CEREMONIOUS

The date was right,
But eighteen years later,
Our hero reached that year alright,
Much like a baked ‘tater.

Slept in  a bit,  had a breakfast of his wishes,
Wandered upstairs to ready for church,
And didn’t have to move dishes,
Other duties as well,  left in the lurch.

Fresh from church, to the restaurant we went,
For a family repast,
Much energy spent,
Choosing how to break our fast.

Replete, homeward we went,
Sat watching football on TV,
Grandson’s wishes spent,
On this I believe.

Then culminating,
The festive day,
Fascinating ,
A city in a room, oh I say !

Skylines on the area behind,
And on the table as well,
A five foot tower lamp I find,
And the cake a building, do tell.

The presents, silver wrapped,
Each with pictures of oung Thomas attached,
Each in the past snapped,
By Mom and Dad and stashed.

And with each, quotes from people of fame,
And wisdom,
Giving encouragement for the game,
Of his future life to come.

Most boxes had at least one book,
Desired by him,
Some were heavy and thick, muscle to lift them it took, 
And some slim.

But all with encouragement for Thomas,
Things to wear,
Electronic gizmos, oh  my,  forgot the commas,
More things than my memory can bear.

All in all,
One can truthfully say,
That a ball by all,
Was had this day.

 

UP THERE

Rooted deep in the hill,
Tall, limbs at great length, 
Towering still,
Of mighty strength.

This evergreeen makes lilfe rhyme,.
Quiet dignity does it show,
Most of the time,
But , you know,
A slight breeze makes it mime.

Undulating,
Charms and spells,
Its green fingers weave, 
Magic swells.- trumbulating

Up and down, to and fro,
About its silent incantations,
It does go,
Making its concatenations.

On a breezy wintry night,
Making its furious motions,
Makes me wonder my plight,
Will it be woeful oceans,
Or isles of delight ?
———————————————————–
No photos until I get  home,  but I’m storing them,  and this tree will be one of them.






 

THINGS SUCK

Which is a thing the young say,
A very apt description in a way,
On the other hand,  a vacuum cleaner takes things away,
Would that my sore shoulder be sucked of pain.

Ah,  but this too shall pass,
And good things are happening s well,
A pasture of good green grass,
For me, now,  rings a bell.

Aaahm, in heaven,
Number seven .

HIGHLY RETIRED

Sleepless night,
Bumpy flight,
Neither will I deny,
But, what the hell,
It worked out well.

Dinner with family dear,
Greeted by Cyrano carrying his toy,
Love it here,
And so to bed this tired boy.
——————————————–
No pictures tonight.

COMES THE MORROW

And we shall go,
‘Twas a busy day,
I’m weary you know,
A bit if sleep I pray.
Ere son doth show.

I saw grandson and his ‘rents,
Last Christmas Holidays,
A giant he was then,  would fit in tents,
From what Heather says,
He’s grown a bunch since then.

That chair is a full size one,
He was seventeen then, over six foot,
Now we will have fun,
On his eighteenth toot. 

A DAY  OF REMEMBRANCE

My day today was spent,
Doing necessary physical things,
But my thoughts and heart went,
Remembering the ills service brings.

The months of duty away from loved ones,
And when the time’s up, the tour extended,
And still to face the enemy’s guns,
And the  IEDs by him expended.

Barracks life beats tent life,
But not by much,
Bachelor life is rife,
With  longings and such.

Through the mists of time,
Man has been at war,
Veterans are ill considered most of the time,
And are not well cared for in hospital and rehab amid the gore.

Just one day a year we are asked to remember the vets,
Buy a poppy, shed a tear in condolence,
Little enough a service person gets,
At most a bit of somnolence,
Perhaps peaceful sleep   is met.

My remembrance and thanks go out to service people everywhere,
I was there but a while,  a tech rep,  
Who saw much of what you must bear,
And who feels that love and attention should be there for you all year.

TRIPPING WITH THE CLOUDS

To Greely on our monthly  trip,
To see our daughter,
With ne’er a slip,
We gladly do what we oughter.

But on the way up and back,
Camera and I,
Have a romance with scenery,
For one thing, clouds on high.

In the distance skies are blue,
Nearby the clouds are in shreds,
Nothing really new,
Our senses fed.

Like a shot from an alien ship,
The sun blasts through,
A light show for the hip.

Only color missing I can tell,
Is green,
Not seasonal, doesn’t ring a bell.

They play their tune,
And do what comes naturally,
And the sun provides its boon.

And what do you know,
A technicolor show.

The mountains show,
Try as they might, Sun’s rays can’t dim,
Obscured by smog and clouds,
Rather faint, but I can see ‘em.
————————————————-
Our daughter  received a communication device that is hoped
to give her a means of communication she hasn’t
had before.     We have high hopes that it will
make life more pleasant for her,  as lacking speech
all she can do is make vocal noise.   Which in its way
does convey many meanings,  but not nearly as many
as speech.

We enjoy our visits to her at Stephen’s Farm where she
lives with others similarly hampered.   She is happy.
And  of course,  so are we.

Daughter Penny  and Heather with the mean machine,

LOOKING BACK

Sitting in the car,
Looking back,
‘Twas the best summer by far,
Of the whole stack.

Works of Nature’s art,
Are golden leaves,
And some apart,
Are fallen beauties,
Bronzed, on the ground, waiting winter start.

To get ready for our Thanksgiving trip,
Must follow our list,
Keep our grip,
Ahem,
Stop at the ATM.

EVER EXPANDING

There is a house we pass on the way,
Doing some of our errands,
Typical old building I’d say,
Times sands,
Have spared it in a way.

The street it is on, north and south bound,
Wasn’t there when it was built,
And I expect,  though sound,
The east west road was gravel on silt.

Back then it was way out of town,
Come summer, a ritzy house,
For “The Unsinkable Molly Brown,”
Probably among the myriad cows.

It is now a place for events,
Mid the hustle and bustle,
Of commerce, developments dense,
Too much traffic to hear the leaves rustle.

The suburbs are now busy urbs
From crown of blacktop,
To cement curbs,
Will it ever stop ?

BACK IN TIME

Waking slowly,
Remembering birthday near,
Just a  kid now, lowly,
Tenth I’ll soon clear.

Nose is drinking cold air,
Pine scented,
To  my nose a scent fair,
I notice I am tented.

I can hear the creek,
Burbling, babbling,
 Trying for peace to seek,
I waken scrabbling for clothes.

Smell of coffee and bacon,
Accelerates  my motions,
Kidneys achin’
Find a bush to pay my devotions.

And then mountain breakfast,
Carefully doled out coffee,
Is poured at last,
For me.

And then the world  is mine,
All of it I can see,
To wander the brush and pine,
Oh,  could I again a kid be ?