

Causes pain

Shin splints, muscle pulls, ankle sprains.

I don’t run.

Since I’ve heard

Scientists say we should conserve.

Yes, my body,

Like a car

Loses its value when driven far.

Last summer Herb and I visited Pike’s Peak. Our guide took this photo of us pretending to run from Big Foot. I doubt if I could outrun Big Foot because I don’t run.

On the other hand, Herb is a runner. He’s competed in four marathons and done well for his age. He finished his last marathon at 65, and trains regularly.

I used to feel guilty about not running.

Dirty Harry said, “a man’s got to know his limitations.”

I’ve accepted mine. Running is not my thing. There’s joy in accepting yourself for who you are. I like my age. As a senior citizen, I think I’ve earned the right to say no to anything I don’t want to do.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe in staying active, choosing instead to walk or bike. We all know exercise is important, and I’m glad for alternatives. In the meantime, I ‘ll keep looking over my shoulder to see if Big Foot is closing in on me.

Thanks for reading my blog. If you like poetry, check out some of my more serious poems by clicking on the menu bar and selecting my poetry page. More poems and the stories behind them can be found under Categories in the sidebar. Remember, to like, follow, and share!

Along the Cady Way Trail

Pushing on the pedals

Riding down the road

Wheels are spinning faster

Cares are letting go

I shiver in the shadows

Under live oak trees

Pendulums of Spanish moss

Swaying in the breeze

Riding through a clearing

Bright sun warms my face

Days are getting shorter

Time is hard to place

Autumn is a toddler

Playing guessing games

Silent when a stranger

Wants to know his name

Haven for the snowbirds

Flocking to the scene

Nature hums an endless song

In the key of green.

The Spark

A tiny spark ignites

the forest floor ablaze.

Red-hot flames surge high

Starlight eclipsed by haze.

Fire consumes the thicket

exposing blackened earth

A perfect bed prepared

expecting the new birth.

 

Old sequoia smolders

Its pulse begins to pound.

Dozens of roasted cones

Shed their seeds to the ground.

Nurtured by rain and sun

Unseen by human eyes,

Pushing up from the ashes

Tender seedlings rise.

 

 

 

Souvenir Picture

The click of seatbelts

secured our bodies for transport.

As the Malibu’s engine accelerated…

we stared at the road ahead.

Not talking.

Not ready to accept

the expiration date stamped on our vacation package.

Both of us knew that Grand Junction

marked the intersection

of Adventure Avenue and Mundane Road.

In the rear view mirror,

the snow-capped San Juan Mountains

taunted us all the way to Montrose.

A vast panorama,

impossible to box up,

mail home,

or stuff in a suitcase,

jumped into ur Chevy

and hitched a ride.

 

 

My poem, Souvenir Picture, first appeared in Time of Singing, A Journal of Christian Poetry, Vol. 43, 2016

 

 

The Dream

You and I

step into the boat.

It teeters

until we find our center.

Within the crystal current

minnows dart below.

Emerald leaves of aspen trees

wave a warm hello.

Soon canyon walls close in

narrowing the flow,

we have no oars, the rapids roar

nowhere else to go.

Yet, laughter bubbles from within

as the wet jets play.

The current carries the two of us

in our little boat…

forever.

A Cruel Joke of Nature

First of all fellow Floridians, do not fear. The sun is shining today and no hurricane warnings are upon us. But it’s August, and we all know the next two months can be dicey at times. Dangerous weather damages Florida communities every year. As an Orlando resident, I’m fortunate to live in an area that hasn’t experienced the wrath of very many  hurricanes. The worst storm I can remember happened in 2004 when Charley came through.

Still, I’m aware of the tough times communities encounter when their power is out for days. This poem, entitled A Cruel Joke of Nature is dedicated to you.

When Charley came to town

the city lost all power.

The stagnant, stifling air

Weighs heavy every hour.

Mornings with no coffee

No bacon, no warm toast.

Yet, inside the kitchen…

the smell of rotten roast.

The radio is silent.

My phone is out of juice.

The TV screen is blank

and Google sheds no truth.

I snuff the candles out

to rest upon my bed,

Swatting at mosquitos

Which whine around my head.

A Cruel Joke of Nature

this taunting serenade.

Escaping to the shower,

I think I’ve got it made.

My triumph is short-lived

Icy water hits my side

The bugs attack my legs

There’s nowhere left to hide.

Illuminated world

Advanced technology

Unequal to the storm

which brought me to my knees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vernal Falls

Trudging up the mountainside

following the trail

Climbing high with every step

hope my feet don’t fail

Although the way is difficult,

the cool breeze is my coach.

The towering trees above me

applaud my slow approach.

 

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Now I’m getting closer

I hear the rushing roar

I smell the fragrance of the pines

My heart begins to soar.

The water is before me

It sprays against my face

A rainbow rises in the mist

to speak of heaven’s grace.

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Abundant life is here

Fresh green moss abounds

My weary spirit is revived

Ready to go back down.