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Local Focus – Global Reach

Retired for many years and now re-discovering some writings, from long ago, along with new endeavor to help save my soul.

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Just a small Bear,
He was quite little.
Happy, without a care,
No thumbs to twiddle.
He was alone,
A solitary Cub,
Without any friends.
To play and cavort,
Alone, without any support.
He had fun and more.
There were many things,
On the forest floor.
Run through the Ferns
And around the trees,
Walking upright,
Or down on his knees.
Hiding in grass
Taller than he,
Looking at flowers
And at some Bees.
No one there
To yell and shout,
So he continued
To walk about.
Finally, day turned
Into a black night.
Now alone, in the dark,
A slight little fright,
He fell asleep;
And was out of sight
Of the creatures of the night,
Who travelled afar,
Seeking their respite.
Suddenly it was morning
And this day's delight,
Was to play once again
In the warm sunlight.

Perhaps it's the boy, in this old man,
That plays in dirt when ever he can.
By playing, I mean, out in the yard,
Where a love of gardening, is not hard,
But a desire to see plants to keep growing.
No matter the fact that it soon will be snowing,
I found that I do not like a Fall chore
Of raking leaves, waiting, then raking some more.

I have discovered this special trick
When I have broken a branch
from a flowering plant. I cut
it by a node ,at an angle,
plunge into powdered root hormone,
then into soil,then water.
There is a chance for that
to grow. I did that about a
month ago, two pieces of "hot lips",
hormone and into the dirt
and now have leaves and flowers.
I must now wait, keeping my patience
and repot in another month or so.
Watching my clumsy mistake start to grow
in to a beautiful flowering bush,
that was done very inexpensively.

Here I am, pen in hand, writing
my thoughts to paper. Bringing memories
forth, from so deep inside, that no
matter how long those memories linger.
Grab that small thread, ever so gentle
while tugging and pulling until the
whole thought is there, in your head.
Write it all down, clear out your
mind, put your writing pen and pad away.
Return back to your warm comfy bed.
After all this, I see the clock
it's now three-thirty and I must sleep.

Not much of a swimmer
But I did like to swim.
It was hard to determine
The predicament I was in.
Swimming in California's Mission Bay
I found myself drifting away
From the shore, I could see
A Rip Tide had ahold of me.
I remembered a lesson, I had before
When caught in a Rip, don't swim towards shore,
But swim parallel to the shore line
And everything would soon be quite fine.
So I swam quite awhile, with a side stroke
And it wasn't long before the tides grip broke.
I turned towards shore, going to land
It was quite soon; I felt my feet in the sand.
A scary time, when I look back
I saved myself, no panic attack.

Happy anniversary, my dearest one.
I do recall the day all this begun.
It was in the year, nineteen fifty-seven;
A moment in mind, like it was heaven.
We didn't always see, eye to eye,
But we did our best to try
To treat each other like we would desire
And raise the bar, higher and higher.
I love you so, my dearest one,
Ever since the day this all begun.

Your avatar
Loy • 06/07/2019 at 03:02PM • Like

Very nice anniversary poem!