At the end of the last path
at the end of the last road
Overlooking pristine lake
with deer eyes blinking
at the sinking sun
There where coyote and hawk
owl, bear, and cougar
cavort and live lives
befitting their species
There on that wooded hill
above the lake of dreams
my soul finds comfort
in any given hour
On top of my gameplan
all covered with grit
I got so frustrated
that I could just spit
The map that I clung to
was thrown to the side
as God is the pilot
I’m in for the ride
The adventure it has me
I think I’ll enjoy
instead of controlling
or getting annoyed…
(Try this one out to the tune of On Top of Old Smokey)
In the garden with ivy
and the occasional veggie
In the studio with pen and ink
and big brush on canvas
And, most of all,
in the turn of the phrases
and singing heartsongs
with the man in her life
With persistence he prevailed
In his quest for dynamic equilibrium
While out beyond
Ideas of who we are…
Our Spirits dance
In joyous abandon
The focal point of his Spirit
the man was vocal
in most every regard
The pursuit of astute phrases
beguiled his appetite
even in the midst of silence
The poet’s soul, a local bard
and extraneous verbiage
A mirror with two sides
Melody runs beneath it
Choice
It is always about choice…
Each and every moment…
no matter what the circumstance
or physical evidence of truth
I choose joy or sorrow
…peace or strife
Oh, what a blessed variety!
