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Unionville Road Ride

Spring’s first road ride ready route chosen beauty beckons
Hills loom large school lot start playlist shuffle set right
Earbud in music on we’re off lush summer growth adorns
Rolling hills pedal north past picturesque stone barn pastures

First turn long downhill wind rushes wheels spin faster
Road curves honeysuckle scent scenic farmhouse, flowers
Surround ancient red barn needing paint faded chipping
Every view a photo op locations catalogued as pedals turn

Right turn spectacular orange poppies greet straight carless
Road pothole minefield prevents speed bored black cows ignore
Our passing full mane horses graze before stark and excellent
Leafless tree fatigue pattern bark covers thick strong trunk beautiful

Skeletal state (death becomes you) first hill just ahead tense shoulders
Anticipation distracts music stops with weird timing complete
Silence as assent begins a single word “fear” taunts more silence
Follows a second “fear” sung in superb acapella as heavy breathing

Harmonizes with silence and a perfectly timed prodding word
Fear dismissed hill’s crest welcomes rewards with accelerating
Speed descent second hill’s word floating in silence is paranoia
Is shuffle really random? Hills’ challenge met first road ride

Skeletal Soul

Stark and excellent leafless tree variegated fatigue
Patterned bark covering thick powerful trunk twins awe
Struck skeletal soul surprises (death becomes you beautiful
Lifeless giant) why did you go? Who mourns your

Passing as frolicking lush spring green surrounds
Delighting in wondrous newness sprouting new leaves
Before patient eyes thickening scrub flowering evolving
Please remember past cooling shade shadows cast

Broad reach no more still standing tall reminding those who
Listen of transitory mortality temporary presence quiet
Or loud departure watchtower fixed firm awaiting
Inevitable hollowing decay past strength forever gone

Listen

Today I sat next to a woman while attending a closing for a transaction we’d worked on together for months. We had met in person only once before, but had exchanged dozens of emails and had many brief phone conversations.

She was always rushed, often harsh. I liked that she didn’t waste time. It was easy to see that she’d never be pushed around. I liked that too. I’d always tried to be clear and concise when we spoke. There was no spare time.

Today her face was tired. She’d arrived late for the meeting, not apologizing when she entered but saying “I hate GPS”. She had come from a distance, another meeting. She had more meetings following ours.

Our part of the closing was brief, and there was time to talk. I commented about how busy she was. She looked me in the eye for the first time. Then she leaned toward me and whispered, “A dear friend called me this morning and said ‘happy belated mothers day’. I was puzzled. I thought it was strange. I tentatively said ‘thanks…’ Then my friend said ‘did you get the message I left for you? Bill died on Sunday” Bill was her husband, He died two days ago”

Slowly, she softly said, “I had seen that she called, but I hadn’t had a chance to listened to her message…”

Happy Flowers

“This makes me happy” I say “Yay” comes the response
I carry a pitcher of water outside soaking the large
Full pot of classic cranberry geraniums lavishly overflowing
Tin trough with thick rope handles and drilled drain holes

This is a day I cherish my annual trip to the garden store
Filling my rear hatch no room to spare every inch a burst
Of color crimson coral plum rose white each beauty carefully
Chosen with a preordained place a specific summer spot

Growing and blooming prompts the seasons morning ritual
Early cool shimmering dew sparkling water brilliant days
Puttering pruning breathing sipping sitting appreciating
Serene smile daily send off “This makes me Happy” I say

Glasses

I guess buying progressive lens glasses means I’ve finally succumbed to middle age. They arrived in the mail yesterday. When I think of myself as middle aged, I’m hit by a wave of disbelief while simultaneously hearing Woody Allen’s voice from I don’t remember which movie saying something like “you call yourself middle aged…how long do you expect to live?” At this point I’m working on the 100 and teens. I fully understanding the meaning of ambivalence.

The purchase was by chance when we ducked into Urban Outfitters in the Upper West Side to kill time before a dinner reservation. It was a weekend visit that apparently included buying expensive glasses after photographing flowers in Central Park. In Urban Outfitters I discovered a glasses kiosk with super cool glasses and an even cooler salesman who effortless sold me a pair of trendy glasses in the 20 minutes we had before our reservation. “We have Urban Outfitters in Pennsylvania’ was the only weak objection I raised to his nearly invisible sales pitch. Of course the glasses stand is “a NYC only thing, not part of the store and we ship worldwide (Italy and Nepal he said)” as I pulled out my AMEX card and let him measure my face.

Coincidentally I also had an eye doctor appointment the following Monday so I guess the purchase was not entirely by chance. For several years I’ve worn Costco 3 in a pack for $19 readers dangling from the end of my nose. The look is reminiscent of Mark Shields, the columnist who provides the liberal counterpoint to David Brooks on PBS. Or Howard Fineman. Two liberal thinkers who look smart in their middle age, which is how I’ve imagined myself when looking over the top of my glasses at earnest 30 year olds while explaining the plan to sell their home. Alternatively, I’ve wondered if they are thinking “what are we doing working with this woman who’s our moms’ age”

So this morning I’m learning the process of isolating the band of glass that fits my gaze. Moving my head rather than my eyes is an unnatural challenge. I’ve been told the adaptation period is short. I’m skeptical. I’ve been working hard trying to get the hang of it, simultaneously willing away the creeping migraine trying to access my brain. We’ll see who wins. The important thing is these glasses look cool, even “sort of edgy” according to my assistant, and I cling to this as I move my head around like C-3PO, trying to get everything in focus.

Choices

Life’s transitions sunset night dawn breaks inviting open
Doors wide expansive vistas dizzying beauty calling step out
Walk through outstretched arms open heart pounding which
Route why no color-coded trails for life heart’s desire obscured

Endless choices mesmerize scintillate potentially changing
Life’s direction like a pinball’s ricochet joyous terrifying
Overwhelming options tempt confuse the lost and level headed
Inciting hearts and heads into battle for the upper hand

Fear immobilizes cautious and uncertain heads confidence
Activates hope full hearts questioning yearning gathering weighing
Target fixed one step at a time obstacles shrink passion
Quickens desire propels forward giant courageous strides

First Ride

First ride of the season let’s make it flat and short-ish
Why so late it’s early May six weeks past due how did this
Happen? Weather work and then there was pneumonia
Good thing poems don’t have to rhyme like a child’s
Haiku what choices? Begonia ammonia I don’t own ya?

This day though beautiful puffy clouds and the anticipated
Crowd on the pretty flat trail is absent where are the people?
No nervous parents with tiny kids to dodge on training wheel bikes
Lucky us clear sailing as we circle the lot and head north through
Fields cool air tunnel pothole avoidance dark glasses lowered

A large extended family coming our way young big eyed middle son
Heading straight at me thick accent dad calling move left move left
Hey dad you should be saying right…somehow my heart rate doesn’t
Blip I see the whites of his eyes last second few spare feet he shakily
Leans right I hug my edge we pass like ships stay right cute boy

Time check is it 3? Guests in 2 hours plus a grocery stop and shower
We can ride out 3 more miles no that would be 40 minutes back
So 2 more miles no comment her knowing smile I do this with numbers
And time we pedal on 2 more to our big loop turn head back not bad
Feels good we can go to the end next time no worries happy legs first ride

Coffee Time

Sacred coffee time daily meditation, awakening
Lifetime love never wanes dark bold robust rich
Hot with milk dark khaki mahogany perfection warms
Daybreak sunroom overlook coffee spot sanctum

Grazing deer ahead of bluebirds cardinals yellowest finches
Or deck cozy comfort with green woods view glistening pool
Fresh air breathing blanket cuts chill but always the
Coffee love life’s smallest daily pleasure my cup of happiness

30 Poems in 30 Days

30 poems in 30 days seemed an impossible goal
Too many words too many ideas necessary
To generate 30 separate works completely unique
While also working and living and watching
(Losing) baseball games but one day at a time
Works for many things and writing poems
Apparently is a thing that works one day
At a time each day a new idea thought spark
Excellent bucolic view to prompt the flow of
Stanzas or simply splendid symmetrical words
That fit together like Legos clicking into place
Fitting a theme or forming a story out of a single
Idea or thought when finished a circle back to the
Purity of the origin but with a twist unexpected
Each poem a surprise the 30 a treasure forever

Billowy Dabs

Surreal white puff clouds float on the cerulean sky
Billowy dabs painted on crystal clear blue yonder
Create suspended snowy cotton balls awakening a
Dreamlike whimsy hypnotic confusion disoriented stares

This sky cannot be real with its fanciful puffiness and
Bogus sky blue hue like a heaven imagined in glorifying
Stories but no, it’s a normal April day full of regular troubles
Like any other workday christened with wondrous beauty