In this chapbook collection of free verse, I have attempted to capture my ever evolving understanding of life’s process, i.e., the nature of things. And there can be no doubt—these clearly are the poems of an old man. I’m seeing the long shadows cast by fading light. Still, over and over I watch life rise from its own demise. 

Vicariously I feel the hope and energy of youth evolve into a more constant and substantial expression of being that, briefly, flourishes, before gradually succumbing to the weight of its own success… at which point the struggle to grow is replaced by the struggle to remain. 

Throughout this process of being, all of us are met with joys and challenges… laughter and tears… beginnings and endings both large and small. For me, poems are the residue of living. 

Below I’ve provided the first and last poems of this collection. 

 

     sensing humor 

 

november’s easy
   breeze releases leaves
      of birch and black
         tupelo vibrantly yellow
      and orange to drift
   without intention
      to the path i
         still sweep;
            not to mock
         but to
      remind there
         is no end
            to the falling,
      to the breeze,
   to the trees,
      to the path
         itself… 

 

      a rebellious nature

 

i’ve grown so old that
most of my memories
lay buried in boxes i stack in
various closets.

many of them dead already,
a few barely breathe as i
puzzle them into a
nearly recognizable form.

but i still savor the scars of
each moment that etched its intention
into the lining of my heart,
then spray painted its name on
the walls of my imagination.