when I read
what you wrote
long ago


“you wanted to
talk to me” and
share so much

I may never know
your “soft slow

how much I
ached for what
I missed then

fear being the
flip side of

I ruminated
about us now
and then

about your
love and
your pain

my dearest

know that if
I could stop
time I would

because forever
has no time
and no tears

because forever
is not a when
it is a where

where then and
now touch

Time and Touch

Hot tea soothed my soul
as I pondered the extent
to which we love one

As I thought of our love I
became aware of why it is
so hard to understand the
magnitude of it.

It is because our love for
one another is not bound
by the limits of time and
touch or soul and space.

Simply Time

This space
isn’t big
enough to

tell you
about the
hopes and

dreams that
didn’t happen
and the hopes

and dreams
yet to come.
There is only

one difference
between the
hopes and

dreams of the
young and
the hopes and

dreams of the
old. If you are
are a dreamer

like me you
know that the
difference is

simply time

Mostly Minutiae No. 8

We were both up before five and
started our breakfast routine. Me
coffee and cheese; she clean up
from last night, butter, jam, plates.

We turned on Roku and listened
to instrumental Christmas music
as we ate and talked.

The TV screen was a window with
snow falling outside. She knew
every song and the words, too.
Not so for me.

Then she remembered when she
used to sing Christmas hymns in
grade school. (Sadly, no more.)

The older I get, the less the world
remembers anything. Like yesterday
was the day of remembrance that
brought my father (and the US) into
World War II.

We decided to take a break from
Netflix and BBC dramas. Time to
watch our first Christmas film of
the season.

Last night we watched Alastair Sim
as Scrooge in the 1951 color version
of “A Christmas Carol.” What a great
performance by Sim!

I had a piping hot cup of tea to warm
me up with lunch; dinner soon. I do
believe there is another cup of coffee
in my future. Like last night after dinner.

All of us have things we want or need
to forget. Or forgive. Forgetting is part
of the passage of time. Just happens.
Forgiving is a choice not an issue of

We fade and memories of wars fade.
We fade and our time fades into history.
But Christmas is a time of remembrance
that I trust time will never forget.


I took a walk and
thought I’d look for a
poem. The trees
were silent, the heat
refused to speak.

I walked my usual
route with weights
carrying my make
believe Army canteen.

The belt I wear has
chap stick, my keys
dangling from a hook,
a BPA free stainless
steel bottle, and a
No phone.

No, it’s not an Army
canteen, but on my belt,
it sits on the right side
over my butt and when
I put it back in its holder,
it makes an Army sound,
has the Army feel I miss.

It’s easy to think of butt
packs, the smell of canvas,
Army smells, Army places,
and more. I’m there. Helps
take my mind off things.

Two cul-de-sacs, then a
long stretch in the open
area between the two small
hills. No poem here. Just
hot wind.

I only take three sips of
cold water at a time. A
car passes me. Good, I’m
still invisible as ever.

I thought I saw a snake
but it didn’t move. No,
another one. Didn’t move
either. I got closer. Just
irrigation lines running
from bush to bush.

Good thing. I hate snakes
on the ground and in my
head. There are snakes
coiled up on the inside.

When I was a kid, soon
never came, just snakes.
I wanted it to end; I
wanted soon to come.
Snakes and more snakes.

The last incline on a main
road, then three more
cul-de-sacs before I turn
off and down toward the
last cul-de-sac.

Walking earlier than
usual. Only 100 degrees
and it’s too early for the

A few sips left. Ice just
about gone. Top of the
bottle is hot from the

The snakes will be
gone soon. As in gone
forever, I hope. What else
will be soon?

I’ll find the poem I was
looking for. Not this one.

I put my key in the door;
snakes flee and Army
memories recede.

Then returns to now.
Everything will be okay


Other things will be soon;
I just can’t say what they
are. Don’t know.

Soon is on the horizon.
Snakes stir. Something
is coming. Real soon.

I don’t sweat when I walk;
just a little bit after. Too
vigilant to sweat.

You stop sweating when
you live where the hour
strikes every minute,
where soon becomes
now, and now is terror
making time stand still.

Nightmares not so often
anymore. Endless thinking
I hope will end soon.

Faith is a place where
snakes are not synonymous
with soon, and soon is
merely soon, a welcome
increment of time.