In the Mirror

His grey-white, old man, whiskers

Resemble, superficially,

The peach fuzz down of his youth,

So often touched and marked upon

By the Thai when he was young.

Alas, that’s where, illusions end!

Gone the smooth as butter skin

Free of blemish, scar, and crease.

Gone the silky velvet feel

Replaced with bristles sharp and stiff

Gone the monks who’d cross the street

To stroke his face and offer blessings.

Perhaps this is the way of things

As one grows old and reminisces.

Failing Dams

Propelled irresistibly 

Downstream, caught,

 An unstoppable flood.

Images flash,

Uprooted trees,

Lost in the maelstrom.

Swirling flotsam, jetsam,

Tattered bits 

shattered pieces

all once held dear.

Beloved people, 

Untethered from context

Favorite places,

Unstuck from foundations,

Cherish mementos,

Unshelved from order.

Rolling downstream,

Dooming all ahead,

More weight behind

This churning mass.

Driving inexorably

 toward quiet peace

in endless, silent seas.

Shrouded Jewels

Foggy veils obscure

all but childhood memories 

damned synaptic cataracts!

What are we to do with these?

Yet despair not, at this loss.

Revel, rather, in history’s gems

unburdened by decades of dross

gather, polish, cherish them

beyond what was heaped above,

rather focus on what’s beneath 

and at their core, eternal love.

For that’s the core, the very heart,

this place we end is where we start.