New poem: "Making It"

 

Making It

 

In the twin cities it is said in jest that if one makes

it in Kitchner, he moves to Waterloo; but one

may well ask, in earnest, if he makes in Waterloo,

where does he move to?

 

The ladders of life have a limited number of rungs,

and there is only room at the top for a few; but

people struggle to succeed, because this is what

life expects people to do.

 

After years of struggle, one makes it to the top only

to learn that his life is full but incomplete; and

he wrestles with himself until he can take no more,

and he goes on a quest for life’s meaning.

 

He may succeed, or he may not; it all depends upon

his account with God. If he fails, he is bereft;

and if he succeeds, he will return to life to repair

all the damage he did getting to the top.

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000

A REQUIEM FOR JOHN UPDIKE

 

Was He too Good to be True?

 

I’m done, well-done, burnt by the genius

of his protean talent, a giant who strode

the distant horizons of his mind in search

of that “open sesame” to his wholeness

and completeness; dying, 87% satisfied

in his prodigious enterprise to answer “the

crucial question” of his life—phrased to

capture every soul’s imperative: “Why

am I me? What an adventure, this Jungian

exercise of Talking with John Updike on the

blank pages of my mind; archetypal reality,

pure fantasy, who can say for sure? It’s

over; my lifelong fear of reading him,

gone. A deep dive into his life and work,

beginning March 28, 2022, ending May 25,

2023; and I owe it all to my tenacious pride.

Gifted beyond his own expectations, he gave

the world such a dazzling glimpse of the

human condition that he left me wondering,

was he too good to be true?

 

Composed in Georgian Bay,

Sunday, July 16, 2023

New poem: "A Bouquet of Wild Flowers"

 

A Bouquet of Wild Flowers

 

Cathy Lynn asked me the check the Bread Maker

yesterday morning, which occasionally has a tendency

to not knead the dough completely; but I got lost deep

in thought as I wrote my daily poem (I blame Robert

Bly for this addictive habit), and I forgot. I went to work

upon completing my poem (Robert By does not have

a day job); but when I came home for my coffee break,

I smelled the bread and remembered what I was supposed

to do. I opened the Bread Maker door expecting to see

a leavened loaf nicely baking; but instead, my eyes

beheld an ugly lump of dough struggling for its integrity,

and guilt possessed me. I left the loaf to bake, hoping

some miracle would make it rise; but just in case the God

of Bread did not hear my prayer, I stopped on my way

home for lunch and picked a bouquet of wild flowers.

When I walked into the house, I heard disappointment

in Cathy Lynn’s voice as she called my name; but before

she told me about the bread, I handed her the cheerful

bouquet and said, “I forgot and I’m sorry and these are

for you.” Her face lit up with love as it always does when

I surprise her the way I do; and when she left for work

after lunch, she smiled and said to me, “You’re such a joy

to live with. I’ll put on a fresh loaf when I get home.”

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000

New poem: "The Man Who Likes to Sit"

 

The Man Who Likes to Sit

 

A short, heavy-set man, when he walks

he looks like a big friendly elf coming home

from a hard day’s work, leaning forward

and dragging his feet; but that’s just the way

he walks. He’s not a cultured, sophisticated

man; but he’s learned to enjoy the simple

things that life has given him, like his wife,

children, grandchildren, his home, garden,

and winter living in sunny Arizona. He’s

always been a hard worker, and he deplores

dishonesty wherever he sees it; but the man’s

character shines brightest in his habit of sitting.

“I like to just sit,” he said to me one day,

revealing his deep secret. He doesn’t do it

all the time; but every once in a while, he will

sit in his easy chair and not think, worry,

or wonder about life’s meaning; he just sits.

And if he were a well-read man, he would know

what the psalmist meant when he said: “Be

still and know that I am God.”

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000

New poem: "Two Men Talking"

 

Two Men Talking

 

My friend dropped by to say hello one day

and we had a couple of beer. I asked

him about a mutual friend whom I hadn’t

seen in many years. My friend replied that

he was doing fine since he quit drinking.

“Is he married?” I asked. “Hell no. Joe

told me the other day he hasn’t been

with a woman in seventeen years.” “God,

that’s a long time to be without a woman,”

I replied, with a shudder. My friend,

who by coincidence had just celebrated

his 17^th wedding anniversary, said, “That’s

a long time to be with a woman too.”

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000