JWG's Miniscule Past — Four Poems

44. January 6, 2011

In the morning, Venus dazzles the eyes.
I have much to learn from watching the sky.

Clouds quickly cover the remaining stars
As another Winter storm commences.

A flock of birds fly by in search of food;
Or, perhaps, they take morning exercise?

My daily exercise has me watching
The Stars set, the Sun rise, and the Plants grow.

The quietness of Life is an extreme
Propriety veering from convention.

A Mind awakens when it is rested.
A Heart cannot afford to ever rest.

Water molecules are always moving.
They make up the blood that sustains us all.

In the evening, the snow begins to fall
Covering the landscape with shattered Stars.

45. January 7, 2011

I have examined the contents of bags
Full of our past vacation souvenirs.

Ticket stubs and brochures from many trips
Have once again been picked up by my hands.

Places I’ve been are beginning to meld
Into one bigger place in a small world.

The specifics of paths walked I recall.
Well, all except the actual country.

Some Countries have a distinct character
Which, when seen, are difficult to forget.

Some Countries can confuse one’s sense of place,
Even those on different continents.

There is one thing that binds Lands together.
It is, in this language, what we call “Earth”.

In small bags, I’ve bits of Earth I’ve gathered;
Sand and rocks from Countries we’ve visited.

51. January 13, 2011

Watching the snow fall off of the branches
Is observing the progress of Winter.

Frankly, I have had enough of Winter.
I desire to feel the warmth of Springtime.

Our bags are packed for the next vacation.
A small suitcase each for an entire month.

A sense of happy anticipation
Thinking of flying away from Winter.

Our destination is recommended
By Europeans who have visited.

The Canary Islands are far away
For those who live in North America.

One can more precisely plan today’s trips
By past experience and computers.

We’ll make our home on Gran Canaria
Where the season is perpetual Spring.

52. January 14, 2011

Sitting in The Library with a Friend
Writing our separate exercises.

As we chatter away, stalling our work,
We consider what we could be doing.

A phone call can change the mood of a day.
Daddy was taken to the hospital.

For a brief second, I almost lost it.
The worst is expected one of these days.

Shovelling snow is not good for the heart —
Nor is worrying about what could be.

I attempt to soothe myself by saying,
Time and time again, “What will be, will be.”

Shadows are getting longer and deeper.
Days become the most precious entity.

Despair and Hope have become reconciled.
Dramatics seem to trickle in my veins.