Who is me?
The ‘me’ of six is not the ‘me’ of sixty six
Nor forty six nor twenty six
The child in me is dead a half a century
The older ‘me’ is as different as can be.
‘Me’ is a hundred photos taken over time
Where slowly changes accelerate as we become
Another ‘me’ in body and soul.
The hopes and fears have faded
And translated Into old men’s dreams
What once seemed bright and clear
Has nuanced Into grey.
None of the thinning hairs the same
Nor aging teeth nor pockmarked skin
Not a single atom still remains
Of ‘me’ that went to school first day.
My name stays into eternity
My parents and my history
And now career and kids
Ring fence the molecules of me.
Lay me down
Lay me down in dusty hiking boots
That have walked the pilgrim ways
And leave me with the tattered Tilley hat
That spared the sun and stopped the rain.
And read a will where nothing’s left
Where all is given while simply living
The banks are empty and the houses sold
To those who follow ‘long this quiet road.
Life is for living and death for dying
To exit as we arrived
Give us today our daily bread
For tomorrow, dear, has died.
To have glided through this world
To have walked with gentle step
And leaving now with e’er a trace
Returning home to dust and space.
I think today might be the last
Of this my life with chapter ended
The only way to go.
If not today then sometime
Or premeditated show.
Being the last day, possibly
I smiled a little more
At girls and morning walkers
Along El Medano shore.
I drank my coffee with studied ease
And took ages eating toast and cheese
Savoring each mouthful, perhaps my last
What a way to enjoy breakfast!
The sun seemed brighter
The sea gleamed bluer
Good bye dear world
And thanks for everything.
There is no better time than now
There is no better place than here
There is no better soul than I
As far as I can see
Now, now is better far
Than then, then.
Here, here I’ll stay awhile
Than silly wandering.
And as for me, I’m wonderful
And as for you, you’re fine
At least to me and that’s what matters
Sitting by the sea while nodding sleepily.
A February Funeral.
The Quaker Meeting House falls still
The birds are singing spring songs in the trees
The muffled hum of traffic in Blackrock
Broken only by the siren wail of ambulances.
A Friend is laid to rest quietly
Without the trappings of a ritual
The silence invites the spirit
To travel through the stars and time.
To an hour and a place
Where old Friends meet again
Below the dipping branches
Where spring is sprung eternally.
Sorrow and hope bound to one another
Mixed together and shaken
Twin faces watch in both directions
Embracing joy and sadness.