PHASES

high overhead a golden pulsating orb
completing it’s twenty-eight day cycle
fades to first quarter, new, last quarter

whatever happened to that old man’s face
we looked for in our long lost innocence
could it really have been made of blue cheese

grown older now my thoughts turn inward
recalling one who has gone on before
I keep madly throwing rocks at the moon

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goodbye

Just nine days before her thirty-second birthday
her short, beautiful life came to an abrupt end
early morning call; come quickly: too late there
fingers so limp in life now begin to stiffen
soft brown eyes become fixed on unseen horizons

Her name was Katerina. Went by Katie less often Kat
she reached out through her blog as “katsscribbles”
undaunted by confinement to life in a wheelchair
a warrior whose feats live on in her poetry and art
always eager to strive for that far away destination

she was my friend and confidant, she was my daughter
her passing leaves a terrible emptiness in my life
I ask myself “why Katie and not me?” and I cry
she was young and vibrant while I am getting old
as the song says “Farther Along” we’ll understand why

I loved you in life and I still love you in death
goodbye my daughter I’ll meet you in Paradise

WORDS

               Well, anyway,
I was reading this James Bond book,
and right away
I realized that like most books,
it had too many words.

The plot was the same one that
all James Bond books have:
An evil person tries to blow up the world,
but James Bond kills him
and his henchmen
and makes love to several attractive women.
There, that’s it: 24 words.
But the guy who wrote the book
took *thousands* of words to say it.

Or consider “The Brothers Karamazov”,
by the famous Russian alcoholic
Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
It’s about these two brothers who kill their father.
Or maybe only one of them kills the father.
It’s impossible to tell because
what they mostly do is talk
for nearly a thousand pages.

If all Russians talk
as much as the Karamazovs did,
I don’t see how they found time
to become a major world power.

I’m told that Dostoyevsky wrote
“The Brothers Karamazov” to raise
the question of whether there is a God.
So why didn’t he just come right out
and say: “Is there a God?
It sure beats the heck out of me.”

Other famous works could easily
have been summarized in a few words:

* “Moby Dick” — Don’t mess around
with large whales because they
symbolize nature and will kill you.

* “A Tale of Two Cities”
— French people are crazy.

                               — Dave Barry

SIGHT

if I should ever lose my sight
one thing I should not have to study
I think I would remember light

having embraced you in a field of white
I will recall its folds around your body
if I should ever lose my sight

how to forget this frantic flight
should I ever learn to hold steady
I think I would remember light

as you refining day from night
with that promise held ready
if I should ever lose my sight

I might be given one dark night
a subtle glow from thoughts so pretty
I think I would remember light

yet small gods continue their spite
larger ones share a heartfelt pity
if I should ever lose my sight
I will always remember you as light