ANOTHER HAPPY HALLOWWEEN

 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

“Is there anyone in the back room of your bookstore?” A father asked me. “My daughter would like to know.”

“Not that I’m aware of.” When I answered…the father’s face began to glow.

“My daughter is obsessed with ghosts.” He said. “And she is certain…without a doubt…she heard a ghost in your back room…trying to get out.”

For me to explain the reason behind this phenomenon would, scientifically speaking, be a mistake…but when someone opens the front door to our store…our back door rattles and shakes.

I explained this to her father…about the quirkiness of our door…

and we both decided, when it comes right down to it, 

we liked his daughter’s version more.

So I left the counter and positioned myself…poised by our front door…

while her father walked back to tell his daughter there is a ghost in our bookstore.

On her father’s signal I opened the doors…with flare (if I was given to boast).

and we both watched his daughter stop…and stare…and wonder about our ghost.

She was smiling as she ran to the counter. 

“I heard your ghost.” She cried.

In all my years upon this Earth I’ve never seen eyes so wide!

She left with a couple of ghost books in her hands and a huge smile on her face…

ever-confident she heard the ghost who resides within this space…

When I was young Halloween was special…in ways at the time I did not know…

my mom would cut two holes in a sheet…and off, as a ghost, I’d go.

It was all about the candy I’d amass…trick-or-treating everywhere….

But this Halloween will always be special…I’ll always cherish standing there…

being reminded of the wonder of family

meeting the ghost in our back room…

and the child who first heard it there.

ONCE THE CHOICE IS MADE

 

Once we make the choice to bring a child into this world we have a duty to that child…as their life unfurls.

Yes, once the choice is made…the choice of child birth…it is our duty to help our children feel safe and happy during their stay upon this Earth.

Our duty to teach them right from wrong…how to respect the plants, the seas…the birds…

Our duty to teach them how our actions speak much louder are much valuable than our words.

Our duty to show them kindness and love…to help them thrive…to grow…to cope…

Our duty to teach them about honor and justice…our duty to fill their world with hope.

Our duty to show them what love and friendship look like…how promises we make are kept…

Our duty to teach them how to behave…what we will and will not accept.

Our duty to help them handle failure…to show them good manners are never outdated…

Our duty to show them how tenderness, compassion and a gentle heart can never be overrated.

Our duty to allow their imaginations to soar…to think for themselves and to admit when they are wrong.  Our duty to show them how compromise and acceptance are two ways to prove that they are strong.

Our duty to give them the freedom to play, sing and dance…to draw, to paint, to write…our duty to show them the decisions and the choices they make will not alway be black and white.

And finally our duty to teach them how everyone is important, every life is precious…no matter their sex, color religion, or race…

for once we fulfill these duties…our world, their world, will be a more peaceful and happier place.

But the main reason we must fulfill these duties to our children…before our children are grown…is so they’ll understand the importance of these duties…when these duties become their duties alone.

THE FRIEND-SHIP

 

I see my self as captain of a ship sailing across life’s ocean…

steering at a slow and steady rate…

and how my sailing is made easier and more rewarding by the friends I accumulate.

As I sail to different destinations…

I find from day to day

new friends can board at any port…

while some old friends go ashore along the way.

Some old friends will return for a visit…

to share a story…a laugh…a cry…

for there is always room upon my ship…

for those who’ve said goodbye.

That is the wonder of our sailing ships…

once a friend has boarded…no matter where or when…

our friendship re-ignites 

once our ships cross paths again.

If I’m lucky some friends will ride with me forever…

across oceans vast and wide…

and I shall always feel safe, secure…and happy 

knowing they are by my side.

Knowing wherever my journey takes me…

through weather foul or fair…

all I have to do is turn around 

and they’ll be standing there…

And knowing as they captain their ships…

as our hopes and dreams we share…

all they have to do is turn around…

to find me standing there.

Ready to lend an ear…a hand…a hug…

with a smile or a kind word to say…

as we ride on each other’s friend-ship…

until our ocean fades away.

A BOOKSTORE WORKER'S CREED

 

Working behind the counter of a bookstore I have a chance to look…

to browse among our shelves and find the oldest books

I love the feel of them in my hands, to gently turn their pages and what’s more

I like to think about the paths these books have taken 

before coming to rest here inside our store.

The words written on its pages tell a story…that’s well known

but the book has also made a journey and has a story of its own.

The story within the pages of the book is repeated each time the book is sold

but the story about the book itself…forever remains untold..

I recently came upon a book whose story is not yet through…

a tiny pocket-sized book that was given to a soldier in World War II.

(It’s interesting to note since they were small enough fit in pockets and gunny sacks…

these books helped launch the acceptance…and popularity of books in paperback)

It was a little weathered…its pages yellow and tattered by time

and I had to wonder how…from the hands of a soldier in the war

did it find its way to mine.

Did this soldier see much action…was he injured…did he make it out alive?

In the horrors of a war…did this little book help him to survive?

How much time did it spend in Europe?  

Was its journey fast…or slow? 

How did it find its way back across the ocean?

These are things I’ll never know.

For that is the dichotomy of a book is it not?…

On its pages it reveals its secrets for everyone to see

but the secrets of its journey shall remain a mystery.

So while I am it’s caretaker…

as I wonder about the adventures it has undergone…

I shall do my best to protect her

before she journeys on.

SKILLET LOVE

 

How lucky are we to live in a world with love as its foundation…

A love that’s universal…but with infinite variations.

For instance…there’s the love we have for our family, our friends…

love between two men, two women…between a woman and a man…

There’s love for food…for sunsets, rainbows, and of course…love of a flying pan.

Yes, today it’s a cast iron skillet I happen to be thinking of…

because every time Deborah cooks in it…it makes me think of love.

When it comes to choosing a pan to cook in….that skillet is the one she prefers…

It was her grandmothers then her mothers before being passed down to her.

Every time she uses it…the moment she removes it from the drawer…

she thinks of all the people who have cooked in it before.

She thinks of all the meals cooked in it…and as more and more memories arise…

it’s not always chopping onions that brings tears to Deborah’s eyes.

It’s easy to see how, over the years I, too, have become a fan…

because everything tastes better…cooked in that old frying pan.

Every meal cooked in it…has…from love…been grown.

Could it be that memories stored in an old frying pan have a flavor all their own?

Deborah’s love for that cast iron skillet…is so very plain to see…

When she picks it up she often looks at…the way she sometimes looks at me.

ii thought she was looking at me ‘that way’ once and into her love I felt totally immersed

Until she said, “If we ever have a fire in this house…I think I’d save my skillet first.”

And I am perfectly okay with that…I think we can all agree….

After all…she’s known that cast-iron skillet…longer than she’s known me.

It’ really very simple…that pan will last forever..

If its nurtured and taken care of….

And is that not the very foundation

the very essence

the very meaning and definition of love?

EAVESDROPPING ON CREATION

 

I use to wish I was there for the Big Bang…I can only imagine my elation…

If I was there at the beginning…the first one to eavesdrop on creation.

To watch the world at its conception…to see the birth of the wind and the trees…

to marvel at the formation of the mountains…the rivers and the seas.

To witness the origin of the sun and the clouds that drift on high…

to watch each star begin to twinkle as they were placed up in the sky.

To witness the first sunrise and sunset…across our vast terrain…

to feel the first warmth of sunshine…to play in those first drops of rain. 

But I was not present at the creation…and, you know what…that’s okay…

because I have found joy eavesdropping at the creation of each new day.

I watch as clouds I’ve never seen before are created in the sky.

I’ve watched…as a tiny caterpillar creates a butterfly.

I’ve seen flowers created from the earth…dolphins in the sea…

I’ve seen rainbows arch across the sky…created prismatically 

I’ve witnessed babies being born…

In the eyes of parents I’ve seen love created on the spot

I’ve watched animals creating babies…yes…I’ve seen creation quite a-lot…

I learned long ago of all the creations before our eyes…

how in our life they’re interspersed…

and when it comes to seeing them…I don’t have to be the first.

I’ve learned how every creation is a gift…

how no two creations are the same……and should never be compared…

How every creation is to be cherished…

to be savored…

to be shared.

RORSCHACH WOULD BE PROUD

The other day I wrote a poem after being surprised to meet……

as I began my morning walk…a guitar stain in the street.

Well, it appears looking that a stain in the street is similar to looking at the clouds…

There are so many interpretations it would make Hermann Rorschach proud.

Where I saw a guitar (perhaps influenced by listening to Walter Parks play his under a crescent moon)…another friend saw something else…a teddy bear…holding a balloon.

Still another friend, (I imagine perhaps a fan of the Grateful Dead) 

also saw a teddy bear but with a mushroom growing out its head.

Finally another person looking at this stain…unbeknownst to me…

saw another teddy bear…this one praying beneath a tree.

So I took another look at my stain…and smiled…

their interpretations were not at all bizarre…

for now that they had mentioned it…I could see a teddy bear in my guitar.

In fact…the more I looked at that stain…in the street…innocently lying there…

my mind it kept changing back and forth…from guitar back to teddy bear.

And I thought…this just another lesson nature is teaching me…

how we all can look at the same thing…yet see it differently?

How we need to listen more to one another…

because the truth is not alway easy to ascertain….

How there are more than one way to look at things…

just like there's more than one way to view a stain…

And although I can see your teddy bears in my guitar…

(he looks a little like Winnie the Pooh)

I believe if you see him praying, 

carrying a balloon 

or with a mushroom growing from his head

Mr. Rorschach would like to talk to you! 

EXCUSE ME, SIR

It happened again yesterday…and, as usual, took me by surprise…

A reminder in my life of how rapidly time flies…

About halfway through our morning walk..we decided to take a break…

to listen and watch the birds from a pier overlooking a lake.

The blanket of night was lifting and the morning was beginning to stir…

when a young man out for an early jog ran by and said, “Excuse me, sir.”

He continued happily on his way while I was left standing there….

on that pier overlooking the water with the word ‘SIR’ hanging in the air.

When did I become old enough to be a sir?

Was there a particular year or month or day?

I tried to erase the word as it hovered…but it would not go away.

I should have heard his footsteps from my perch next to the shore…

but even though my ears are so much larger now…I don’t hear good anymore.

Although he was now out of my view…I had this sudden whim…

to leave the serenity of the lake…and take off after him.

To see the look of surprise on his face as this old man…wrinkled and gray…

says, “Excuse me, sir.” as I smile…pass him by…then continues on my way.

Then I looked down at my legs and said to myself, “I can’t run on these.”

because as I’ve grown a little older I’ve had two surgeries on my knees.

I realized trying to run after him with bad knees would not be too bright…

besides I couldn’t remember after he left the pier…did he turn left…or right.

Anyway he had such a huge lead on me…I would be starting too far behind him…

and with my eyesight being as bad as it is…I’d probably never find him.

So as we finished our walk enjoying the clouds as they floated in the sky of blue…

I realized there and then…there was nothing I could do!

There’s nothing wrong with being a sir…I told myself…

(on this…I’m still waiting for my heart and mind to agree)

but my eyes, 

my ears 

and my knees…

have not stopped thanking me. 

AVA AND THE JEWELER

 

Today was a special day for us…for Ava our granddaughter…

and for our friend Kim…who happens to be a jeweler too

but this is a story that begins 16 years ago…so let me now review:

That’s when Ava, our only granddaughter chose our world to enter…and adorn

and on that day between Deborah and I…the seed of an idea was born…

We decided to buy Ava a charm bracelet…minus any charms…

(in our minds our direction was clear)

on this bracelet we would add a different charm each year.

Each charm would represent a special memory…a time…a place…a scene

chosen each year of her life…until she turned 16.

For her first birthday we found Kim, a jeweler,

(we liked the tattoos emblazoned on her arm)

and when we told her of our plan…she was happy to attach the charm.

Kim did such a wonderful job with that first charm…our path ahead was clear…

we thought: What if we left Ava’s bracelet and its new charm in Kim’s hands each year!

So every year for the last 16 we did what we had done the year before…

We handed Ava’s bracelet and her new charm to Kim at her jewelry store.

I don’t know exactly when or how it happened…during the time one year begins and another ends but somewhere within those 16 years the jeweler and her customers became friends.

How quickly 16 years have passed…16 years we would’t have missed…and Ava was euphoric when we finally clasped the bracelet 'round her wrist.

But once we saw that bracelet on her wrist…we realized the gift wasn’t over yet…not until Ava and her bracelet…and Kim, the jeweler met.

So that’s why yesterday was so special…seeing Ava and Kim…arm in arm…connected for a lifetime…by a bracelet filled with charms.

Now…whenever Ava looks at her bracelet…hopefully she’ll be aware…

of the people and places each charm represents…

and of the jeweler who put them there

AFTER WOODSTOCK

 

The inspiration for today’s poem…I found beneath my feet…

as I began my walk this morning…in a guitar stain on the street.

Last night we attended a concert at a friends house…where we sat off in the wings…and listened to Walter Parks serenade us…tells us stories…and coax his guitar to sing.

Walter Parks backed up Richie Havens for 10 years, was at Woodstock…he knew Jimi Hendrix too…

If you don’t know about Woodstock, Richie or Jimi…well…I kind of feel sorry for you.

They gave us the first music that imprinted on our souls back when we were bell-bottomed and tie-dyed dressed…They are part of the reason my generation knows its music is the best.

Walter played us his versions of song from Woodstock…it was a wild nostalgic romp…then played us songs and hollers…music from his roots in the Okefenokee Swamp.

It’s just our luck after Woodstock, Richie and Jimi…after all the fanfare and the pomp…that Walter found a way to discover…music in a swamp.

Hauntingly soulful…beautiful hollers and ballads we hadn’t heard before…

and as any great musician does…he left us wanting more.

The fact you might not know Walter…that he is not as famous as Woodstock, Richie or Jimi…doesn’t cause him any pain…

because, as he likes to point out…

he is already a rock star in many cities in Spain.

Walter reminds us that although we’ve all come a long way after Woodstock…

following different paths…

down different tracks…

every now and then it’s great to come together…

to remember…

to look back…

And how at any time in life…

inspiration could be just beneath our feet….

we might find it in a swamp…

or in a guitar stain on the street.

DO YOU KNOW ME?

This poem is dedicated to anyone who has ever felt the agony and pain of prejudice…

who have been left battered and beaten and scarred….

and to those who have inflicted that pain…

for you both know who you are.

DO YOU KNOW ME?

Do you know me?

Like every human I am made up of chromosomes and genes.

Yet, I am told I am not normal…and I don’t know what that means.

Do you know me?

I use to wake up every morning as happy as a clam…

glad to be alive knowing who I am…is…who I am.

Do you know me?

I was so happy with who I am and the way my life unfurled…

until I took my first steps into a cruel and heartless world.

Do you know me?

It was here my view of normal got distorted and confused…

for out here I have been made fun of, punched, spit upon…abused.

Do you know me?

Some people look at me and think, to them, I am a threat!

I am even hated, yes hated, by people I’ve never met!

Do you know me?

I have been beaten, shot, stabbed, strung up and left hanging from a tree.

by people who want to kill me…just for being me.

Do you know me?

I have friends who have killed themselves…an action I cannot condemn.

for they have chosen to leave a world that wasn’t ready for them.

Do you know me?

Have you ever felt so lonely…so sad…so deep in darkness…

a way out you cannot see?

Have you ever contemplated different ways to end your misery. 

Do you know me?

Have you ever really looked at me…

ever stood where I have stood…

Have you ever tried to get to know me…

If not…oh how I wish you would.

For I am sure…all you out there who abuse me…who call me names…

once you get to know me…you will never feel the same. 

UPS AND DOWNS

There are times I don’t want to be reminded (as crazy as it sounds)

how life is always changing…how it’s a series of ups…and downs.

We’ve seen many things in life that have made us laugh…as time’s gone by…

We’ve seen many things that have made us weep…that have brought tears into our eyes. 

We had just spent a beautiful day together…and…as that day came to an end…

We received the news that cancer had invaded another friend.

We’ve felt the joy of friends and family and pets who have taught us how to fly…

We have felt the sadness and the pain of when it came time to say goodbye.

I’ve been lucky in my life for whenever an up or a down has found its way to me…

my first thoughts have always landed on my friends and family. 

I think of life as a roller coaster ride…and again…as crazy as it sounds…

I use to think the best I could do is hold on tight through all its ups and downs.

But I have come to realize the best way to enjoy this ride…

is to experience every up and down…with friends and family by my side.

Whether holding on for dear life…or riding with my hands up in the air…

it’s nice to look around and know my friends and family are there.

So to my friends and family…it its any consolation…

as you ride your roller coaster of life…I offer this revelation…

When the ups of life have you feeling joy

or the downs have you feeling blue…

look to your right…

or to your left…

I’ll be riding next to you. 

DREAMING

 

There is a purity…an innocence of youth that every parent should plan to nurture and encourage as often as they can:

As her parents tucked her in one night their daughter said,

“I have a question just for you.”

“Would it be possible,” she said looking, “to paint my ceiling blue?”

“And then to sprinkle on my blue ceiling a bunch of clouds…soft and fluffy and white because I want to know the sky is there when I fall asleep at night.”

Her parents smiled and said, 

“If you don’t mind…may we ask you why?”

“Because when we turn out the light…you’ll never see the sky?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She told her parents.

“I don’t need to see the sky.”

“It’s for when I fall asleep and dream that I can fly.”

Her parents knew what they had to do…knew they’d be remiss

If they rejected or ignored logic as beautiful and innocent as this.

The next day, without hesitation, they did what she asked them to do.

With their daughter watching every stroke…they painted her ceiling blue.

And as their daughter directed them…

with a smile so innocent and bright…

They sprinkled her new blue ceiling…

with clouds…

soft, fluffy and white.

REMEMBERING CAMPFIRES

 

I love this time of year…when the cooler weather sneaks back in…

when the leaves begin to change…and fall

It’s campfire time again.

I’ve always loved a campfire…watching the colors mix and mingle within the flames…how, just like the moments in my life…no two campfires are the same.

Perhaps the true beauty of a campfire is how it invites us to slow down in a world that’s moving much too fast…

and how like magic each new campfire rekindles campfires from our past…. 

Faces illuminated by the light…feeling the warmth…giving the fire a poke…

telling stories…smiling…laughing as we share a story, a memory…a joke.

Remembering when our children and grandchildren ran around the fire…

watching sparks float to the stars up in the sky…

chasing fireflies, making s’mores…

trying (unsuccessfully) to avoid the smoke getting in our eyes….

Toasting marshmallows on a stick…

how some of the marshmallow always sticks to our hands like glue….

remembering back to when that child running around the campfire…

was a younger version of you.

Moments of quiet reflection…shedding a tear…saying a prayer

as we remember faces around the campfire…no longer sitting there…

The smell of smoke on our clothes…in our hair…as we wake up and greet the next day…

Smiling and hoping, at least for a little while, we don’t wash that aroma away.

I think what I love most about a campfire however….

Is how its flames help me rediscover my truth….

how in its glow I can alway find a glimmer…a gleam…a twinkle

of my innocence and youth. 

THOUGHTS ON THE CHILDREN OF WAR

I wish we adults would think of our children more…

before we decide to fight…before we go to war.

I wish we could remember our words are pervasive…

our actions so far-reaching…

and will serve to shape the future of the children we are teaching.

I wish we’d understand…as we fight for power from coast to coast…

In any war we wage…it is our children who suffer most.

We should ask ourselves this question:

What type of adults will our children grow up to be…

If hatred, and war and bigotry are all they ever see?

Our children are looking to us…

every moment…

every day…

to guide them on how to act…

to help them know what they’re supposed to say.

What can we possibly say to soothe the children of war…

who’ve lost their home…their family….

how can we possibly ease their pain 

once we’ve destroyed their innocence…and symmetry

For once the decision to go to war is made…

no matter how much we hope and pray…

we’ve also made the decision 

to take someone’s childhood away.

Oh, how I wish we adults would think of our children…

before we go to war…

because even if some children survive…

they won’t be children anymore.

 

COUNTING DREAMS

 

Fate is a capricious mistress…we don’t know from where our destiny stems…

With some people luck seems to ride upon their shoulders 

While with others…misfortune follows them.

What follows is the story of a man to whom fate has been unkind…

It’s as if to a life of misfortune he has been confined.

Without going into details…his life’s been filled with sorrow and heartache and pain…

but every time life knocks him down…he gets back up again.

He stands up tall…massages his wounds…and after a little while

amidst his sorrow and his sadness…he finds a reason to smile.

A good friend once asked him, “How do you do it?

How do you not let your sorrow show?

Is there a secret to your happiness…if so…please let me know.

His answer was a simple one…nothing too extreme…

He said, “The key to my happiness has always been in my ability to dream.”

“After a dream’s come true or has been shattered…what I’ve always found redeeming…

Is the happiness that exists in the simple act of dreaming.”

“When fate hands my dream a disappointment and I feel I’m losing my self-esteem…

as I watch the dream before me fade away…I just dream another dream.”

“When a dream is over…good or bad…I’ll take a moment to rejoice…or cry

then I remind myself there are as many dreams as there are stars up in the sky.”

“And I’ll choose another star to dreams on…and if that star leads to a scar…

I look back to the heavens…and choose another star.”

“I guess what keeps me happy.” He said, “is when each day is through…

I’m not counting all my dreams that have been shattered…

I’m counting all my dreams that have come true.”

HOW MANY

As they walked together in the morning the old man wondered:

How many walks have they shared over the years?

How many quiet moments?

How many whispers?

How many smiles?

How many tears?

How many a child’s laughter have they shared?

How many meals?

How many pets?

How many walks along the beach have they taken?

How many sunrises?

How many sunsets?

How many mountains have they climbed together?

How many rivers?

How many streams?

How many beliefs and wishes have they shared with one another?

How many hopes?

How many dreams?

How many times have they said, ‘I love you’?

How many beautiful moments…unplanned?

How many hugs.

How many kisses?

How many times have they held each other’s hands?

Which made the old man wonder in the midst of all hewas thinking of…

If that is the most exquisite…

the most wonderful…

the simplest beauty of love…

That they’ve shares so many wonderful memories

they can’t possibly remember the exact amount….

so many memories…in a lifetime together…

that they long ago lost count.

 

THE BEAUTY IN EACH ONE

 

We saw her again this morning…as our walk came to a close…

alongside our neighbor’s fence…a solitary rose.

Alongside this fence…year in…year out…is, invariably, where she grows…

reminding us of the beauty that exists within a single rose.

Every year, as her bloom returns, she is a welcome guest…

reminding us how another year has past…

and how our life is truly blessed.

We often think how our children and grandchildren have set our world aglow…

how lucky we have been to watch our family grow.

But each year as we welcome back this single rose…as her pink bloom we, once again see…we take a few moments to think about each child and grandchild…individually.

We think back to the day they were born…remembering moments in their life along the way…and we marvel at the person they were…and who the are today.

We find, when we take the time to look at each child…

although, each year, the person we see has been revised…

we are never disappointed and always pleasantly surprised.

Looking at each child and grandchild this way…

listening to each individual voice…

in each moment of reflection…allows us a moment to rejoice…

Which is probably why a single rose blooming along a fence

when she returns can evoke in us…a feeling so intense…

For when we take the time to look at each person

through their trumps and their woes….

we understand and truly appreciate…

the beauty of each rose.