Endings

......from my sister, Sally.
-------------
Endings

We're sitting in bed on this last full day
of our third winter in Florida. Retirement

is a good novel and we gladly turn the pages
one day at a time. We're watching a documentary

about a group of boat racers trying to set a circumnavigation
record in a boat using biofuels. They're in Panama

right now trying to get through the canal but are having
problems. One guy just sliced his foot and they are behind

schedule. I didn't realize it takes twelve hours to get from
the Atlantic to the Pacific. It took us over sixty years

to get to these lazy mornings. Tomorrow, we'll head back
north for a summer near the sea. I'll ride my bike

to Ocean Park Beach, see my kids and granddaughter
often, have cookouts with friends, and play a little golf.

Gary will get his boat ready for tuna fishing and, pretty
much, drive everybody crazy until he catches one.

But, today, we're enjoying the ending of this chapter.
The Earthrace crew are currently in the Indian Ocean.

It's monsoon season. They're miserable but ahead
of schedule. We have a few chores to do today to close

our house up. One thing at a time and it will all get done.
Just like the racers who complete their quest successfully.

We aren't racing, anymore; just floating along.
We read our book slowly, savoring the shape of time.

Weather or Not

May 2: Weather or Not

We decided not to go boating today
because the weatherman is predicting

thunder showers this afternoon. So, I'm sitting
in bed playing on my iPad while Gary snores

beside me. I almost went outside like I did
during April but I just wasn't that ambitious.

By the time I woke up, the sun had already risen
and the light around the blinds was boring old

white not the gold that makes everything look
beautiful. So, I plumped three pillows

behind me and am leaning against them.
I checked Facebook to see what was new.

Looks like the Bruins lost to the Canadiens
in the hockey playoffs last night. Then I checked

the Weather Channel app: 75 sunny degrees here
and 52 in Old Orchard Beach. We'll be up there

in nine days. I played six games of Words
With Friends. Started today's Wordstorm.

I'm up to 68% but didn't get the big one yet.
Checked The Writer's Almanac for today's poem:

"Making a Bed" by Howard Moss. Then I came here
to Pages to write....anything. First, though, I went

to my Kindle app and checked out the prompt for
today in a new book I just downloaded yesterday

called The Daily Poet and found out the Weather
Channel began broadcasting on this day in 1982.

That's 32 years ago. So, they want us to include
weather terms in our poem today. Gary's snuggled

like a thundering cloud next to me, my phone is vibrating,
a mini earthquake, and I'm out of nothing to write about.

3WW: Affair, Expectation, Free

Sharp slices
of brightness
slash my morning
blinds.

I'm sitting in bed
with no expectation
of anything
for today.

Free hours
are maple syrup
sticky and sweet.
I should get up,

open the blinds,
make breakfast.
Instead, I've begun
an affair with laziness.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

3WW: Bloody, Kinky, Tender

There is only one
little smear
of morning sunlight
left on my kitchen floor.  

I woke up too late
to enjoy a couple hours
of solitude.

He's already making
awake noises
so this will have to be
a quick poem.  

Too bad I can't think
of anything
to write about.  

No bloody emotions
lately. No kinky past-
times to secretly enjoy.
My days have been

unusually soft and tender
like a mound  
of bread dough

we've been kneading
and kneading and, finally,
it can rest and rise. And I think
he's even fallen back to sleep.

3WW: Downhill, Freak, Sliver

Downhill, Freak, Sliver

I sleep later
now that I am
on the downhill
side of life.

Most mornings
I miss the sun
coloring with her
orange crayon.

I awake to watery
yellow and sigh,
but I don't freak
anymore about my age.

I'm letting retirement
carry me along
like a leaf
floating by

in our canal,
buoyant
in the swelling
tides.

I close my eyes,
feel the sun,
and enjoy this last
sliver of time.

Sunday Scribblings: Life Is Good

Saturday

We kept breakfast simple:
pumpernickel toast
with peanut butter
for him
and a rice cake
with egg salad for me.

He puttered
on his boat
I changed the bed
and dusted.

We took a drive
to St. James City
for a light lunch:
beach bread for him
and creamy pumpkin
soup with cinnamon
swirl croutons for me.

He fished off the dock
and caught a few snappers
that he threw back.
I sat in the sun
reading two letters
from a friend
and The Daughter
of Smoke and Bone.

We had cocktails
and chips and dip
on the porch
of our stilt house,
the setting sun
turning everything golden.

I broiled rice cakes
covered with spaghetti sauce
and mozzarella
for supper.
We ate outdoors
watching fish
jump for their meal
in the canal.

I went for a walk
as the moon rose.
He went inside
to the TV.

We got into our bed
with its clean sheets
and drifted off
to Downy dreams.

Drag, Mumble, Penetrate for 3WW

I wake up at 5:30
that inner alarm
clock still buzzing

me awake in school mode.
No need to drag myself
out of bed, though.

No need to hurry.
No preparations to make.
I get up, anyway,

sit in my robe
watch the sun penetrate
the pine trees,

listen to it mumble
sweet nothings
into the ears

of the morning.
Today, I will hang
laundry on the line,

play golf with a good friend,
write a poem,
check my balance

for a retirement deposit,
and let the hours
fill my teacup with freedom.

Leaves of the Poet-tree: Journal

Ah, retirement
minutes, hours, days, thoughts, words~
four new journals.

3WW: Thread, Grip, Prefer

I grip the handle
of my camera

feel the slight
roughness, squint

through the viewfinder,
and focus the dandelion.

I see a spider has threaded
her web around its stem

and up and around
the golden head.

Nothing is ever perfect
and that is good.

I set my camera
to aperture priority

which I prefer because
it'll blur the background

and maybe catch some bokeh,
those magical bubbles

of future uncertainties.
I feel the smooth shutter

button, press it slowly,
freeze-frame tomorrow.

Sunday Scribblings: The Next Step

Look at that foot
hanging in the air
ready to stomp
the ground.

There might be a puddle
or soft grass
underneath
but, that foot

will hit. A new day,
a new life, a new
chance to be me.
I smile

as I step
forward, totter
a bit, regain my balance,
move into retirement.

Epidemic for One Single Impression

Retirement Dreams

It started three years ago
with just an occasional thought,
a sunshiny day
in a week of clouds.

It was a favorite picture
I’d take out occasionally,
run my fingers over the image,
and let myself dream.

Two years ago it became
like my tiny pocket jack knife.
I’d slip my hand in and feel
its reassuring presence

nestled there, slim and smooth,
at least once a day. This year
it feels like Christmas every
hour. I hold that present,

tied with a big red bow,
shake it around, then untie
the ribbons to release
the magic of retirement

over and over again.
The mystery smells like
summer, the possibilities
taste like honey.

Reality interferes, but
as often as possible, I reopen
that sweet gift and breathe in
the future.

3WW: Hidden, Noble, Roam

I used to be able to see the sky
with clouds roaming around
poking their noses over the mountain
peering at the sunset
through bloodshot eyes.

But spring happened
and, now, noble trees
stand like kings
blocking my view
with their crowns.

I sit in my class room
contemplating retirement
trying to see the hidden future
through the filigreed leaves
of apprehension.

NaPoWriMo #28: 3WW: Depart, Ignite, Rotten

Late Snow Ignites Dreams of Future

Woke up to six inches
of late April snow
covering all the baby
leaves and flowers.

Winter takes his time
to depart in this neck
of the woods. I grabbed
my camera and snapped

a couple pictures to take
with us to Florida
when we retire in another
year, to remind us of why

we don’t want to live up here
where the weather is rotten
most of the time. Then I put
my boots on, got the shovel

out, cleaned off my truck,
and made my way
to school. One day
closer to being done.