Fishing and Writing

Friends,

Sorry I haven't been on the porch when you've come by lately. I'm in the high mountains trying to find some willing trout, and some poems. I'll be back in a little while. I just didn't want you to come by and not find me. I'll see you soon.

Have a wonderful day.

Robert

Birthday Ramblings

So, it’s my birthday. I’m doing those exciting things that us ancient ones do on that special day of the year. I went to an appointment to get the car lubed and checked out, so the time in the waiting room was pretty special. It was quiet and the others waiting didn’t know it was my birthday until my friends called and sang to me, then it was very funny to the whole dealership.

My wife gave me a card, and as usual it was one that was special and tender. She bought me a new pair of waders for fly fishing a month or so ago. She always knows exactly what I want if I beg long enough.

Looking back over all those years I can only say that these years are all icing on the cake. God has been good to me in all ways. Others had predicted my demise many times, and I agreed with them, but here I am.

I have only been troubled by one birthday. That was the one that I knew I was too old to return to life on the sea as a military man. I had not planned on going back, but it was just the fact that I couldn’t. I was no longer the warrior, and had to move into another phase of life.

I’ve had friends that have stayed in contact all these years, and have made friends that will be special for years to come. I’ve seen wonderful miracles. Seen friends healed and prayers answered. Seen high mountains and flat seas. Loved and been loved.

I’ve been given poems that I am proud of, and have seen people that I have helped go on to be writers and artists.

I have children and grand children, and for my age I am in good health. I have family who care where I am, and what I'm doing.

Soon I will go on my yearly walkabout, because my wife knows that no matter how old I get there is still an adventure to be realized. That is something pretty special.

So today is outstanding for all that and more. Thank you for sharing it with me here in North Georgia, on my porch, on a sunny August day.

I Don’t See

I don’t see as far as I used to.
I remember being able to see past the horizon,
steel ships crossing from one ocean to another,
a young man on the bridge tanned by a southern sun.

Farther still seeing the river of Eden and north to the
great desert, always looking ahead for an adventure.
Seeing dreams coming true.

A wife and children just as I saw them walking out of time,
just as I saw them, and the years passing like a movie
in fast forward up to this day.

Now while I strain to see out past the mountains
it all has become a mystery to me, and I take my glasses,
picking them up with my grandfather’s hands, as the young
man stands in the shadows, and smiles.

Early Morning Thoughts

It’s early in the morning. I couldn’t sleep, but not because I was hungry. These poems need very little explanation. I’m so very fortunate to have shelves of books, a good home, three meals a day, and people who know where I’ll be sleeping tonight. It’s not just the poor that need you today. Somebody you know is lonely, or just needs to hear your voice. Take a minute, and we’ll talk more next time.


Get Up

Get Up
GET...... UP, you’re thinking about the game anyway.
You’re looking sideways at Janet Thompson’s legs
anyway.

Get Up
Walk back the aisle. Don’t think about
the stares, the whispers, or the preacher.
Push open the double doors at the back of the sanctuary,
run down the limestone steps, across the flagstone walk,
past the parking lot full of shiny cars, and up the street.

Run to the corner where the old woman
sits on the grate, wipes the snot from her nose,
cracks the snow from her hair.
Walk up to her and beg her forgiveness,
rip your pocket off, and give her all the
money you have.

Maybe
Maybe
Just maybe then, you’ll really know what
to pray for, and what the truth is.



Hollow People
Cincinnati 1972

The hollow people of the city are kept north of 13th street by police batons and threats, where they wont spoil the store windows and the suits can walk to lunch without seeing reminders of the real world.

Up there above the parkway where the canal used to be they wait for lunch at the Catholic Church and sleep on cots in the mission. Others who know the secret, walk along the Race Street wall and fade from view into the shadows where the transformer vault is hidden beneath the sidewalk.

Under cardboard they are warmed by the green boxes and sleep to the hum of electricity flowing through copper coils. A few blocks away the office workers, cubical sitters, and bank presidents are giving them comfort by just turning on the lights.