Michael is a retired, due to Parkinson's, Fire Alarm Inspector. He's been writing poetry since college, where he started a literary magazine and he's since published in various e magazines - still writing - having fun
The abundance of space and beauty and time
The structure of life fades into our minds
You know it's your world when you know this is real
There's nothing to hide and nothing to steal
To ride through the desert - a narrow road thrill
A place void of jetlag silent and still
Viewing a painting - focused on theme
Not seeing the background - lost in a dream
Like glittering glass that goes unseen
'cause it's not quite as pretty as tourmaline
But the glass has it's beauty like the old Mother Road
A dream that comes true not bought and not sold
Like the fantastic fury of silent red rocks
Where the wind says don't sleep
And the sun sets don't quit
Condors and roadrunners are part of this trip
Tenderfoot eyes perceive it as stark
Warriors know their spirits have felt
Each mile in their minds and under their belts
Silently begging to continue the trip
With no destination on Route 66.
Skipping a flat stone on a still water lake
creating tiny circles that soon disappear
the stone silently sinks
and I am silent too and sinking
the tiny circles I have createdd
will disappear with me
A life that touches others
becomes passed on like a game of tag
Savor the moment of being it
breath in life and whatever movements
of this symphony can be played
My tremored hand reaches
to touch you - you're it
is all I want to say.
Instructions in the Wind
A father is never the same
when the children become adults.
I imagine myself in a greenhouse
writing a poem at 3:00 am
assembling the parts
like a swing set.
The instruction sheet lost in the wind.
The flowers obstructed.
Now I hear drums
like the drums at 6:30 am on Patriots Day
before the parade.
Minutemen on horseback
re-enact a revolutionary spirit.
A time from my childhood
that I never shared,
it is falling from me
like a leaf shed from a tree.