#72 LATE NIGHT WALKIN' SERIES

THE NEXT ITERATION IN MY POETIC DEVELOPMENT SPRANG FORTH AFTER I STARTED WALKING AGAIN AFTER 3 1/4 YEARS OF TOTAL SLOTH LYING AROUND THE HOUSE IN MY BATHROBE, THE ONLY EXERCISE I'D GET WOULD BE TO RAISE A SPOON OR FORK TO MY MOUTH.  BUT THEN DR. JIM PRIDE TOLD ME HE WANTED TO SEE ME AGAIN TO CHECK UP ON MY TYPE II DIABETES (FOR WHICH HE HAD PRESCRIBED MEDS I REFUSED TO TAKE; I WALKED IT OFF AND DIETED IT OFF INSTEAD - MY ONLY KNOCK ON JIM IS THAT HE IS WAY TO QUICK TO LOOK FOR THE MIRACLE PILL).  SO EMBARRASSED WAS I BY MY SUBSTANTIAL FRAME - WEIGHING IN AT 272, THAT I DECIDED TO START WALKING POST HASTE.  FROM THAT CONFLUENCE OF EVENTS FLOWED A RATHER REMARKABLE SERIES OF POEMS, INSPIRED BY LATE NIGHT WALKING AND THE MOON.

Went a'walkin' tonight

Went a'walkin' tonight
And the moon looked just like
A tangerine slice
Standing ripe and upright
on a phantom table top
above the house tops
and the tree line
in the Western sky 

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Walked again late tonight

(edited this on October 24)


Walked again, late tonight.
Up the road, northbound, past the elementary grade school
where Carnival weekend ended earlier, at 6 p.m.,
Except for the carnies, who must take it all down,
and pack it all up, before they can trek South.

Could almost swear I heard the mysterious sounds
of the spirit voices of teenagers, too old now
to be seen at a carnival for "the little" kids.
But sensed that the spirit voices still had
a tiny longing to be there once again,
to experience the wonderment and joy that carnivals bring
to young boys maybe young girls too, when first they ride
those oh so big machines, not the least embarrassed
to be clutching very close to the side
of dad; probably even mom too would do.
Or maybe it's just me I heard - missing the days
when Adam was younger, and smaller, and I might loomed
large, like Homer Simpson, a pretty big presence in his life.

Farther north, farther beyond the school, things got
eerily quiet. No dogs barking, no cars driving by,
no skunks, no coyotes, no raccoons - to be seen,
nor to be heard. Lights out save for the occasional
home with a TV light glowing in an otherwise dark room.

Turned around to come back.
And I wondered why the Ferris Wheel is missing?
Can it really be a carnival with no Ferris Wheel?

Cloudy skies, didn't even glimmer the moon until
I got back to the school. No tangerine moon tonight,
no way no how. Chalk white moon, moon beams barely
peeking through but when they do, eerily slipping through
the darkness of cloud cover. Saw one star only.

Is it always like this when summer slips away? 

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Tangerine-shaped moon again tonight

Tangerine-shaped moon again tonight, so white
Low riding in the pitch-black cloudless Eastern sky
Hovering, just hovering, not resting any any table-top
house-tops or tree-tops,
Looking more like it's being held ever so still
By some invisible puppeteer's strings

But how'd the moon move there tonight, midnight,
What arc did it travel?
What course did it take?

There is so much that I don't know,
That I still need to learn. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Portents of things to come

Went mid-morning walking today
And the sun shone so warm and bright
Above an infinitely blue sky
That it would have been possible
To miss the south-wind carrying
A chilling breeze, a portent of
The things that are to come.

October, mostly my favorite time,
And not merely because of Halloween,
Adam James' favorite holiday, and all
Those wonderful memories of Adam and Peter
Wearing grim reaper costumes
And the delightfully silly smiles
They wore too, smiles
That come so naturally to vaguely aware boys.

Nor because of the tree leaves transforming
Into their true colors, so grandly,
So vividly, so majestically, and then
So suddenly gone, save for the odd withered one or two
That hang on so valiantly (or so habitually)
Until the gusty winds of March
Finally persuade them to leave that to which they clung,
As attached as I am to this house,
To this neighborhood,
And to my memories.

October holds the promise of the greatest grandness
Of the trees; so grand that thoughts of winter's
Harshness are pushed somewhere deep into the recesses
Wherein dwell the hopes and dreams of a silly boy
Who once loved in a silly, hopeless, helpless way,
That comes so naturally to the vaguely aware.

Well, come, October, my old friend.
Welcome, October, my old dream.
Well, come, October, my desperate beginning.
welcome, October, my bitter end. 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We need warm

We need warm, accepting, human beings
Who have learned life's most important lessons:
that life is not easy,
that we all stumble,
that we all fall,
that we cannot pull ourselves up all by ourselves,
(much less by our bootstraps)
that along the craggy, rocky way,
there have always been helping hands,
and guiding lights,
and guardian angels,
and that when we finally learn to forgive ourselves,
then, and only then,
do we learn to forgive others,
and become warm, accepting, human being